Epiphany in a Change Room

I sat on the dressing room bench of the department style clothing store and dubiously surveyed the pile of clothes beside me.  I sighed and began the process of trying on item after item of clothing, avoiding the mirror in between becoming clothed in each piece.

When I heard a teenaged girl's voice in the next stall say the words, "This doesn't fit me..."  shamefully my mood rose.  Someone's else's clothes don't fit - must be too small just like those jeans I tried on...

..."it's way too big.  I need a size zero."

A size ZERO.  Why this size even exists in this world completely baffles my mind.

Zero equals nothing does it not?  So if you're wearing a size zero what exactly does that mean?!  It's bonknuts that's what that is.

A few minutes later she comes out of her dressing room stall as her Mom and sister watched on (I'm assuming this as I stayed in the comfort of my own dressing room since there was a perfectly good mirror in there and I was by myself) and upon seeing herself in the mirror she exclaims, "Oh my GOD.  I look so fat!  I look like a tank!"

Can someone please explain how someone the size of nothing could possibly look like a 100,000 pound tank?!

What was even more disturbing was the fact that her Mother said nothing about her calling herself a fat tank. She murmured a few things but let me tell you, if that was MY daughter saying those things about herself I would shut that down fast and furiously.

I don't have daughters.  But I do have two sons'.  Same thing would go for them if they ever said those words about themselves (unlikely but still possible).

Yes we as women (and men too) have our insecurities.  It's normal and fairly unavoidable as we are flawed beings and I'm not speaking about being physically flawed. Sadly due to the ridonkulousness of society we've come to the very unhealthy thinking that if we have thighs that touch or sticky outty belly or cellulite there is something wrong with us.  There is nothing wrong with us.  Of-course we have our days where we haven't made the greatest food choices or haven't been active or are feeling bloated and not our best. This is all perfectly normal. Sitting in that change room I was hugely guilty of feeling not so good about my body even though there really isn't anything to be ashamed about. If I were 10 lbs thinner I'd still have something that irked me if I'm being honest. So who cares!?  Who.Cares.  Talking about your physical imperfections is pretty damn borrrring.  No one wants to hear about how much you hate your body, how fat you look, feel, are.  Believe me when I say NOBODY.  It's annoying, boring and cringe inducing so quit it.

Instead let's focus about what our bodies can do and have done.  Set some goals for yourself.  I could list mine but how about you start by listing your own?  What have you done with that awesome body of yours lately?  Biked a few miles.  Awesome.  Raced your kids?  Fun times.  Ran a half marathon?  Huge accomplishment.  Sex with your significant other?  Pretty damn fun. Worked out at the gym?  Good for you - how great do you feel now!  Played hopscotch?  A lot harder now than when you were a kid!  Moved some furniture?  Impressive.  Cleaned your house from top to bottom?  Good workout and productive!  Gave your child a piggy back or a horsey ride?  Memories for both of you.  Some gardening?  Surprisingly physical!  Walked your dog?  Exercise and therapy rolled into one.  Birthed children?  Most amazing physical feat EVER.

Next time you feel the need to complain about the beautiful body you have, stop and remember the amazing things it can, has and will do.  

Like I always tell my son when he occasionally complains about having to walk to school, "Why do we have to walk to school today?"

"Because we can.  Because we have two working legs.  Because there are many people in this world that would do anything, anything to be able to walk at all but they can't because they don't have two working legs."  That always keeps him quiet until he says, "And because it's a beautiful morning."

That's when I know that some things I say do sink in.

Let's Talk About Games ... maybe?

Board Games.  More specifically children's board games.  I thought once upon a time that it would be super awesome when my boys became of the age to start playing games that it would be the wonderful beginning of fun quality time together.

Turns out this is all another big fat ugly commercial fallacy.

Shall we discuss a bit more in depth?

Get right down to the nitty freakin' gritty?

Oh what?  You had no idea there was anything nitty or gritty about children's board games?

We-he-helll.  Have I got some shocking news for y'all.

Let me begin now...

Perhaps I'll start with the ones that are tolerable then I'll move onto the games that are terrible and then I'll end with the games that are so excruciatingly frustrating to play with your children that one could possibly blow an artery out.  I don't actually even know if that's medically possible or even what that means but believe me when I say that there are such games out there.

