Right On Schedule

Here I am, ready for my post of the month. Honestly, I do try to get around to it more frequently. I am a better reader than writer.

I forgot to mention it last month, I gave in and we have another kitty. His name is Pip, and he's an utter turd. He is relentless in his quest to taste every single food-like substance in the house. I am constantly correcting/redirecting/shoving/bitchslapping/spraying water on him, and I still find evidence of his misdeeds when I get up in the morning or return from an outing. Not that he's stealthy--his jackassery is exercised regardless of my presence. But we like him anyway, annoying little bugger. Even Fran pulls her punches sometimes.

Baby J is still giving me heart attacks on a weekly basis, or thereabouts. Last week I stepped into N's classroom for a moment during the wildly overcrowded pandemonium of pick-up time, and when I stepped back out, J was gone. I barked at the big kids to staytheredon'tyoudaremoveamuscle, and swam upstream through the slow, slow, crush of children and backpacks. I wanted very badly to just pick up bodies and throw them out of my way, but I refrained. I got to the front door where my spidey sense told me he was headed, and I still didn't see him...until I looked through the doors. That's about when my heart stopped, because there he was, ACROSS THE STREET.

I'm not sure if he was looking for me, or just felt like being on the move, but I guess he'd just gone with the flow of people, through the doors which someone helpfully held open for him (they're too heavy for him to open himself), acting all casual and looking like he was with whoever was nearest. A mom from G's class was talking to him, since she knew who he belonged to and could see that I was nowhere in sight. He was looking a bit upset (because he'd been stopped? because a Strange Lady was talking to him? I don't know), but he seemed relieved to see me. I had a sickening surge of what if, and then a flood of relief, and then a brief, explosive flash of irrational rage at every single person around for letting him out of the building and not noticing that he was alone and not stopping him. Those jerks!

To subsequent pop-quizzes about Where You Should Go When You Can't Find Mama (correct answer: notoutdoors to the office, notoutdoors where Mama will come to collect you notoutdoors), J answers, "Out." I'm sorry sir, that is COMPLETELY FUCKING UNACCEPTABLE. I know I've said it before, but I really am going to keep that kid tied to me.

The last heart attack he gave me was when we were visiting friends and he trekked across the living room, up a step, through the dining room and into the kitchen while carrying their teeny, precious, floppy-necked, 8 week old baby. To his credit, he carried her very well, cradling her head nicely. She was comfortable and content, and he was terribly proud--until the moms noticed and flipped our wigs. Poor boy, he didn't know what he'd done wrong, just that something was very uncool. He stood, looking at the floor, bottom lip stuck wayyyyy out, while I hugged him and struggled (with minimal success) to not burst into tears in mortification and relief. That one made an impression on him, and now when he sees the baby, he volunteers, "I sit on couch to cuddle baby." Yes dear, that would be a good idea.

This week his sleep has inexplicably swung into Shittyville. We seem to have cycles of great sleep, and then phase into awful nights that leave us all hollow shells of our former selves. This time I am blaming a combination of new molars and a full moon. Whatever the reason, we found ourselves recently with J in our bed, which I don't actually mind--when he sleeps. When he wakes and grumbles about something or other every 15 minutes or so, it's not such a warm family scene. At about 3 am, he woke me to fearfully show me the "big scary thing up there." A tiny light from the laptop beside the bed was casting a large, dim shadow of the bedside lamp. I sleepily mumbled that it was okay, just a lamp, not scary, see? I groped around and jerked the lamp over a bit, to show him how the whole shadow thing worked, but he hadn't taken his terrified eyes off the shadow to watch what I was doing. What he saw was the huge, dark thing, which had been looming above him, suddenly lurch menacingly toward him. He loosed a bloodcurdling scream in my ear and dove into me, burying his face in my neck and clinging to me for dear life. We showed him how the shadow was made, and I extinguished the light, but he requested his own bed. Predictably, he was still too scared to sleep in his own bed, and eventually came back to ours...then wanted his own again...then ours, etc, etc. It was about two hours before we got back to sleep. Ugh.

I am ready to drop...looks like poor G and N will have to wait until next month. Sorry boys, you just haven't done anything spectacularly horrifying lately. And that is okay by me.

