All the things she knows...

Gracie is almost five years old.  That in itself is a scary fact!  But the things my little girl knows already is even scarier.  Here's a complete list of all the things Gracie has learned by the precious age of 4 and three-quarters:

1.  How to spell her name.  G-R-A-C-I-E.  It's scrawled all over our driveway in pink chalk.  As well as J-A-X, E-L-L-A, M-O-M-M-Y, D-A-D-D-Y, and just today she learned L-E-S-L-I-E, H-E-L-E-N, C-H-A-R-L-I-E, and E-L-V-I-S.  In case you aren't familiar with the Ford-family dynamics, that would be Nanny and Grampy and our dog and cat.  She also knows how to spell dog, but she doesn't think she'll use that word because the dog has a real name.  This learning-to-spell thing has been torturous for me, since she likes to write letters. "Mommy, how do you spell 'dear.'  How do you spell 'Aunt.' How do you spell 'Jesse.' How do you spell...

2.  Her phone number.  Yesterday, she said to her father, "Daddy, our phone number is 765-6525." And he said, "Very good, Gracie!"  I said, "What the hell?  How do you know our phone number?"  Because, (1) who ever uses our house phone?  I mean, come on, we have modes of communication now that aren't attached to the wall, and (2) I've never told her our phone number before.  And she said, "Last week when we were at the library checking out our books, Miss Judy asked you for our phone number, and you told her."  So, apparently my kid is one of those special creatures that remembers everything she's every heard.  Now taking donations for her future therapy sessions!

3.  How to count to 100.  This one is fun.  Especially when she wants to show you how she can.  And then wants to show her dad right afterwards.  And then her nanny.  And then Ella, Charlie, and Elvis.

4.  What is a good idea.  She shares this knowledge with me every day, mostly during periods of time outs.  It goes something like this,

Me: "Gracie, you cannot take the toys from Ella without asking.  Go sit in time out please." 

Her:  "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, after supper you have to have a shower and then get ready for bed."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, it's time to clean up.  You pick up the books please."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Let's go to Walmart and do some shopping."

Her: "That is a GREAT idea."

For the record, not-good ideas are usually followed by arm crossing and lip pouting.  Great ideas are usually followed by hugs and kisses.  Unfortunately, I'm not as smart as Gracie and my ideas are, apparently, usually less than stellar.

5.  Style.  My kid is the queen of dressing herself.  Sometimes, she looks adorable.  The cutest little sweaters matched perfectly with jeans or leggings.  And then, other times, she looks like this:

That would be hot-pink leggings underneath blue shorts, with a yellow-striped top underneath a white blouse.  Lets not forget the blue Elsa socks.  And the hair, which she did herself.  She said this is how doctors dress, and she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.  I'm not stifling that ambition, so she can dress with all the style she wants, baby!

6.  How to communicate with the other-world.  A few years ago, Gracie told me about an older lady that comes to her room at night to talk with her and keep her company.  Creeped me the f' out.  These days, I don't hear as much about "Ruth" but I do see her stop often, put her hands together, and pray.  I run a Sunday School program, and go to church every Sunday... but prayer has never been my strong point.  I'm more of a "pray when I need something right now" kind of person.  I never really got the hang of it, and when I actually attempt a little quiet prayerful contemplation, I usually wind up thinking about the laundry that still needs to be done, the annoying screaming coming from one of the three monsters in my house, or a million other things that distract a mother.  I usually wind it up with "Anyway, I'm sure you know what I was going to say. So... yeah.  The end. Amen."  So the fact that Gracie can just fold her hands and throw a prayer up anywhere and about everything... that's some spiritual knowledge right there!

7.  How to tell time.  This one has been coming for a while.  She first learned to tell me the time that was on the microwave, even though those numbers meant nothing to her.  Then, she started asking what time we did certain things and staring at the microwave clock at different times during the day.  Then she memorized our "schedule" and started making me stick to it.  The fact that she also knows days of the weeks, just makes her more of a pain in the ass.  "Mom, I have gymnastics in 3 days, which is Saturday, and we have to be ready and out the door by 8:30, and it lasts for one hour, and when we get home, it's 10:30, which is snack time."  And then she repeats that every day until gymnastics arrive, and then starts over on Sunday.  She also does this with Ella's dance class, when Grampy comes home to visit, bedtime, snack time, lunch time, supper time, and any other time food might be involved.  I also can no longer lie about certain things. Like bedtime.  On "those" days, I used to gleefully announce at 6:30, "it's bedtime!!"  Now, Gracie will check the clock and say, "Bedtime's not till 7!"  Damn it.

8.  Everything else in the whole entire world.  That's right, I have a special 4-year old, who knows everything!  Just ask her...

That Time The Internet Really Pissed Me Off...

You know, I try not to let internet stories and internet trolls get the best of me.  I try really hard to respect other people's opinions and mind my own damn business.  But there have been a couple of stories in the news lately that just totally blew my mind.  Not even necessarily the stories themselves, because we are so used to seeing ignorance in the news, but some of the comments and sub-stories posted about the stories.  Ridiculous.

First of all, let me say that I seriously hope by the time my kids are grown, they will look at my generation's (and past generations') treatment of the LGBTQ community the same way I look at previous generations' treatment of African Americans and women... with absolute disgust.  Because it is absolutely disgusting the way those people have been treated in the past, and it's disgusting the way LGBTQ people are being treated now.  Sure, we've come a long way in making society an open and welcoming place, but it apparently takes many generations to breed out all of the ignorance and intolerance.

For those of you who haven't heard of Kim Davis, you should seriously google her name.  There's all sorts of crap out there about her and her claim to fame: basically, that once same-sex marriage was legalized in the states, that she refused to issue any marriage licences (to gay or straight couples) because she believed that doing so was counter to her religious beliefs about gay people.  I get that... sort of.  You don't believe that gay marriage is righteous and, in fact, believe it to be wrong.  Fine.  Don't marry a gay person.  You don't want to issue marriage licences to gay people?  Fine.  Quit your damn job, and carry on with your life.  You are entitled to your opinions, and whether I agree with you or not is not the point.  But your opinions should not interfere with the lives of other people trying to live their own damn lives.  "Christians" such as Kim Davis give other Christians a horrible name.  I think the majority of us Jesus-loving folk out there believe that who a person loves means nothing, but how a person treats other people means everything.  And in my opinion, Kim Davis, you're kind of a douchebag.  You can believe whatever you want to believe and harm no one.  Be as blind as you want to the wonderfully diverse and beautiful world we all share, you will hurt no one but yourself in this manner.  But you don't have the right to force your views on others, to try to blind them in the same way.  As a (now amazingly popular) twitter user, Rachel Held Evans, said: "No one's being jailed for practicing her religion. Someone's being jailed for using the government to force others to practice her religion."

The other story hitting headlines these days is about the transgendered male who has decided to live his life as a female and has received permission from his school to use the female restroom and change room.  This has caused a firestorm of bullshit on the internet, and at the school itself where hundreds of students protested because they said they felt uncomfortable with that idea.  

First of all, can we put ourselves in her mind for a second... she was born as a male and, yes, with a penis.  And for some people, that seems to be all that matters.  She has a penis, therefore she is a he.  I get that, physiologically.  Facts are facts, they say.  Except think of the confusion, and sorrow, and the absolute horribleness this girl must have felt growing up.  Growing up as a "boy" and not feeling like a boy, feeling like there was something horribly wrong with you inside.  The torment she must have felt for years... before deciding to truly be who she was born to be.  A penis on the outside means nothing if the person you are on the inside doesn't match.  I feel like the world has come a long way for "normal gay people."  You know, the girls who love girls, and the boys who love boys. But the world is still terribly ignorant of transgendered people, and sorely lacking in compassion.