I will start with the tolerable ones and work toward the ones that are so horribly infuriating that stabbing yourself with a sharp object would be less painful.

Cariboo Island:  This was the first game I bought for my children and I really don't have anything heinous to say about it.  It's  actually a great learning game that has two levels - Beginner and Advanced.  You can start your child on it before age 3 which is the recommended age (but what parent actually goes by those recommendations anyway?)  It teaches your child letters, counting and colours.  And if they aren't into that yet it's fun for them to just insert the brightly coloured coins into the treasure box (warning:  if you don't keep close tabs on  those coins they could end up in obscure places like your utensil or underwear drawer...not that that ever happens in this house) and then they can try to find them behind each tab with the purple key.  Definitely our favourite game here at the Soden residence.

But trust me when I say shit goes downhill fast from here on in.

Candy Land:  If you haven't ever heard or played Candy Land then you probably have lived under a rock your entire life and for that I'm terribly sorry.  Pretty self explanatory game.  Child learns colours, it's bright and yummy to look at, game goes by fairly quickly (that's the biggest bonus).  The only downfall is that your child may demand candy due to looking at all the delectable pictures and could very well end up having a full blown tantrum because you don't actually have licorice or peanut brittle in the house. And for that I can't really blame them.

Not so bad.  Looks idyllic enough.  Only a glass or two of wine are
 required to make it through this one.

Perfection:  Seems pretty harmless right?  You turn on a timer and have to get those tiny little yellow shapes into the correct tiny little same shaped spaces.  You probably played it as a kid so how bad can it be?  That timer is basically  the devil in disguise counting down the seconds before you have a heart attack because you've entirely forgotten how damn terrifyingly LOUD it is when it goes off so every other time you play with your kid you're basically shoving your poor child out of the way to make sure those damn ridiculously small shapes get into those stupid matching holes before you actually do have a heart attack.  Like we, as parents, don't have enough anxiety in our lives...we certainly do NOT need a brightly coloured square piece of plastic counting down the demise of our hearts and minds.  But hey, if you like living on the edge of life like that by all means.  Have at it but don't say I didn't warn you.

Chutes and Ladders:  Good God give me strength.  I have no idea why I thought this was going to be a fun game to play with my children.  I'm 100 percent to blame because I was the one that purchased it thinking it would be along the same lines as Candy Land...but oh no.  NonononoNO.  Do NOT mistake this game for being remotely anything like the delicious quick fun of Candy Land.  It is basically the never ending game of hell.  Oh you think you're going to win?  You think this godforsaken game will finally be over?   You're at square 97, only 3 squares away from the end? THINK AGAIN!!!  You will roll a 1 and your stupid Sesame Street character must slide down another flippin' chute to square 14.  It's basically designed to make parents insane in the membrane.  Harsh?  Possibly.  Truth?  Definitely.

Hungry Hungry Hippos:  I have such fond memories of playing this game as a little girl.  Which is the reason why I bought it for my boys for Christmas 2 years ago.  Worst. Purchase. Of. My. Life.  If you wish for a splitting head ache from listening to your children pound on a plastic toy for hours on end (because for some reason they do not get sick of this game) then this game is for you.  Also?  If you think it's awesome getting your fingers practically cut off every time you disassemble this stupid.ass.game...go for it my friends.  I have scars to prove my pain.

Mousetrap: I have my Mother to blame for bringing this game into our home this past Christmas.  The instructions and set up are about 20 pages too long.  I would like to think I'm a fairly intelligent person but even after reading the instructions on how to play this game I still have no idea what the point of those tiny cardboard triangle pieces of cheese are.  The whole idea of having to construct this entire 'mouse trap' while attempting to figure out how to play the game with children just about put me over the edge...so, sorry Mum, Mousetrap is heading where Hungry Hungry Hippos went.  Down, down deep into the abyss of our scary storage room.

Never. EVER. Play this game.  Though could be possible after a bottle of wine because
by then who really give a flying *&^% about the damn mouse anyway.