Whoa

It has been a long, long time since I have posted. There are the usual reasons (too tired, too busy, too lazy, blah blah blah) and there really is no reason at all. I just didn't.

But I've been thinking about coming back to it for a time now, and I guess this relatively quiet moment while the kids are communing with Spongebob will do just fine. Also it means I can put off washing dishes for a little while.

Lessee, new news...um, back to school. Finally feels like we are getting back into the rhythm of school days again. It still sucks. I wish we could chill and sleep in and have playdates whenever we wanted. I realize that homeschooling would accomplish some of that, but there would be a lot less chilling involved if I were to take on schooling my kids. Besides, I would probably have a tough time keeping up with the Mandarin language instruction my kids get from their bilingual school. I am already feeling over my head just helping N with his Gr. 1 homework.

The first report card of the year came home today, and N is doing great. An attached note explained that it's too early in the year for them to accurately assign percentages to their progress, so they are using "excellent," "satisfactory," etc. N is doing "excellent" work across the board, except for music class, where he is "satisfactory." Apparently the kid can't carry a tune, which even my biased ears have noticed. But he enjoys it and works at it, which is really the point.

G doesn't get a progress report today, as his preschool is not part of the same school system. One of his teachers mentioned recently that he needs a little fine motor skill finessing, but I'm not overly concerned. He wrote a little story today (okay, it was one sentence, but it did run on quite a bit) and did all the lettering himself. He was terribly proud, as was I. He is turning into quite a little reader, sounding out words with no help. I love watching my kids turn into book lovers.

Baby J is a force to be reckoned with. He's fiercely independent, and can manage tasks I wouldn't dream of leaving to an average 2 year old. He seems to imagine that he's just as big as his brothers, and doesn't ever cut himself any slack when trying to keep up with them--and he usually doesn't fall behind.

I am trying to keep busybusybusy in the sweatshop (aka my sewing room) and make birthday and Christmas presents. I have made a couple of birthday presents lately, and have a slew of Christmas stuff waiting to come to fruition. Partly I am motivated by anticonsumerism, and partly by my love of making stuff. I'd rather be creating something than be shopping, so why not create a gift, rather than shop for it? I've tried in years past to be more crafty about holidays and presents, but this year seems easier somehow. Maybe it's because the kids are a little bigger and less needy?

I am fighting a cold. Thus far I have a scratchy throat and an overwhelming inertia. I have been drinking tea to beat the band, and megadosing on Vitamin C. My immune system has responded to the attacking bug by bitchslapping me with a giant canker sore inside my upper lip, and a weird, painful, inflamed tastebud on the tip of my tongue. I have spent the week wishing I could remove my entire mouth. I can't eat or talk without pain, and last night I foolishly tried to sip some orange juice (more Vitamin C! this will be good right?), which ended in tears. I think yesterday was the bottom, and I am sllllloooowwwwllllly climbing back up to normal mouth territory. Or I am deluding myself, and dinner tonight (lasagna, chock full of lovely, yummy, acidic death tomato sauce) will finish me off. Time will tell.

I am curious to see if I will resume my hectic once-monthly posting habits...

Bloody Hell

I am flying solo this week. Husband is in Vegas, throwing money away at the World Series Of Poker. He was eliminated from his event in short order, so he entered another. He lasted longer in that one, but ultimately fell. BUT! His coworker/travel companion entered the same event (the first one) and just finished in second place! I'm impressed.

Meanwhile, back at the homestead, my first two days without parental backup were pretty heinous. I was absolutely stressed to the max, wigging out at everything and nothing, and the kids were being complete turds. I was completely mystified--why was I so easily pushed over the edge? Why did I feel so insane? Why was everything so awful? Why did my back hurt so horribly? Why was I so bloated and...OH. Oh, THAT. Just like last month! You'd think I'd learn.

Once the hormonally induced insanity abated, we got down to having a much better time together. My sister and her family came into town, and the kids played all day and night. Bedtime wasn't happening smoothly, so I gave up and let them run wild, rather than spend all evening beating my head against a wall for naught. It was close to midnight when I finally pushed them into bed, having come to the realization that they would never voluntarily lay down anywhere. They were out in about 7 seconds. "Let's hope they sleep in," we said, knowing very well that we had a snowball's chance in hell of getting any extra rest out of the deal. Sure enough, they were up bright and early this morning, running, running,jumping, thumping, running. The markers we'd left out last night ("Stop running for 5 minutes! Here, draw something.") were promptly put to good use, and when I blearily wandered into the kitchen this morning, I found four very colourful little boys. Good thing I only buy the washable markers.