Two comments I read that made me the most angry:  "If he's going to pretend to be a girl, he could at least make some effort with his appearance.  He doesn't even look like a girl at all."  Maybe, because on the outside, she's not a girl.  That important piece of her identity is on the inside, where people can't see it.  And until she takes medical steps, her outside might never match her inside, which is the struggle she's been fighting her whole life.  The difference is, now, her attempt to match her insides is making some of us uncomfortable, instead of her.

Second comment: "How do we know that people who "identify" as transgendered aren't really just pretending so they can take advantage of women in the bathroom."  To this, I say... really?  Seriously?  You think that someone would put themselves in this position in society solely to take advantage of, or seduce, a woman?  You think a teenage "boy" would willingly wear a dress, and makeup, and a wig, and be the centre of ridicule and hatred day after day, on the off chance they may get a woman alone in the bathroom.  That is ignorance in its purest form right there!

Should this girl be allowed to use the restroom with the other ladies?  Sure, why not?  There are stalls, after all, and it's not like we all stare at each other's vaginas when we go pee, and frankly I never know who's in there anyway. Should she be allowed to change in the changing room with other women?  I can see some people's discomfort with this, and I can even understand the fear on a raw, instinctual level.  Because that is truly what this is about, fear.  And a lack of knowledge is what leads to this fear.  But if the discomfort you feel is based solely on the fact that you think this chick is actually just a dude trying to get laid, well then I believe you deserve to suffer in your intolerance.  In my opinion, it is not the other girls' "right" to be comfortable with the possibility of her using the change room, any more than it was the "right" of white people years ago to be comfortable with black people attending their school once segregation was ended, or the "right" of men to be comfortable with women voting.  Comfort is not a right under the law.  I'm sure that years ago, white women boycotted the right of black women to change in the same locker room as them, and scores of parents and people in society supported those boycotts.  And the reasons are the same as they are today... a lack of knowledge and acceptance, and an abundance of intolerance.

For me, the bottom line is compassion.  We need to have compassion for people in difficult situations, instead of flouncing our ignorance.  Attempting to understand a person, and their situation, goes a lot farther, in my opinion, than fear-based judgments and decisions.  We all need to take a moment to put ourselves in each other's shoes, and the internet needs to calm the fuck down with the hate.  We all have the right to our own beliefs and morals.  We all have the right to stand up and fight for what we believe in.  However, none of us has the right to make another person feel like less than a person because of those beliefs.  It seems like common sense to me.  A little respect goes a long way! It's kinda like Thumper's mama said... If you don't have nuthin' nice to say, don't say nuthin' at all. So, internet... stop being a douchebag!

20 more fingers... 20 more toes!

It's been said at times that we were crazy having 3 kids in 3 years.  It's been said that we were crazy deciding to put Danny through university while we have three young kids at home.  It's been said that we were crazy selling and buying a house and moving ourselves all while putting Danny through university and having three young kids at home.  So it's settled, apparently... we are crazy!  But the craziest thing of all is about to happen...

Before I spill the secret, let's see if you can figure it out with some hints.  First of all, we're crazy!  Second, we're modifying this new house we're in to accommodate the temperature preferences of penguins and polar bears by putting in some heat pumps.  Next, we're stocking up on wine and beer in preparation for the new changes.  We're cleaning out a freezer in anticipation of all the extra icecream that will fill it.  And finally, Danny and I are listing and picking out all of our favourite date locations!

Have you guessed yet??

As you know, I run the Sunday School program for my church.  It's a program with between 80 and 100 kids, and I work very closely with the Wing Chaplain's Assistant to keep things running smoothly.  Unfortunately for me (but good for her), she is retiring in a few short weeks.  I have been preparing for her retirement for the last year, but have not been looking forward to losing her, especially since rumours were her position would not be filled.  

And then one day I got a phone call... rumours had changed.  Her position would be filled.  By one Mrs. Helen Fillmore!  My mom will be the new Wing Chaplain's Assistant.  Here.  In Greenwood!!  Which means (for those of you who haven't figured it out yet), that my parents are moving back!  And not just back.  This is where the crazy part comes in... they're moving in with us!

My mom's new job officially starts on August 17.  They still need to sell their house in New Brunswick, and my dad has to decide whether he will transfer to 14 Wing or just, finally, retire.  Either way, he will be joining us in the near future, too!

We haven't told the kids yet.  The girls are going to be so excited they wont know what to do with themselves.  Actually, they'll know exactly what to do... they'll say, "Nanny... can we have some icrecream??"  And Nanny will say "yes" of course.  Then they'll say, "Nanny... can we stay up late and watch TV?" And Nanny will say "yes" of course.  Then they'll say, "Nanny... can you buy us anything we want, whenever we want, and let us do whatever we want, even if mommy and daddy don't want us to?"  And Nanny will say, "Of course!"

Even though craziness will ensue, and it will take some adjusting getting used to having my parents here all the time, we are really looking forward to having them here with us.  Of course we will have to set some ground rules...  Like, there's more than one way to correctly load a dishwasher, dad!!  And that it's not okay to sneak the kids icrecream when we're not looking or we've specifically said no.  But I think it'll all work out... and of course, I always have the golden rule to fall back on... "As long as you live under my roof, you have to follow my rules!"

So everyone welcome the Fillmores back to Greenwood... it's been a long 5 years without them!!!

That Time That Shit Got Real...

Good morning, World!  It's 4:00 a.m., and I'm wide awake.  Last week, I discovered that mothers are awake at 3:00 for a variety of reasons, including movie-theatre-induced vomiting.  If you missed that story, I am so sorry... it was a good one!  This morning, I've added another reason why mothers may be awake in the middle of the f'ing night.  But let's back this story up a little...

... Grampy and Nanny (my mom and dad, for those of you new to this terminology) came to visit us for Ella's birthday weekend.  When they left, they took Charlie home with them since we intended to visit them over the long weekend in August, and thought it would be best that Charlie travel in style, with an entire backseat to herself, and an extra week with Nanny and Grampy.  We're kind, and considerate like that.

After Nanny and Grampy left, I had to start planning our trip to NB.  We wanted it to be a surprise for the girls, so during preparations we referred to "an adventure" we would be going on.  Over the course of preparing for this trip, I discovered something... packing and preparing for a family of five is much, much, different than when it was just Danny and I.  It's especially different when you're attempting to keep your destination a secret... and you have a 4-year old who wont stop asking questions.  But I did it.  I rocked the travel preparations.  I did all the laundry, cleaned the entire house, packed all the bags, and made a nutritious lunch for the drive.  I even fooled Nanny and Grampy into thinking we were travelling in the evening and, instead, surprised them by arriving at supper time.  The lack of warning backfired a little on me, because they apparently forgot to turn off the air-conditioners in the house, and the penguins were still hanging out in the living room.  See, my mother is old and apparently in "that stage of life" and thinks that she is melting all the time.  So she keeps the house at a brisk -1, and wears t-shirts and shorts.  My dad used to be normal like us, and combat the craziness of the cold... but sometime over the last four years, my mother has apparently assimilated him into also believing global warming is actually centrally located in their house.