A Few Important Thank You's

As much as I'd like to make a list of what I want for Mother's Day this year...I'm pretty sure my dear husband already knows what that would be since I wrote specific details about it 2 years ago.  My wishes haven't really changed.  This year, as did last, work in Germany has stolen my husband from me and I refuse to be bitter about it one bit.

Truth be told...I already went there when I found out a couple of weeks ago that he wasn't going to be here.  I ran that through my system pretty quickly much to the chagrin of my husband.  The only injury he suffered from was only slight whiplash from my violent mood swing upon realizing he would be away on Mother's Day for the 3rd Mother's Day out of 6 years of my Motherhood career.  Not that I'm counting or anything...he always makes up for it.

This year I will spending the day with my Mum and that is certainly special since we don't get to see one another nearly as often as we would like being that we live in different cities.  So instead I shall focus on giving thanks to all the Mothers that I adore, that inspire me and that I wish I saw more often as well.

First and most importantly...

Thank you Mother for your strength and courage and fierce independance.  And thank you for passing those qualities down to me.  Thank you for your strong hugs when I needed them most and when I didn't need them at all but just because.  Thank you for your straight up no bullshit advice.  Thank you for teaching me to take responsibility for my actions and for never allowing me to delve into the abyss of self pity for more than 5 minutes when things didn't go my way.  Thank you for never talking down to me and always treating me like an equal.  Thank you for making mistakes for without them I wouldn't be the person I am today, and today I really kinda like her. Thank you for being real and authentically you...I am the same and I couldn't be any other way.  Thank you for being an incredibly loving Mother for there is nothing better than that.  Thank you for teaching me that patience is a virtue...I hear you in my head every time I begin to lose a grip on it.  It comes in quite handy now that I'm a Mother of 2 wonderfully busy boys.  Thank you for always loving me, supporting me and forever showing me that if you can't laugh at yourself and the crazy that life throws at you than just what the hell can you laugh at?

Gaga with Adrian - 3 months

Gaga with Finley - mere weeks old

Thank you Nancy for raising a man who knows how to treat a woman.  For teaching him not only how to treat his wife but who is also consistently willing to help his fellow neighbour, who will always be there for a friend in need, who is sensitive and genuine to everyone he meets.   Thank you for allowing me to gripe about your son to you when I feel the (rare) need to...I don't know too many women that could (or would ever) do that to their Mother-In-Law.  Even though he is your son you also always seem to have my back...I hope I can be the same kind of Mother-In-Law someday.  Your gentle and subtle reminders about what marriage entails even now mean the world to me.  I'm one lucky daughter-in-law.  Thank you for being the clearly awesome Mother you were (and continue to be) to my husband.  It's not just luck of the draw that makes a good man.  And your son, my husband, is a great one.

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Thank you to my amazing and beautiful friends.  Those that I've known for decades, those that I've known for a only a few years, those that I've reconnected with over facebook, those that I've met and connected with online and through blogging.  All of you wonderful women.   I hope that you know you are all an inspiration to me.  You push me to be a better person, a better Mother.  When I'm having a terrible day or week or (few weeks) you've always made me feel like I'm more than good enough. You are my tribe, my ladies, my dear, dear friends and you all know who you are.


Lastly, the biggest of all thank you's to my little boys whom without them I would never have found out my true calling in life. Thank you for giving me comfort in the deliciousness of your hugs, kisses and cuddles.  Thank you for believing in me even though you have no idea what that even means...I just know you do.  Thank you for taking me for who I am and never doubting for a moment how much I adore every little bit about you.  Thank you for stretching me, molding me, challenging me, questioning me and loving me endlessly even when I'm being or acting not all that lovable.  Thank you for simply being who you are because to me you could not be more perfect.  Thank you for making me who I am today.  Know that you are loved to eternity and beyond a trillion times over. Seeing your smiles, hearing your laughter, listening to your conversations, feeling your heads nestled in the crook of my arms, your arms around my neck and your sweet lips kiss mine make me the feel like the most incredible Mother in the world.  You both make me unbelievably proud.  Every single day.  I thank you both Adrian and Finley for making me the Mother that I am today.