After the cousins had moved on, I threw the big kids in the tub and got the baby to sleep. I told them to play in the tub as long as they liked--since the marker had stained a bit, I figured an extra-long soak couldn't hurt. The soaking part certainly didn't hurt, but the exit was a bit more painful. G slipped on his way out of the tub and bashed his chin on the toilet, opening an inch-long gash in his chin that bled impressively. So we went on a little family outing to the walk-in clinic, where we waited for an hour or so before a friendly nurse held his head steady to receive FOUR STITCHES! IN MY BABY'S FACE! WAAAH!

He was such a champ, truly. We warned him there would be a needle to make the area numb (and then we had to explain what "numb" meant), and we warned him that it was going to hurt, but of course he didn't have a clue that they were going to stab him directly in an open, throbbing wound and then pump it full of fluid. His eyes spilled huge tears, and his mouth stretched into a silent wail, but he stayed perfectly still for the doctor. He just squeezed my hand and trembled a bit. He was very still for the stitches as well, but after three, asked, "Can we be all done now?"

By the time we finished up and left, it was past our usual dinnertime, and we still had to stop at the pharmacy on the way home. I didn't want to make the kids wait for me to make a meal after we got home, so we stopped for burgers, hotdogs, and ice creams. "Well," said N delightedly, "This is a nice surprise!" G nodded his bandaged head in agreement. Happy to oblige, boys.

Watching my children spill their own blood always makes me a little more of a Mama Bear than usual, so all three of them are bunking with me tonight. This would work better if Baby J didn't insist on being perpendicular to everyone else. Ah well, I can handle a bit of foot in the face--it's better than a toilet.

No Logical Sequence

Still here, just having a hard time crystallizing thoughts into words. Extra hard to put those words together into sentences, and the paragraphs are killing me. Been so busy with general lifey stuff, no time to sit down and write about it. Blah blah, the usual excuses.

Baby J is trying to shorten my life span. This week he has been honing his skills as master escape artist. He has learned to open the front door (wonky latch made it easy once he learned the bolt), and has let himself out several times (there is a safety latch on the door now). He stepped over the sagging portion of our temporary fence in the backyard, and went exploring in the neighbour's yard. The same day, he was practicing his climbing on the front gate, which is not very high--I'm pretty sure if I'd let him continue, he'd have scaled it and run off somewhere in that direction as well. Today, while we were visiting friends, he let himself out their front door while I was in the bathroom (I believe he was looking for me outside, as I had just been in the front yard a few moments before), and I didn't even know he was outside until the friends' neighbour brought him back to the door--I thought he was downstairs with the other kids. Had a good little cry after that one. Henceforth, I shall be tying him onto my body at all times.

After the playdate that nearly resulted in my coming home with one less child than I'd gone out with, I went to a craft fair and got a little spendy. I bought myself some lovely, lovely soaps, some beautiful jewelry, and an excellent screenprinted t-shirt. I tried on the wearable stuff as soon as I got home, then stuck my face into the bag o' soap and breathed deeply. Happiness. The last time I went to this craft fair, I didn't spend very much at all, and was a little bummed out afterwards (non-buyer's remorse?), so this time I more than made up for it. And I am overjoyed at my fabulous new stuff! The moral of the story is, BUY FROM YOUR LOCAL CRAFT SHOW. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

Once again, viewing craft show garments made me squawk indignantly (mentally) at the prices. $45 for a t-shirt? I could make that for 1/2 the price! But I never will because I am too busy/lazy/inept/whatever. But no, this time I am inspired. This summer, I will sew myself shirts! For realsies. I will update progress here...albeit sporadically, as my posting history is less than timely.

My last post, so long ago, was full of whinging about N's birthday party. Of course it went swimmingly. We had just enough kids show up to fill the (small) party room, and they had a great time cavorting on the gymnastic equipment. N received a ton of cheaply made plastic toys, and was genuinely thrilled with all of it. Crisis averted. Now G is DYING for his birthday to come. Poor kid, both his brothers have birthdays in the same month, he feels a little left out. I'll have to do something extra special for his day. Strippers?