So here we are.  At Grampy and Nanny's house in New Brunswick.  I love visiting because, let's be honest, I get to take a little break from being a parent.  Oh, you want a snack, Ella?  Go ask Nanny!  You want to play outdoors, Gracie?  I'm sure Grampy would love to take you!  Poopy bum, Jax?  Grampy!!  Tonight, the kids were all in bed, and Danny and I headed off to sleep too.  Danny, Jax, and I sleep in the two bedrooms in the basement, and the girls sleep upstairs in the bedrooms across from Nanny and Grampy.  At 12:35, I heard the click-clacking of doggy nails on the ceiling above me. Charlie, who normally sleeps beside Grampy, was apparently restless.  When the pacing didn't stop by 1:00, I figured it out... there's only one reason that dog paces in the middle of the night.  Thunder.  She may hear it an hour before us, but there's no mistaking the nervous prancing of a dog up and down the hall at 1:00 a.m. I headed upstairs in time to hear Gracie yelling, "Nanny!  Charlie wont get off my bed.  Nanny!! Nannnnnny!  NANNY!" I went into Gracie's room where, sure enough, the dog was sitting basically on her face, and panting so heavily the whole bed was shaking.  And then I saw the flash.  I told Gracie that Charlie was nervous because of the thunder and lightning and asked her if she wanted to see the lightning.  I knew that Charlie would not settle down until it was over, so I crawled into bed with the two of them, and Gracie and I watched the light show while Charlie panted and crawled all over the bed.

As a side note... who knew that a 4-year old talks as much at 1:00 a.m., as at 1:00 p.m.  Seriously, the kid would not shut up.  And I was tired, so Lord only knows what I agreed to or signed off on during that time, because she rambled on, and on, and on, and on....

So anyway, we finally made it to the other end of the storm. Gracie had fallen back asleep, and the dog had settled down. This was at 2:00 a.m.  For informational purposes, I heard tons of snoring coming from across the hall, so apparently Nanny and Grampy were not aware of the goings-on in their granddaughter's room (and this, ladies and gentlemen is who I was able to sneak many a suitor into my bedroom during highschool.  Kidding.  Seriously!).  At 2:00, I contemplated heading back to my bed... and then the panting started again.  Round 2!!  By 3:00, the dog was asleep, Gracie was asleep, and I was freaking tired.  I thought about just staying where I was, but smooshed between a clingy dog and a clingy child was not where I wanted to be.  So I shuffled the dog back to Grampy's room, and headed back downstairs.  When I reached the kitchen... I stepped in something.  Something disgusting.  And let's rewind here again...

... Last week, I was talking to Nanny on Skype, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: "Hi, Nanny!"

Nanny: "Hello? Are you there?"

Me: "Yes, I'm he..."

Nanny: "Hello? Can you hear me?"

Me: "Yes!  I can hear y..."

Nanny: "What!?!?"

Me: "Stop interrupting, Nanny!  Let me finish a sentence... also, the camera is pointed at the floor, mom.  Look at your screen... see the floor there in the corner.  Yeah, that's what your camera is pointed at.  Good.  Okay.  How are you? How's Charlie? How's the weather?"

Nanny: "I'm good... have a little frostbite on my fingers from the air conditioning, but I like it! Charlie's good.  The weather is hot and muggy.  I think they're calling for thunderstorms tonight."

Me: "Oh, really?  If it starts to thunder, make sure you watch Charlie very carefully.  She gets the nervous poops when it thunders and she will shit all over your floor.  Seriously, don't let her leave the room if it starts to thunder!"

... and back to 3:00 a.m.  So I stepped in a pile of runny, wet, dog shit. Because apparently my parents sleep like rocks and didn't hear the 25 minutes of pacing, or the rumbling thunder, and Charlie got the nervous shits all of the kitchen floor.  I washed my feet in the kitchen sink, observed the damage, looked at the clock, and thought.  Nope.  Not tonight.  Not at 3 a.m.  Not after scrubbing barf of a child and all sorts of surfaces just a few short nights ago.  Not after I just got motor mouth back to sleep, and the dog settled down, and everyone else was snoring away.  I'll just leave the kitchen light on, so my parents wont step on it in the morning like I had the pleasure of doing just now.  I'll help out with this mess when it's daylight.  Don't judge... it was 3 a.m. and I haven't been to sleep yet.  Oh yeah, and - sorry, Mom!!

I dragged my tired ass back to bed to discover that my parents are not the only ones who sleep through anything.  Not that this should be a surprise to any of you, but Danny was still dead asleep.  And sprawled across the entire bed... sideways.  There was no room for me.  And I still kind of smelled like poop, so I came back to the couch in the downstairs living room (because the upstairs smelled like poop, too!) and tried to fall asleep.  Except that, aside from the craziness of the air conditioning, my parents are also apparently crazy about clocks.  They have 4 of them that tick and tock and chime.  All f'ing night long.  The one down here is ticking right now.  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick (fuck you!) tock. Tick (no sleep for you!) tock. Also, it chimes every half hour.  The three upstairs can also be heard ticking and tocking, and also chime every half hour.  They all chime hourly, of course, and one even sings a lovely little song.  Except none of them have the same time.  So they're chiming all the god-damned time.  Just when I'm about to fall asleep... DING! 3:30! And then, DING! 3:36 (but the clock thinks it's 3:30). And now it's 4:16, and we're about to go through another round of dinging.  I'm going to try to fall asleep before then and maybe get an hour or two of rest... after all, I got some shit to clean up in the morning.

The Birthday Bullshit

Three years ago tonight, our little Miss Ella was born.  She came into this world as a force to be reckoned with, and she has yet to change that about herself.  She is the strongest-willed little person I've ever met, and I anticipate the older she gets, the stronger willed her wills will be! Yes as Shakespeare said, "Though she be but little, she is fierce."

I've heard that the 3's are much more terrible than the terrible 2's.  With Gracie, it has all been mostly easy-going.  But I'm pretty sure Gracie, or some shithead who hates us, talked to Ella and told her she is supposed to be her most horrible during this year of her life... and Ella, for once, listened. The last week has been the most challenging in our short parenting lives.  The attitude and stinky behaviour has seemed to grow exponentially each day.  I'm hoping it's due to the move, and the constant flow of visitors for the last few weeks, and that once we get back to our normal routine and expectations that some sense of normalcy will return to her behaviour.  Because if not, she may not make it to her 4th birthday in one piece!!

We had Ella's birthday party this past weekend.  And we had one for Jax last month.  And I've decided something... I freaking hate birthday parties.  I can't be the only one?  Probably not, but I'm sure I'm the only one who'll admit it out loud, cause I'm obnoxious like that.  But all the planning, and preparations, and cleaning, and money (oh! the money!!).  It's absolutely ridiculous!

So first of all, deciding who to invite is a challenge.  My kids actually know and enjoy a small handful of other children.  But then we have personal friends with kids their age, who we don't want to offend by leaving off the party list.  I was speaking with one parent who said she had to make cuts this year to her son's invite list because between daycare, pre-school, and soccer, she just couldn't have 30 kids at the party.  Yeah.  No shit!  The expectation that you be invited to a party because your kid happens to attend a program that the birthday kid is involved with is ridonculous!  And yet... the expectation is there!  Thank heavens, my kids aren't involved in anything right now (cause they're 3 and 4), so we don't have that added pressure yet - but I totally feel for the parents who get trapped into having birthday parties with 15+ kids... craaaazy!!

Okay, so let's say you do finally figure out the birthday invite list.  Then you're waiting for these parents to RSVP.  Does anybody out there know what RSVP means?  It's means RESPOND, s'ils-vous plait! There's a big difference between 4 kids and 14 kids at a party.  Mainly, the food!  And yeah, let's talk about that for a second!  A birthday cake to feed a ravenous group of kids is like $20.  Unless you get the icecream version, which is like $45.  Then there's snacks for the group.  Most parents these days would like healthy versions, which means fruit trays and veggie trays.  That shit is expensive, so this time I said f' that, and got chips.  That's right!  Chips and cheesies, my friends!  But still... that fried crap is not that cheap either!  You are usually expected to have juice too, so add on a few more dollars.  If you happen to hold the birthday party over lunch time hours, add on hotdogs for a BBQ, or a pizza or five.  And don't forget, kids this age don't stay at parties by themselves, so make sure you have enough to feed the parents, too!  Did you count how easily that food added up??

