I used to be a writer...

Back in the day, I used to be a writer.  You know, before there were three Ford babies in my life.  Before we moved out of our tiny little home into this big beautiful home.  Before Grampy and Nanny Fillmore moved in.  Before I stopped sleeping through the night.  Before I started smelling other people's bums to check for poo.  Before I started showering with the curtain open so little people could stare and point and ask questions about my boobs. Before I caught another person's barf in my own hands while singing a lullaby. Before I shopped mostly for "red" milk instead of beer. Before wine became a 7:00 necessity.  Before sleeping in meant being woken up at 7:15.  Before Cheerios became an accessory to the kitchen floor, the living room couch, and my purse.  Before I wiped boogers from a child's nose with my bare hands and wiped it on my own pants. Basically, before I became a mom.

 

Before all of that, I used to be writer.  Not a great writer.  Not even a decent writer.  But I used to write.  I used to write here, on this blog.  I used to make people laugh.  I used to write poetry.  I used to write love letters.  I used to write long, eloquent emails to long-lost and dear friends.

 

Now, I don't write.  Not nearly as much as I should.  Not nearly as often I would like.  And not anywhere close to the quality of words that I know I should be able to string together.  These days, I think about writing, and then life gets in the way.  These days, I think how I could spin a Gracie-story into a humerous blog entry, and think "Fuck it, I'll Facebook that shit." My writing, which used to be my escape, and something that kept my brain and soul happy, has been reduced to 6-line "She said/I said" anecdotes on social media.

 

Before, I would craft Christmas cards and write meaningful messages to our family and friends.  Now, I buy Christmas cards, write something beautiful like "Wishing you joyfulness and joy this joyous time of the season of joy" and forget to put them in the mail.

 

Before, I would craft emails to friends pages long.  I would tell stories about the silly clients at work, the adventures I'd had over the weekend, and the great things going on in my life.  Now, I send a text that says "Lady - I know I suck.  It's been forever.  What's up?!?"

 

Before, I would text Danny during the day, saying "Hi lover face, I've been thinking about you.  Can't wait to see you tonight!  I've been looking forward to dinner and a movie all week.  Love you, oh so much! xox". Now, I send texts of desperation: "Need tea." or "OMG - the girls won't stop whining!  Make. It. Stop."

 

Yes, I used to be a writer.  Before life happened.  Now, I have three crazy, amazing, and exhausting kids.  I have Gracie - the kid who can ask a million questions, and desperately wants all the answers.  I have Ella - the kid who I'm pretty sure is made up of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, as well as a sprinkle of sugar and spice.  And I have Jax - the most amazing little boy with the biggest attitude of all the Ford children.  I have a full-time job called motherhood, and a husband who is now a university student.  I also have these adorable other children that I borrow during the day to keep my kids (and me) entertained.  I have a 5-bedroom house that needs to be cleaned, and organized, and lived in.  I have a neurotic puppy dog who sucks the soul out of us with her craziness, but who still needs to be loved, and walked, and belly-rubbed.  I have all of this craziness in my world that prevents me from being able to form coherent thoughts, let alone write words in a sentence that make sense.

 

But I wouldn't change it.  I love my crazy, hectic, exhausting little life.  I adore my kids, even though they cause me to cry, whine, and yell at them.  I love the fact that my husband is in university, even though computer-talk is (unbelievably) more boring and confusing than plane-talk.  I love being a stay-at-home mom, even though I miss real adult conversation and believe this is the ultimate reason my brain has stopped working as a writer's brain should.  And even though it's been a rough couple of years for my writing brain, I feel like I'm coming out the other side of it.  Life has been crazy, and hectic, and absolutely exhausting.  But lately, I've been wanting to pick up a pen - okay, a keyboard - again and write.  Instead of thinking, "screw it" when something pops into my brain that I want to write about, I've been thinking, "maybe you should!"

 

I even started reading a book this week.  It has been over 2 years since I've read a book.  Okay, maybe that part's not true.  After all, I've read to you.  And you, and you, and you there too.  I've read a book the whole way through.  The books I've read all kind of rhyme.  And don't take up too much time.  Yes, I guess it is fair to say, I've read a book almost every day!  Dr. Seuss, and Karen Katz, they both know where kid books are at.  But seriously, I picked up a real book - one written for adults - this week and have actually started reading it.  Got through the first 6 chapters and everything.  So if I can start to read, and have my brain absorb the words, maybe - just maybe - I can start to put those words back out there in the form of writing.

 

I've spent the last year since we've moved in slowly, oh so slowly, unpacking, decluttering, and organizing our lives.  I feel like I'm at a point, finally, where I don't feel consumed by clutter and stuff.  And having less clutter and stuff in my home, has ultimately lead to me feeling like there is less clutter and stuff in my brain.  When I think of writing now, whole sentences begin to form in my head.  Not just one or two words, scattered amongst worries of where the kids need to be and when, and panic about whether or not I'm screwing up their lives, but actual real sentences.  Whole thoughts and ideas I want to get out.  And that is very exciting for me to feel again.

 

It's going to take a while, I think, before I'm comfortable with writing again.  Before writing becomes a priority for me once more.  But I'm excited to be on this journey again.  I used to love to write.  And though it's been on the back burner - behind sleep, and kids, and family, and life - I really hope I can become a writer again.  I have lots to say, and some pretty incredible kids who keep me up to my elbows in stories to share.  I'm going to try to start to write again... so please, bear with me while I find my word groove once again!

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!