At the end of the day

I lay between my two sleeping sons listening to their soft, shallow breathing and looking up at my bedroom ceiling.  There is the still fan over the bed with an empty light socket.  I see something familiar there not because I'd seen it a thousand and one times before...but something that I could relate to at that moment.  I wasn't comfortable with what I saw and what I was currently feeling and how the two somehow intertwined within me.

The past 2 days had me grading myself a D - at parenting.  Do you do that too sometimes?  Grade yourself as a parent?  I remember as a little girl with a diary writing my entries and then grading my days.  The best day ever A++++.  The worst day ever... F - like there is such a thing.

Or epic fail as my five year old would say.

Over the past couple of days I've shouted and hollered and lost patience with sharp tones and a sharp tongue.  And though I am certainly no perfect Mother this is also not how I usually roll as a parent.  If I were an outsider listening in...I wouldn't like what I was hearing.  I'm feeling burnt out as a Mother...is that a thing?  Upon closer internal questioning about why, I think I've figured out out my limit.  We're coming to the end of the major travel period for my husband's work and I've worked out that about 3 months away in 8 is about that limit.  It doesn't even seem that bad written down...but clearly...it's too much for me.  I'm about ready to jump in my truck and drive to the farthest hotel with the most comfortable beds and sleep for 3 days straight.  Just to have time alone...ALONE for more than two hours that only occur bed time when you're already so tired you probably should just be sleeping anyway.  What a Mother would do?!  Anyway.  Obviously I've met my breaking point but then...

After bath time the boys laid beside me slightly restless but clearly exhausted.  I wanted to start my day over again more than anything.

"I yelled too much today guys..."  I began softly, "I'm really sorry.  I'll have to remember to take deep breaths when I feel like that.  Do you forgive me?"

There were tired groans as they rolled in closer to me and laid their heads on my shoulders.  I took that as an affirmative.  Of-course they forgive me.  Aren't children the most forgiving people on the planet?  Heartbreakingly so.

"Hey Fin.  What are you grateful for today?"  He tilted his head up from my left shoulder with a question in his eyes and I realized this was something we hadn't done before but only something I had done with Adrian.  "Do you know what grateful means?  It means thankful...thankful for something that makes you feel good, that makes you happy."

"Ketchup."  Ah yes.  Well why not?

Adrian spoke up quietly with a serious face his cheeks still flushed pink from the warm bath, "I know what I'm thankful for too."

I was ready for a bathroom humour reply that involved stinky butt farts or poop. But no.

Instead he said, "I'm thankful for you."

The thin callous that seemed to have developed around my heart these past two days instantly vanished and I almost began to cry.

"Really baby?  That is so sweet.  I'm thankful for you too.  Both of you.  I love you guys so much..." I began to get all mushy, overly talkative and emotional-like kissing the tops of their damp heads over and over again.

Finley spoke up, "But I like you but you got angry."

"I know baby doll but it's not because I don't love you.  Mommy's just tired and low on patience.  Never ever think that I don't love you."

He leaned in and gave me a good smooch on the lips, "I like you Mommy.  I love you."

But if that isn't the best compliment that I didn't deserve.

Adrian turned over with his usual request for a back tickle while Finley pulled a pillow over his body and promptly fell asleep.

I think I got a good start on tomorrow.

And for that I am thankful.

It may be about that time to put a light bulb in that void socket tomorrow too.

Baby Musings and Too Many Cookies

All three of us stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing our teeth.  It was nearing bed time hour and my boys were clad in pj's.  Though my bed time hour wasn't for another 3 I was too.  As my tank top inched up my stomach while helping the boys with something I caught sight of it in the mirror and laughed.

"Oh my goodness guys!  Look at my belly!  I look like I have a baby in it."  I am fit with a reasonably flat stomach but the monthly bloat, which was the obvious indication that there was no baby, plus too many home made cookies that day had literally made my stomach look like I was 4 months along.

Finley asked, "Why you look like you have a baby?"

"Mommy ate too many cookies today."

They reached out to touch and rub it to my amusement and Adrian asked for the 100th time, "Why can't you have another baby?  I really want a baby sister."  The answer of-course isn't easy.  And it's not because I can't, thankfully.  We're at a good stage with the boys.  Dare I say an easier one.  The sleepless nights are few and far between, we aren't tied down to nap schedules and can do whatever whenever, they're pretty independent and I don't have to load up the truck with bags the size of kingdom come when we decide to go anywhere.  Of-course the urge for another hasn't left me.  I often wonder if it ever will.  But for now, for right now no more babies. So all I could really say was, "Oh honey.  You are sweet.  But Mommy and Daddy aren't going to have any more babies right now."