And the treat bags.  Let's talk about the treat bags shall we?  Even if you do a basic, candy-filled treat bag, you're looking at $40-$50 worth of junk.  And for what??  Thanks for coming to celebrate my kid's birthday, and here's a present for you?  Not to be horribly shitty, but it is my kid's birthday... so why am I the one handing out presents at the end?  Apparently it's tradition, but I honestly don't remember getting goodies to take home when I was a kid.  And we've been to birthdays where the kids not only leave with a treat bag, but with toys too.  Even if you get that shit at the dollar store (which, by the way, is now Dollar Plus - the bastards), it adds up so freaking fast!!  It's insane!  And it's almost expected, which makes it worse.  At Gracie's birthday party in January, I popped popcorn, put it in nice little decorated baggies, with a card that said "Thanks for Poppin' by my Party."  This time, I bought Pixie Stix, and decorated them to look like giant flowers.  Cost me $6.00 total (well $12, cause a bunch of people didn't RSVP, and I had to make sure I had something for them just in case - but hey, those Pixie Stix are mine now!!).  And I got to send home the kids with a stick full of sugar. Heh, heh, heh.

This year at Ella's party, I didn't plan any games or activities.  I sent the kids outside, where they played on the playset, and ran around in the sprinklers for two hours.  We had cake and chips, and glasses of water (yeah, I may have upset a little girl when I told her water was the only option to drink - but I forgot the juice!). Then we opened presents and went back outside to play.  The kids loved it!  We've gone to parties at Roos before, which my kids loooooved!  They always ask me for a party at Roos, and I always say "hellz no."  Respect to the parents that can afford that... but not us.  First of all, we just doubled our mortgage payment and then halved the number of money-earners.  Plus we have three kids.  And I just refuse to choose between Roos or booze.  Okay, so I only said booze because it rhymed, but seriously.  Birthday party?  Food?  Birthday party?  Food?  Easy choice for me.

Growing up, I remember having one birthday party.  It was a surprise birthday party, when I turned 16.  They were all late, so my mom yelled surprise and then we waited for the guests to show up! But that party was awesome.  I don't really remember any other parties when I was a kid, either for me or my friends.  I really feel like this birthday party bullshit has gotten way out of hand, like many other things with raising kids these days!!  It seems like the expectations of parents is to throw a party for every birthday.  Provide food, and games, and entertainment, and treat bags, and all things amazing.  But why?  What is wrong with spending time with your kids and making the day special, just you and them, and maybe a genuinely good friend of theirs - not the entire pre-school class of children whose names you don't know?  Pinterest is packed full of ideas for princess parties, minecraft parties (I still don't know what minecraft is, btw), Frozen parties, cowboy parties, and all of these extravagant ideas on how to make your child's birthday party the best one ever.  I call crazy!  Crazy, crazy, crazy!

These days, it seems we have to have the best of everything for our children.  Not that I don't love my children, but they certainly don't deserve the best of everything!  They deserve the best we can afford, and I don't just mean financially.  Emotionally too.  That means I would much rather spend my daughter's birthday doing our favourite things - going to the zoo, playing in the park, eating at a restaurant - and filling her day full of the best memories possible so that she remembers that we loved her and made her feel special.  My children don't deserve to have a party at Roos just because that's what everyone else is doing.  They don't deserve for me to rent a bouncy castle or two for the front yard and invite the whole neighbourhood over to play.  They deserve only love and awesome memories, and the best that we can do.   I've heard of parents taking out loans to ensure their kids stay in hockey, and a friend of mine told me how she just spent $600.00 on a prom dress for her daughter to go to... wait for it... grade 9 prom!  That's crazy!  This world has gone crazy with the things we are expected to do for our children, and perhaps I am old school, but I am really trying to not get sucked into it!

I think if we spent a little less time trying to fulfil our children's happiness with things, and spent more time filling them with memories our children would be a lot better off.  Put down the phone, and spend time, instead of money.  That's my goal, anyway.  Enough of this birthday bullshit (and in the future, prom bullshit)... we've got memories to make, and I don't need, or want, to spent hundreds of dollars to make them.  Next year, we'll aim to be party-free!  We'll spend time with the friends and family who really mean the most to us, and who don't need juice boxes and party favours!

Home Sweet Home

Whoa... is anybody still out there?  It's been almost two months since I've written, and I doubt if any of y'all are still reading.  I have a good excuse, kind of.  See, when I last left off, we were in the process of moving.  A lot has happened since then... and one thing has been plaguing me since the day we moved...

I've been sick.  Sick, sick, sick.  Danny woke up sick the day we moved, Jax became sick that weekend, and Ella and I got it the following week.  Everybody is back to normal.  Except for me.  I have been hanging onto this cough for well over six weeks now.  And if you rewind two years, you will recall that I stress fractured a rib and strained the interstitial muscles with a persistent cough much like this one.  Which is what I have done again, minus the stress fracture.  So basically, I spent three weeks coughing, fighting an on-again/off-again fever, and general fatigue, only to strain those muscles again (which is about 1000 times more painful than it sounds).  I've spent the last two weeks recovering from that nightmare, and am slowly starting to feel like I'm overcoming it.  I can sometimes cough standing up, instead of curled into the fetal position on the floor... and sneezing rarely makes me burst into tears.  So yeah, getting there!

Amidst all of that sick chaos, we moved into our new house.  The house we have been dreaming of!  The house that would finally solve all of our little-house problems and make our lives better.  Except, really, it's just another house.  Here are some ways the house was supposed to make our lives better... and what actually happened:

1.  More House = More Space

Duh.  We bought a bigger house, so we could have more space.  Except that we have basically left the bottom floor uninhabited.  It took us weeks to get it unpacked, and then we filled it full of visitors.  Which means since we left our 1800-square-foot little house, we have been living in the upstairs only of our 2400-square-foot big house.  Which is actually less space than our entire old house.  So basically, Bigger House + Refusing to Go Downstairs = Less Space.  Mortgage well spent.

2.  Girls Room Upstairs = A Happier Family

In our old house, the girls' room was downstairs while the rest of us were upstairs.  I didn't really mind it at the time, but I thought "wouldn't it be nice for us all to be together."  The answer, apparently, is no.  No it is not.  Because now I can hear them better.  I can hear the laughing and the giggling when I am supposed to be hearing snoring.  Once, Ella told my sister that her favourite thing about bedtime was that she got to say all the potty words she wasn't allowed to say during the day.  And now I can hear those potty words as she yells "Butt-crack!!" "Turdy Birdy!!" and "Gracie, look at my bum!!"  I often find myself encouraging them over and over again to go to sleep.  And of course, by "encouraging" I mean screaming "stop yelling and go to sleeeeeeeep!"  Girls Within Hearing Distance does not equal A Happier Family.  Just so you know.

3.  More Room to Play = Less Fighting

No.  Just no.  Naively, I believed with space to play, the girls would play lovingly and kindly with each other.  Nope.  They will still fight over 1 of the 328 toys in the playroom.  They will still sit basically on top of each other instead of giving each other space.  They will also fight in the playroom, in the hallway, on the stairs leading upstairs, in their room, in the bathroom(s), in Jax's bedroom, on the kitchen floor, in my closet, and basically everywhere else.  More Room to Play = More Spaces to Fight.  

4.  Moving into a Spotless Home = A Home Easier to Keep Clean

Also naively, I had told Danny,"It'll be different when we move into the new house.  All the clutter will be gone, so it'll be much easier to keep organized and clean!"  Organized, perhaps.  Clean?  Hell no.  While it used to take me 10 minutes to vacuum the little house, 10 minutes here barely does the kitchen and living room.  Also, since we lovingly welcomed the shedding furballs back into the house, there is also twice as much fur floating around to vacuum up.  And since our lovely littlest is now on the move and getting into everything, I also have to chase him around the big house and clean up all of his messes.  Tupperware, everywhere.  Snack cupboard, emptied. Tub toys, dumped.  Bigger House = Bigger Mess to Clean.  Plain and simple!