150/95

Whew, didn't think it was such a long time since I last posted. And now here we are, out of the winter doldrums, enjoying a lovely, sunny spring...

Oh, wait. It's still cold out. And it SNOWED tonight. WTF? Good thing the kids got out for a quickie play before the white stuff started coming down. We had friends over for dinner, so while I charred some ribs on the barbecue (cooking meat is not my forte), the kids ran around the yard, tramping repeatedly through the one mucky spot and chalking everything that couldn't run away.

They had loads of fun, but there was some crashing and burning at about 9--can't blame them, this is the third night in a row they've been up past bedtime. Poor, sweet G dissolved into tears when I told him not to smear yogurt on his chin. I had to snuggle him for a few minutes before he could resume eating, which he did very neatly. Poor boy, he's so sensitive even when he's not exhausted. He brings out the mama bear in me.

I am wringing my mama bear paws right now about N's birthday party. First of all, he's turning 6, and that is just so wrong. My baby cannot be this big! Second, I am fretting that nobody will come to his party at a gymnastics place on Sunday. He handed out invitations to a carefully chosen few friends from each of his two classes at school, for a total of 10 guests. That was last week. So far, I've had only one response. I asked for replies by the 8th, and there's only a few days left. What if all his friends totally stand him up? I don't think I could take it. If there aren't any replies, I can issue a last-minute invitation to his non-school buddies, who are already invited to a party here at the house on Saturday...but I'm afraid he would be crushed. This is killing me.

My anxiety levels are climbing lately. Last night I had a hard time falling asleep because I couldn't stop stressing about treat bags for N's parties. Twenty-odd treat bags to make, and for some reason I've only gotten enough stuff for half of them. I think I was blocking the fact that I have two parties to take care of. Pre-traumatic stress? Ah well, the kids are back at school this week, and I will once more be able to run errands with just one kidlet, the still very portable baby J. Who is almost 2--sob! And who will also require a birthday party! More sobs!

Geez, how would I cope if I ever had a real problem?

Minus Forty

Today was quite possibly the longest day of the century. I think it lasted about six weeks. We exhausted the playdough and "Goo" before lunch, and after that I just kind of let the kids disassemble the house as long as they left me alone. I think tomorrow will be Movie Day, and maybe I can even get some sewing done while they rot their brains. The kids don't have school, and even if they did, Husband is taking the Jeep to work since his wee Mazda can't make it out of the driveway. We are Housebound.

I've invited friends over, but I doubt they'll want to leave their cozy house in the coldest weather of the millenium. I have a feeling we'll be on our own again tomorrow. Today I printed out an airplane toy to cut out and assemble, thinking it would be a simple, fun activity to involve G in. Boy, I picked the wrong airplane toy. It took forever to cut and glue a dozen pieces together, and then we had to wait for it to dry while the kids harassed me ("Is it done yet? How about now? How about now? How about now? How about now? Hey Mom, is the airplane ready yet? How about now?"). In the end it didn't even fly that well, though that was probably just because I rolled my eyes at the suggestion of checking the angle of the wing tilt, and I didn't pay particular attention to the angle of the horizontal stabilizer either. No matter, the kids were delighted with it. Delighted enough to nearly throttle one another in the mad rush to have another turn with it. Tomorrow we will find something quick and painless to make if the Movie Day fails to occupy them.

Today was a rough one for me. I don't get it--I've been feeling so mellow and happy lately, and today I suddenly crashed and burned. I was barely keeping it together when I tipped over the rice cooker and spilled water and wet rice all over the kitchen (at least it wasn't hot yet). That was the breaking point, and I had to have a little cry. After that I felt a tiny bit better, but still definitely poopy. I'm a little curious/scared of what tomorrow will bring. But hey, at least it's "warming up" to -26C! Thrills!

Icy; Happy; Maybe Kitty

Big Kids: swimming with Daddy. Baby: sleeping beside me. Aaaahhh, peace and quiet.