They continued their teeth cleaning and therein went the rest of the nightly bed time routine.

*******************************************************************************

Here we were again the next morning.  Same place, different time.  I was dressed and standing beside my 3 year old brushing our teeth side by side.  He suddenly reached over from his step stool and lifted up my striped t-shirt to reveal a much flatter stomach than was there last night from an 8 hour famine due to sleep.  He rubbed it not so gently then began to smack my belly hard over and over again and asked, "Why you eat so many cookies Mommy?"

Oh dear God.  

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so many cookies...but it sure was time to eat my words.  

From Math to Mermaids: A Moment of Our Day

It's a terribly dull and rainy Wednesday.  I've cooped them up because I'm not feeling great and they've done well to entertain themselves for the most part of the day.

My eldest child is eating frozen blueberries by the spoonful.  I am sitting beside him at the kitchen table when he turns to me and he asks me what 3 plus 3 is.

"Well I know what the answer is.  You tell me what 3 plus 3 is."

He turns away from me but I can see him holding up 3 fingers, specifically his middle, ring and pinky, on each hand.  Two five year old awkward ok hand signals.  With the middle finger on each hand he carefully counts quietly and determinedly.

He turns to me with a blueberry stained triumphant smile.  "It's six!"

"Very good!  You're right.  I love that you love learning so much buddy."

His little brother speaks up from the floor a few feet away counting brightly coloured plastic coins, "I don't like a learn!"

"Yes you do Finley."

The love of learning is innate in every child I believe.  I wonder where that love happens to go when middle school and high school hits...I suppose some still do but others - most - get derailed by hormones and social lives.

God I hope my boys aren't anything like me in high school.

"No I said I don't like mermaids."

Oh good.  Oh. What?  Oookay.  

Wait.  How did we go from math to mermaids in less than 2 minutes?

Adrian is still gobbling up frozen blueberries and he turns to me with a big knowing smile and an imperceptible shake of the head as if he just read my mind.

Sometimes I think he can.

I laugh, "Adrian your mouth is entirely blue.  Go look in the mirror and see what you look like."

He runs off as Finley stands from his spot on the floor, walks toward me in all his 3 year old buddha bared belly glory and asks me for a bowl of the same of-course.

My hand instinctively reaches out to stroke his soft, delicious bared tummy as I rise to oblige.

Assholes and PMS = Not a very good day

After we bid my husband adieu for his work trip away my children's behaviour began to take a downward spiral.

It was a conspiracy between both my sons to make me feel like we were going to have a beautiful afternoon in the sun because it began so nicely.  I donned my rain boots and rake to start in on my garden as it was the first really warm day we've had since Spring has not sprung.  They donned their shoes and actual clothing and came outside to play.  I kept finding worms in my garden and they were playing with them, making them swim in puddles.

They trick you, you see, by making you feel like you can actually do stuff like gardening.  So you get in a zone, you're feeling good. So comfortable in fact...that you might even feel like a great parent because look!  Your kids are out in nature and learning about vegetable gardening and playing with worms!  But then Adrian freaked out because Finley told him that worms WILL DIE IN WATER but Adrian couldn't bear the thought of someone telling him incorrect information and so the fighting began.  And it just got worse.

And it all began over whether or not worms will die in water.

For. The. Love.  

Not even an hour after my husband quietly and sweetly spoke the words to each of our boys, "Be good for your Mother.  Listen to your Mother. Be nice to each other.  No fighting.  Behave.  Adrian...you're the man of the house now."

And because I've been dealing with PMS for 15 days straight for some god forsaken reason...possibly because I just turned 35 and apparently what comes with age is really freaking HORRIBLE pms I don't know but good Lord give me a break!  My boys began to act like top notch assholes.  More specifically my five year old.