5.  New Neigbourhood = More Opportunities to Meet People

This is actually true.  We have met most of our closest neighbours, and it turns out they are awesome.  Our closest neighbours invite us over to use their pool, came to a BBQ at our house, and are always including us in their activities outdoors.  Another neighbour brings in all the garbage cans off the street on garbage day, and brought us over a box of freshly-picked strawberries... with the green parts already cut off!!  The neighbours and neighbourhood are awesome!  Just what we wanted.  Except I forget sometimes the proximity of our awesome neighbours.  In our little house, our neighbours were awesome, but not close enough to see in our windows.  In our new house, I have to remember to put pants on before coming out to the living room in the morning, lest one of them be walking up the street and wave to me through our front window.  Also, our side neighbour has a lovely view into our bedroom window, which Danny reminded me of one night while I was putting away laundry in my skivvies. Whoops.  Also, last weekend the kids were up early and we had company who slept late, so I took them outside to play at 8 in the morning, while still dressed in my nightshirt.  It didn't take me long to realize that this neighbourhood wakes up earlier than our last one.  There were people everywhere!  Waving, and saying hello... I had to go inside and get dressed, and put on some make-up, in case one of them come up the driveway to have a chat.

Now that we are finally settled in, fully unpacked, and getting into a routine though, it is clear that although the new big house hasn't fulfilled all of our unrealistic and naive hopes and dreams, it is definitely the best place to raise our family for the next four years!  We are very excited to be here, and to be able to call this place our new home sweet home!

We like to move it!

Did you hear we were moving?  After nine years together in this house, Danny and I made the decision to go bigger and better... and in less than two weeks, we become new home owners (again)!  It's crazy how much this house has shrunk in the last nine years.  When we first bought this home, four bedrooms seemed impossible to fill.  And yet, here we are, having completely outgrown our first house!  Knowing that we're here in Greenwood for at least another four years made the decision to move on so much easier.  I really wanted to be in a subdivision, where we could walk, bike, and play without fear of being run down by a car going 90+ km/hour.  We bought a 5-bedroom house in Ravenwood, which means we'll have room for my parents to visit, and a designated playroom.  Although it was not our first-choice house, it quickly became our top choice after losing out on our first love.  And we now love it.  We cannot wait to move.  In fact, have you seen that Scotiabank commercial about the couple who bought a house?  No?  Here it is...

Yeah, that's us... we drive by the house probably every day.  We often go out for drives, and we find ourselves passing by our house, picturing the kids out front, seeing what it looks like in the rain, in the 10 a.m. sun, in the 4 p.m. sun, at midnight with the lights off (kidding!).  We are totally stalking our house.  And since it's in a cul-de-sac, I'm sure that our car has been reported to the police.  So if you live in Ravenwood, and you see these weird people and their three kids driving around day after day, it's just us!  And we're falling in love with our subdivision, thank you very much!

So of course in order to buy a new house, we had to sell this one.  I thought that living with three kids in a house you're trying to sell was torture... everybody told me that once we sold it, we could relax.  We could stop living in complete cleanliness (not an easy task with kids!) and just live our lives.  Yeah... nope.  I have to say that living in a house that has been sold has been a thousand times worse!!  Because after you sell, you have to move.  When you're hoping to sell, everything is in it's place all the time!  Now that we're smack dab in the middle of packing, there is shit everywhere!  And I have three kids.  Not regular, grown up, helpful kids.  But toddlers. Three of them.  Three f'ing toddlers.  One of whom has a vocabulary that consists of "wa-duh?" (what's that), "dat!" (that) and six different versions of a grunt; one of whom has to be asked (told) to do things at least a million times before she'll even consider listening to you; and one of whom is 4 going on 14, and has been opposed to change since the moment she was born.  So packing has not been fun!

Today I packed a box of kids' toys.  When the girls came up from their nap and saw that I had packed their toys, they very suddenly became attached to every. single. thing. that was in that box.  Things they haven't looked at in months, they decided needed to be play with immediately.  And the fact that I refused to unpack the packed box... holy shitballs, ma!!  Gracie flung herself onto the floor and screeched, "It's not faiiiiiir!  I really, really, really wanted to play with that random playdough toy that I couldn't care less about but absolutely need to have right now."  Okay, so she didn't say that exactly, but seriously.  A playdough toy.

I packed up the kitchen last week, and since then we have single-handedly been causing the destruction of the planet. Every meal is served on a paper plate or plastic bowl, with a plastic cup, and plastic cutlery.  Breakfast, snack time, elevensies, lunch, afternoon snack, supper, after-supper snack, and late night snack... all with throw-away dishes.  It's horrible!  And not to mention incredibly annoying!  The plastic garbage bag fills up every day or so, and our paper plates stack the counter waiting to be taken out to the big compost bin.  There is crap everywhere, all the time!  Not to mention that I have decided it's easier to live off of chicken nuggets and chicken noodle soup for the forseeable future.  Cooking?  Ain't nobody got time for that!

I have yet to attempt packing the girls' room.  I'm hoping to get rid of them somehow for a day and pack everything up while they're gone.  They've made packing incredibly difficult, and every time I mention packing up the six-million stuffies on their beds, there is a meltdown of epic proportions.  I told them to pick their three favourites to keep with us, and Ella brought me 13.  Gracie brought me four, but one was a life-size Elsa doll (thanks, Nanny!) so apparently that didn't count.

Time doesn't mean a whole lot to my kids right now, and so when I try to explain that it's only a couple of more weeks and then we'll be back to normal, it might as well be months from now.  It's a rough time for them, seeing their whole lives packed up in a box, and thinking it's vanishing forever.  It's a tough time for me, packing all this shit we've collected over the last nine years, whilst attempting to entertain three toddlers. Ha ha ha.  Entertain?  Keep alive!  That's my goal for the next two weeks.  Don't kill the kids!  Get the house packed, and remember to feed the children.  Oh, have I told you Jax's new favourite obsession?  The toilet.  He now sneaks into the bathroom, closes the door, and plays in the toilet.  Have I told you Ella's new disgusting habit?  Forgetting to flush the toilet.  This is where my "attempt to keep the kids alive" comes into play.  Their two disgusting habits have yet to meet... and I'd kind of like to keep it that way.  But, no promises!

So if you see me out in public over the next couple of weeks, and my eyes look a little hazy (or crazy), the kids are a mess and smell a little funny, and I'm slightly incoherent, at least now you know why.  Moving is crazy!  Moving with three kids is crazier!  But I know that 3 weeks from now, when the new house is all unpacked, and we're settling into our new home, it'll be totally worth it... as long as I can manage to get us all there alive!! :)

Expectations...

You know, it still surprises me sometimes how parenting is somehow an open debate amongst people.  Mommies seem to be the worst to each other, but I see nasty comments on every parenting article I've ever read, on parenting help forums, and in my daily Facebook feed.  Danny and I have a somewhat old-school view on parenting... our kids play outside alone (I can hear them from the open door or window - and check up on them frequently from a distance), they are not allowed in or on our bed unless invited in, they stay in bed until "the sun comes up" (on their alarm clock) even if they are awake before that, and we don't watch TV unless it's the weekend.  I can tell you that the choices we make as parents are some of the ones getting slammed most frequently.  There have been many times I've read comments telling me how I'm destroying my children's chances at a normal, healthy life.  How my children will die a horrible, unsupervised death, because I don't love them enough.  I even hear the "jokes" from my friends telling me how I'm a nazi parent, super strict, selfish, and how uneducated we must be for our choices.