This weekend we went to see the local Ice Festival, with sculptures and ice slides and an ice castle to play in and an ice maze to get lost in and movies playing on an outdoor ice screen (which we skipped). The kids had soooo much fun. We went first on Friday afternoon, and since they enjoyed it so much, we went again on Saturday. Friday was wonderful, there was hardly anyone there. Saturday was INSANE. Too bad--but it made me extra glad we'd gone once already and gotten to really enjoy it.

Took the kids out for dinner the other night at a divey pizza joint with some friends. Three strangers approached our table at different times to tell us how well behaved our kids (six in total) were. We thanked them, and after they left, laughed about all the stuff they must not have noticed. My kids were blowing bubbles in their chocolate milk, which piled up and out of their cups and onto their white shirts...there were several tearful incidents between the babies involving not-so-gentle pats...and at one point I asked G to repeat something I hadn't heard, and he bellowed "I HAVE TO GO POOP REAL BAD"--classy. I think the attitudes of the moms at our table made a big difference in how we were perceived by others. There are days where my kids could behave exactly the same way they did that night, and my reactions would be totally different--I'd snap at the big guys to stop blowing bubbles or I would take their drinks away; I'd get embarrassed about the loud update on the state of G's bowels; I'd get exasperated at the babies for not being as lovey and sweet as they usually are together. I would be projecting harried, pinch-mouthed misery, rather than the relaxed enjoyment our table of friends shared that night. In the face of such obvious irritability, I doubt anyone would approach us to compliment our children--although that's probably the moment I'd be most needing to hear it.

With all this happy happy joy joy spilling out of me, I've been thinking about another pet to share all my syrupy feelings with. I'm really on the fence here--after Lunch died, I was surprised at how easy it is to care for one cat. Cats are generally pretty easy, but two cohabitating cats who dislike each other make things a little trickier. Fran is fat and content and requires very little daily maintenance. If her food dish is empty, she lets me know. I scoop some poop, and vacuum piles of cat hair from around the house. That's about it. In return, she loves us all, snuggling with the grown ups and consenting to the clumsy attentions of the kids, and sleeps away most of every day. My aunt has some kittens to give away, and I've considered taking one in. But kittens are a lot more work than our sedate fatty Fran. The kids would be over the moon...but they're not the ones scooping the poop and making sure the furniture remains unscathed and cleaning the tipped plants, etc. Despite all the common sense arguments against it, I keep thinking, "Maybe we should..." Maybe I'm just missing J's babyness and looking to replace it with a baby of another species. For now I will continue to debate it with myself, but I think it's just a question of when I'll give in. I'm such a sucker.

Miscellany

Blogger is irritating me to no end. 9 out of 10 times I try to sign in, it tells me my account doesn`t exist. And my keyboard somehow got switched to some kind of frenchy mode, where my question mark key now produces this: É. My apostrophe is different, and there`s a couple of other things that have changed too. It did this once before, and I couldn`t change it back until I restarted the computer...but as my battery is about to putter out, I`m not going to bother just now.

I just discovered a site chock full of free downloads for 3D paper crafts, which are so cool I could weep with delight. Every new item I click makes me oooooh and aaaaaah (in my head, as the baby is sleeping beside me). I have a new, portable project to take with me for the craft and coffee night I do with some friends every so often. Yay!

Today I diagnosed Baby J with thrush. AAAAAAAAAUGH! I will be picking up some Gentian Violet and acidopholus tomorrow. Now I know why it`s been feeling like his latch has been off somehow--I thought it was due to teething, although he only has one eyetooth left to cut. And suddenly I understand why he`s been fussing at the breast lately...I thought he was fighting bedtime, when really he just had a sore mouth. Poor kid.

We went to a birthday party at an indoor playground today. Those places are crazy and loud and overwhelming, perhaps more for me than for the kids. The boys were all exhausted by the time we left, as was I. I was pretty beat even before we got there, as I went out last night with Husband and Brother and sang some karaoke. We went to a divey bar we used to go to about 9 years ago--and the karaoke host was the same dude! Funny, or sadÉ I didn`t know either.

G starts speech therapy tomorrow. I`m pretty excited--I hope he loves it. He`s made so much progress without therapy, I`m really pumped to see what he can do with a little help.

Okay, computer battery is almost done, as am I. 5 hours of sleep is just not enough.