But here's the thing... I have 3 healthy, happy (for the most part), well-adjusted children.  I have been told from numerous people how well-behaved my children are.  I have people ask me all the time, how I can take three children to church (alone) and sit in the front row, where everyone can see us.  I have people stop me in the grocery store to tell me how polite and friendly my kids are.  And every day, and every night, my kids hug me, kiss me, and tell me they love me.  And, ultimately, isn't that the goal of raising children?

I had a woman stop me in church last week and ask me how I get my children to behave in church.  After all, we are stuck to a tiny pew, for over an hour.  Not to mention that, since I run the Sunday School program before church, my kids have been out of the house and on the go since roughly 8:30 every Sunday morning.  By the time church starts, they have already been "behaving" for 3 hours.  She said, how do you do it?  And I told her... "My kids are expected to behave."  And she laughed.  Said, "Oh yeah, like that really works."  But it does, for us at least.  My kids are expected to have good behaviour.  And anything less than that just isn't tolerated.  They are not allowed to yell or scream in church.  They're not allowed to run up and down the aisles.  They're not allowed to fight with each other.  They're not allowed to be rude or disrespectful to me, each other, or anybody else. The same rules apply for everywhere we go, and at home too.  And perhaps that's the difference for my kids... they are expected to act the same way at home as they do in public.  Being in public does not mean special behaviour from my children. They need to be just as kind, polite, and respectful at home as they are when we are out where people can see us.  So behaving is a not a new concept for them, something we bring out only for special occasions.

I understand that my children are still considered "toddlers." After all, Ella is not yet 3 and Gracie is barely over 4.  But from the time they could understand language (which is a lot younger than most people think), our expectations have been very clear.  Be kind, be polite, and be respectful.  Any behaviour contrary to those expectations is corrected.  Whether it's at 9:00 in the morning and we're playing in our living room, or it's 4:30 in the afternoon and we're shopping at the grocery store.  The expectations remain the same, and our corrections remain consistent.  If the girls are downstairs playing and they treat each other unkindly, rudely, or disrespectfully, then that behaviour is addressed, and proper consequences will follow.  Sometimes that's a quick chat about how to talk more kindly to a sister.  Sometimes it's a time-out for being rude.  But always, it is addressed.

I'm not saying that my kids don't misbehave.  That they don't act like 2 and 4-year olds.  They do, they definitely do.  Ella has an issue with listening, and thinking that she runs this house and can do whatever she wants.  And Gracie is 4, going on 16, and her attitude can be out of this world!  But we are consistent, and we are insistent. "We don't do rude" is a saying my kids hear often.  If rude words are spoken, then they need to be re-spoken, politely.  If Ella is unkind, she gets a "No, m'am.  That is not a nice way to ask for that toy.  Please try again."

The thing is, being consistent can be exhausting.  It can be so easy to pretend I don't hear the nasty talk going on downstairs.  It can be easier to shuffle my kids through the grocery store without addressing bad behaviour and possibly having to dole out a time-out in the cracker aisle.  But easier is not consistent, and being inconsistent doesn't enforce our rules... be kind, be polite, be respectful.

I can take my kids to a birthday party and know that they will be polite, and kind, and respectful of other children.  In fact, when we are at a birthday party recently, Gracie got plowed over by a child who was not being respectful and ended up with a nasty gash on her elbow.  I took her outside to calm down, and she said to me, "I know that boy didn't mean to knock me over, but even when we hurt someone not on purpose, we should still say we are sorry.  I think that boy needs to tell me he's sorry."  And she was absolutely right about that.  But she didn't get an apology, or any acknowledgement at all, and her feelings were hurt because "that's not kind, mommy."  They are very much aware, even at this young age, how their behaviour affects others and how feelings can be hurt when they choose to act unkindly, rudely, or disrespectfully.

They are not too young to be taught.  They are not too young to understand.  So when people ask me how I get my kids to behave in public, and I say "it's because it's expected of them," I am not being a horrible, strict, awful parent.  I am being consistent with our rules, inside and outside of our home.  Kids are never too young to be taught kindness, or politeness, or respectfulness and they are never too young to be reminded and encouraged that those are lessons we need to follow no matter where we are, or who we are with.  We have tons of fun with our kids inside and outside of the house.  We play, we make huge messes, we laugh, and yell, and screech.  And we make mistakes, of course.  But correcting mistakes does not make me a "nazi parent." It makes me responsible for the behaviour of children who are still learning and need guidance.  And it makes me damn proud when someone compliments my girls on their attitudes and behaviour.  It makes me confident that my children will have the skills needed to be kind, to be polite, and to be respectful, not only at this young impressionable age, but also as they grow up and go to school, high school, parties, events, work, and everywhere else where kindness seems to be a little bit lacking these days.  I'm hoping that by being consistent with our rules now, maybe my children will be able to teach and carry on those important lessons that seem to be forgotten by children and adults alike.

I'm not an awful parent.  At least, not for this.  

3,650 Days Later...

This is it... today is the day!  Today marks the 10th anniversary of the first time Danny and I went out together!  A decade... a 10th of a century...120 months... 3,650 days.  It's been a long time, baby!

We met when I was 19, and he was 21.  We were young, and pretty, and much hairier back then.  We met first at a bar.  Where we spoke 10 words to each other, and then Danny stared at my behind when I left.  We met next at a friend's house, where we had shots of "holy water" to toast the newly-passed Pope John Paul II.  Then came the date.  It was April 6, 2005.  Danny pulled into my driveway (my parent's driveway, really.  Cause I still lived at home).  He had his white Ford Taurus, with the red velvet interior.   My niece, Jessica, was 2 at the time.  She was watching out the window with me.  I kissed her goodbye, started out the door, and then the car pulled away! "Wait, boy!!!" Jessica yelled. "Your forgot my Aunt Sammy!"  Apparently, Danny thought he had the wrong house.  He came back though, and we proceeded on our first date.  Ah, the first date.  We went to Caps in Kentville, and played some pool.  I almost beat him.  Except that, I found out later, Danny was quite the pool shark in his day, and actually just let me sink a few balls.  Then we went to the movies.  To see "Guess Who." After the movie, we drove around for a while, and then he took me home.  Such a gentleman.

  

And the rest, as they say, is history. 

We dated, and fell in love.  Aww.  I moved away, and we did the long-distance thing for a while.  I moved home.  We moved in.  We bought a house.  We got engaged after 3 years, married after 4.  We went on a honeymoon cruise in the Caribbean.  We decided we wanted kids... and took care of that over the next 4 years together.  3 kids, aged 3 and under.  Some people said we were crazy.  They were probably right.

But here we are, 10 years later.  About to sell our first home in order to move into something that will fit our family for the next 5-10 years.  We never could have predicted when we moved into this house 9 years ago that we would outgrow it... but since then our little family has grown by 3 people, a cat, and a dog.

We've been through a lot, these last 10 years.  Dating, marriage, and now three beautiful kids.

Looking back, 10 years doesn't seem like a lot of time... and yet we've accomplished so much together!  So tonight we drink, not because the kids are driving are us crazy, but in celebration of a decade of togetherness, and in hopes of another decade to come! xox

Love is the answer,

at least for most of the questions in my heart, like
Why are we here? and Where do we go?
and How come it's so hard?
It's not always easy,
and sometimes life can be deceiving.
But I'll tell you one thing,
It's always better when we're together!

I'm from here...

Random person at get-together: "So, we just got posted here from Comox, and I have to say, this is the shittiest shit hole we've ever been.  This place is, like, horrible.  And the people?  OMG.  Total hicks.  You should hear them speak.  They speak so weird!   And have you heard about the South Mountain?? Like, wow!!  So, where are you from?"

Okay, so maybe the dialogue isn't exactly like that... and maybe they're not always from Comox (but, in case you didn't know, Comox is the most amazing place on earth, just ask someone from there!) but the conversations I find myself involved in as a military wife often go a lot like that.  I usually try to keep quiet, and refrain from hick-popping them in the head (let's make that a real thing!), until they ask that inevitable question... and then my answer is usually enough to shock them into silence.

Me: "I'm from here.  And by the way, it's scallllop."

Can I just say that I personally think that Valley peeps are some of the friendliest around?!  I mean, I'm fucking friendly!!!  And the Valley is awesome!  Sure, a lot of us try to escape it, but I think we all desperately miss it, and truly love it deep down.  I moved away once... for a whole 10 months.  And then I came back, and have been here ever since!

I grew up in a military family, but I was lucky enough to spend my entire life here in Nova Scotia.  I was born at the (old) Kentville hospital, lived in Upper Clements until I was 6, and then spent the rest of my life in Kingston.  I met Danny when I was 19, at the time when we still went to the Top Hat on Friday  nights, and the atmosphere there between military and "local" folks was pretty disturbing.  I'm sure Danny has had to defend his dating - and then marrying - a local girl more than once.

I understand that getting posted here from somewhere more exotic may be a culture shock.  But it also seems like people these days are so judgy.  They have their minds made up before they get a chance to really know a place.  Or a person, for that matter.  Any place is only as good as you make it.  Danny and I could be posted to the North Pole, and have to live in an igloo, but I know that as long as we support each other in a positive way, we'd get along just fine... I mean, we'd probably fight because I'd always be turning up the heat, and he'd be leaving the igloo window open, but we'd still make the best of it!

The Valley (and Greenwood) has so much to offer!  Beautiful views, spectacular drives, and hey! we even have a Walmart now!!   Anyway, the moral of this story is... I'm from here.  And here is awesome!

Back to the Blog... Oh, how I've missed you!

I'm baa-aaack!  It's been a long, lonely two months without you, Mr. Blog!  So many stories lost and forgotten, so many teachable moments, never to be shared.  You see, I broke my computer a while ago... the screen lost the thing-a-ma-jiggy that keeps it open on its own.  So I had to rest the screen against something to keep it open.  The wires were exposed, and it was a precarious situation... and of course, one night I knocked the screen off the box of wine it was resting on, and apparently severed some sort of wire inside the thing that made it possible to connect to the internet.  The only time I had internet access was when I was sitting directly in front of our wireless router.  And thus, the death of my laptop.  It was now a floppy, useless tool.  I was forced to used my tablet thing-a-ma-jiggy to blog, and that was not working for me, since I type 100+ words per minute, and it was a touch screen. Even after my parents got my the connectable keyboard thingy (can you tell how much I love technology) for Christmas, it was much better, but still unable to keep up with my fingers.  Not to mention, the screen was only 8 inches, and, let's admit it ladies, 8 inches just isn't enough!

But now I have a very pretty, shiny, new, blue laptop.  And when I type, letters appear.  Like, all of them!  It's fantastic.  So I can write again!

But where to start... where. to. start.  You've already missed so much!  Gracie's ongoing conversations with God.  Her 4th birthday.  The 238 times Ella has told us about her last birthday party, and about her coming birthday party.  That's right, 238 times.  Cause she talks about it every freaking day.  And it's been 238 days since her birthday!  There has been so much excitement!  So much asshole-ness from the kids!  So many new things learned by the little mister. And I can hardly remember any of them.  Apparently mommy-brain is in full swing, because I can barely remember to feed the kids these days!

It seems like it's been such a long, cold winter!  I know the snow didn't officially start until the end of January, but it seriously feels like we've been house-bound for months!  I cannot wait to start seeing some green grass.  Or even some brown dirt.  I'd even settle for the piles of dog poop buried under the snow!  I love winter, but I'm done with this shit.  Except, of course, for the 25+ centimetres they're calling for on Tuesday.  Then, seriously, I'm done!

One thing I've noticed this winter, with the girls not being in daycare, is the lack of plague-like illnesses around our house.  Except that one time that Nanny visited and brought all the sick germs with her, we've managed to avoid so many of the winter-time illnesses that we've gotten used to over the past four years.  After Nanny left that time, Ella got sick, and poor Jax got sick, but Gracie managed to avoid it.  Ella has yet to yarf, ever, and I think we've avoided the flu again this year (yay!).  Jax had a nasty, congested cold, and of course being too young to know how to blow his nose, it was a solid two weeks of nastiness running down his face.  Then, two weeks ago, Jax and Gracie both spiked fevers out of nowhere, Jax's man-cold came back, and poor Gracie had one nasty barfing episode and then felt fine (except for the 3 days of unexplained fever).  Jax stayed miserable for about 5 solid days... and I hid at my sister's house during the days to have back-up for the nasty attitude.  Babies are so much easier to tolerate in their miserableness when you have witnesses around.  Plus, my kids think Aunt Tricia is so simple and entertaining, and she can make even the crankiest of kids laugh!

After 5 solid days of crying and whining, I considered taking Jax to the doctor to have him checked out.  Except that on day 6, he woke up and was feeling much better... or so I thought!  The day his whining stopped was also the day I noticed his appetite slowed.  On Tuesday, he only drank about half his usual amount of formula.  On Wednesday, he barely finished any of his bottles, and only picked at his food.  On Thursday, he refused to drink his afternoon and evening bottles, and hardly ate any real food.  On Friday, he wouldn't drink any bottles, and would only eat strawberries and bananas..  When he woke up Saturday morning with a mostly-dry diaper, I knew I had to get the little man to the hospital.  I'm a fantastic potty-trainer, but not even I would take credit for a 9-month old not wetting through the night.  I tried to give him his usual morning bottle, and he screamed and screamed and screamed.  I woke up Danny, told him we were headed to the hospital, and off we went.

To make a long story short, our littlest man had a very nasty double ear infection, and his throat was raw and sore.  The doctor said every time he tried to swallow, pressure would build up in his ears, and cause excruciating pain.  Hence, the refusal of any sort of bottle, fluid, or food.  The good news was that when Jax cried, he cried tears, which meant he wasn't dehydrated.  Yet.  The doctor was very concerned about the lack of wet diapers, and his refusal of any food or drink.  She dosed him up with some pain medication, and offered freezies.  Apparently, even the sickest and crankiest of babies love frozen sugar!  He ate three freezies, and the doctor told me she would let me take him home.  She gave strict instructions on diet (liquid only for the next three days - freezies, soup, gatorade, watermelon, and jello), and gave 10 days of antibiotics, and motrin for pain every 8 hours, day and night, for three days.

We are now at the end of day three, and I would say Jax is just about back to his normal self.  Saturday evening, he had his first wet diaper, which made me dance and sing a pee-song.  Today, he started pooping again.  I did not dance about this... it's been 6 poops... enough already!  He took his first bottle yesterday evening, and has had all of them so far today.  Believe it or not, this is our first experience with an ear infection, the other two have not had the pleasure.  The worst thing about being a baby, is it's hard to tell if he's getting teeth, just being a pain in the ass, or is in genuine pain.  He can't tell us, and by the time we realized that it was not just regular fussiness, he was on the verge of dehydration, and nearly admitted to the hospital.   Thank heavens he recovered quickly and is back to his usual self!

Oh!  In all of the chaos that has been this winter, this little boy also turned 9 months old! Crazy how time flies!  He is scooching all over the place (we've never actually seen him scooch, but every time we look up, he's in a different location), pulls himself up to the furniture, waves, claps, and stands by himself (until he realizes, of course, that he's standing by himself - then he falls).  He'll be on the move soon enough, and I can't wait!  He is adorable, super chatty, and is the chillest of all my babies.  Speaking of my other babies... they are a little less adorable these days!  I have one smack dab in the middle of the terrible-twos, and one who is four.  I don't think there's a title for the terrible-fours, but I'ma create one.  Next time.  For now, we can focus on the adoreableness of the little mister!  :)

At the hospital, waiting for his freezie!

After some pain medication and a few freezies, he was feeling much, much better!

Some fresh paint...

Well, I did it.  Kind of.  I got up off my butt and started my renovations.  I completely overhauled my bedroom, got it all cleaned out, and freshly painted, and rearranged everything to make it look more spacious.  Easy, peasy.  Except it wasn't.  It sucked.  And I learned a few things along the way.

 

An old photo, but shows the position and kind-of colour of the room.

 

First of all, never attempt to paint a room that is full of your belongings.  It's just a bad idea.  Of course, my room was full of my belongings, so I didn't take my own advice.  For 4 days, we lived in a pile of crap, covered with towels, and had to climb over and around paintbrushes, stir sticks, cans of paint, and those tray things that the paint goes in.  Every morning I would pile all the crap on the bed in an effort to make walking around the furniture easier.  And every night I would pile all of the crap onto the floor in an effort to make sleeping easier.  So, yeah.  Paint a room when it's empty.  Much. Easier.

 

Second of all, don't paint your walls a dark chocolate brown.  I mean, totally do it if you never ever ever plan to paint over it.  Cause dark chocolate brown has been incredibly relaxing and comforting for the last 9 years.  But it's a bitch to paint over.  Thank goodness the lady at Home Hardware tinted my primer blue (to match the paint that was going over the chocolate) because it was a lot less coats.

 

So cozy, and warm... and so freaking dark!!

 

 

Third... don't paint your ceiling a lighter colour brown in an effort to make your room more cozy.  I mean, totally do it if you never ever ever plan to paint over it.  Cause it really does make your room more cozy.  But painting ceilings is a bitch.  And it makes you cry in pain for 2 days after you've finished painting because standing with your hands above your head while staring at a ceiling for a full day is apparently not a position your muscles will thank you for.  In fat, they will scream at you.  Usually at 4 in the morning.

 

See that smile?  It's cause my arms have only been over my head for 15 minutes!

 

Fourth... always enlist help when painting.  It makes the crazies stay away.  Because locking yourself in a paint fume-filled room by yourself for 4 days will make you crazy.  Having someone helps you means that when you cuss, they'll cuss too, and you can gossip the time away and then painting doesn't seem to suck nearly as much.  It helps too if they're not very good at panting, because then you can blame all the little mistakes on them (sorry, Tricia!).

 

My helper (by the way, she actually turned out to be a pretty decent painter!)

Having a helper means I can take more breaks.  Spinach smoothie, anyone??

 

And finally, never ever ever paint, unless you absolutely have to.  Because after you paint, you will have to paint baseboards.  Which will put white paint on your freshly painted walls.  Which you will then have to paint over with blue.  Which will then put blue on your freshly painted baseboards.  Which you will have to paint over with white.  Which will then put white on your freshly repainted blue walls.  And the crazy cycle will continue until you finally scream, "For the love of God, Danny, I can't do this anymore, I'm finished.  I'm finished!  Holy crap, get this paint brush out of my hand before I throw it at my freshly painted walls!!" Not that I yelled that.  Cause I'm not a crazy paint lady.  I swear.

 

Painting over the mini-mistakes, with the mini-paintbrush.  That's my "F-you" face!

 

 

So that's it.  The bedroom is finished.  All painted.  All done.  Thank God and praise Jesus!  Wait.... what? There are still 6 rooms to scrub, and three areas to paint?  Excuse me now, while I go cry in my paint tray...

 

All done, and officially lightened up.  As per the agent's request! :)

And totally de-cluttered!!



"Ta-da!! Now get me a drink!!"

 

It's a New Year... and I'm tired already!

Hey, it's a new year!  Okay, we're already two weeks into the new year... but does it count that I started this blog on the 1st of January?  I was going to write about all my hopes and dreams for the coming year.  All the resolutions I've made.  And how I'm going to actually keep them.  Except, it's two weeks into the new year, and I already know how some of those things turned out.

 

My main resolution for the new year?  Be a happier, "better" person.  Being a stay-at-home mom has given me a case of the grumps.  My little people are awesome, but I crave some intellectual stimulation.  The problem is that by the time the little people are all in bed, the mess is tidied, and I have a moment to stimulate my intellecualness (yes, that's a word...), I'm tired.  So I plop my bum down on the couch and Netflix it for the night.  My goal was to stop that.  I was going to stimulate my brain so I could be more energetic, and smiley, and get shit accomplished.  Yeah, that is not going well.  I keep telling myself, "Tomorrow you can.  Tonight you can rest."

 

That seems to be my main barrier in this "better" person goal.  I'm tired.  Crap.  Three kids is tiring.  Being home with three kids all freaking day is tiring.  Cleaning up after three kids is tiring.  Being in charge of three kids' intellectual stimulation is tiring.  Ugh, I'm tired just writing about how tiring it is.  I don't have enough energy to pretend to be a better person.  I think that was my real goal anyway, to pretend to be a better person.  Cause, let's be honest.  At my age... there's no changing who I am.  But I can change how people can perceive me.  I can pretend to be a happier bitch, instead of just a regular bitch. But I don't have the energy for that.  Instead, I still snap at my kids the same number of times in a day.  I still roll my eyes at my husband the same number of times.  I still plop my bum down on the couch and Netflix it, instead of washing the baseboards, or folding the laundry, or any other number of things a "good" person would do.  Ain't nobody got the time, or energy, for that crap.

 

Okay, lots of people have time for that crap.  And I hate those people. Damn it, that wasn't very "good" of my to say was it?  And now, on top of all my self-loathing and laziness, I have a house to get ready to sell.  It's supposed to be ready for the market by the end of January.  The last time I checked, I had 10 weeks.  That's now down to 2.  Crap.  I did get the kitchen floor replaced.  Well, I begged my father and grandfather to come down, and they got the kitchen floor replaced.  But I did empty the entire house of crap and shove it in a storage locker!  And, I spray painted the house numbers by our front door.  So I've gotten a few things accomplished.  And I still have two weeks, right?  So in the next two weeks, I have to paint my bedroom, paint the living room, paint the entry-way, paint the downstairs hallway, paint the mudroom, replace the kitchen faucet (which has decided now is a good time to leak), replace the bathroom faucet (which hasn't stopped leaking since the day we bought the damn thing but, again, we're too lazy to uninstall and return), frame the bathroom mirror (because Pinterest has convinced me that is a much better idea than replacing the mirror), and clean the entire house from top to bottom, including all the nooks and crannies I've been neglecting for the last 8 years.  No big deal.  Have I mentioned I'm also responsible for the health and well-being of three children while all of this is going on?  Still.  No big deal.  I work well under pressure.  I think...

 

I'm a perfectionist and a procrastinator, so some day this house will look amazing and ready to sell!  Not today though.  I'm tired.  Kids are tiring. Three kids are exhausting.  Plus it's Sunday, the day of rest.  Unless you run a Sunday School program.  In which case, it's the day you get up at the ass-crack of dawn, make sure you and your spawn are out the door by 8:30, and don't return home until after 1:00, after spending the previous hours, you know, running a program.  But I'm off topic here.  The point is...  well, I don't remember.  Cause I'm tired. 

 

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow is the day I will start being a "better" person.  I'll start by not yelling at my kids all day.  Then I will accomplish one, no, two! things on my to-do list.  We will eat healthy meals all day, because that is another resolution of ours.  And I will exercise.  Not the usual exercise of chasing three kids, but real exercise... with a sports bra and everything.  Probably in front of the TV, and possibly from a seated position on the couch.  We'll see.  Tomorrow will be the start of my new year.  Maybe. We'll see how tired I am in the morning.