I'm sorry if calling my children assholes offends anyone (technically I'm not calling them assholes but merely saying they're acting like assholes - the two are not one and the same) but if you've never had the thought that your children are being assholes then either you have angelic-like children (kind of an ironic statement if you ask me...devils in disguise is more like it...don't let those boys wide blue eyes and cherubic cheeks fool you) or you're simply not being honest with yourself.  If that is the case you are quite welcome to excuse yourself now after I remind you that  I often write about the beautiful and at times chaotic moments of Motherhood...like here, and here, and here, and here.  But I'm all about being real about life as a parent and this is one of those times where I'm being bluntly honest.  There is no doubt that I adore my children beyond and back but when the whining, yelling, fighting and unending demands come at you like a black vortex of noise and negative emotions on top of feeling like my head might start spinning from all of the mood swings I have no control over for 15 days straight one can't help but get ... well ... pissed off.  (yes my husband practically whistled and tra-la-la'ed whilst doing a jaunty side jump heel click as he left the house today.  Okay so he actually didn't. But in his head I'm sure he did.  And I can't say I blame him much.  Anyway...I'm on B Complex vitamins now so by the time he returns I'll be one shiny happy person.  Well.  We'll see about that.  Perhaps this is far too much information for one to divulge about themselves but I dare you to say it to my face right now.  Go ahead.)

Anyway.  Back to my asshole story.

So I'm rational at first.  I use phrases like, "If you do such and such than your making the choice to lose your privileges of such and such..." but after so many of these annoying sentences (because I even annoy myself when I start saying crap like that) that don't work I begin the more common cliched sentences such as, "That's it!  I've had enough!  This is ridiculous!  Go to your room (yeah right ... when do they actually just start doing this?)"  And when he mouths back (and they do!  Oh do they!  With a smirk which is so much more infuriating than anything else)  I actually said this sentence to Adrian, "Okay your chocolate Easter bunny is gone.  Clearly you don't need ANYMORE sugar...BYE BYE BUNNY!!!!"  Maturity at it's best right there as I stomped up the stairs intending to do what  ??!!  I'm not sure with that (delicious) hidden gold wrapped Lindt bunny rabbit from Gramma.

That is until I found it, unwrapped it and scarfed it down like it was the first food I'd seen 6 months.

Oh yes I did.

There.  That should do it.

I even covered my PMS chocolate craving.

Baaaad Mommy.

This is 40

It's Friday night and we're surrounded with pillows and duvet covers, blankets and dark.  The boys are sleeping.  We're watching a movie and the couple onscreen mirrors our position.  They were having a discussion about how they imagined killing each other.

I turn to my husband somewhat horrified, "You don't think about killing me do you?"

"No.  Never.  Honestly.  I never have." He shakes his head. He is stone faced.  I believe him.  Perhaps naively...but I do. I mean I've certainly never had those thoughts about my husband before.

That's a pretty dark conversation no?

During another point in the movie the husband flips his wife off (quite aggressively) as she walks away after a conversation that occurred while he was on the toilet seemingly avoiding time with the family.  She is accusatory and he is beyond exasperated.  Pissed off is more like it.

"You've never done that before to me have you?"  Referring to the middle finger salute.

"No never.  I would never."

Liar.

This couple is clearly flawed. Like all of us.  The movie makes me laugh til I cry.  And then I cry.

I can't relate to some of it.

But I can relate to a lot of it.

The inner workings of their marriage.  The fighting, the bickering, the unresolved anger, the time away from the children when they forget how they could possibly ever even think about hating each other or even fight, the way they love their children.

The way they love each other.

And the way they hate each other.

That's what marriage is.  It is the hardest thing in the world.  If you want it to succeed.

People say that being a parent is the hardest thing in the world.  But I disagree.  Marriage is.  Children are an extension of you and the love you have for them is incomparable to anything else in the world.  Even when they push buttons, drive you crazy, make you scream into pillows and want to drown yourself in a bucket of wine, the love that you have for your child never wavers.  It's constant and pure.  It's easy to love your children even when it's so hard.  

But to stay in love with someone for rest of your life is the most challenging thing one can ever commit to.  It's work.  And you both have to be willing to work at it together.  

I've said it before and I will say it again, the most important thing one can ever do (if they choose to marry) is to choose the right life partner.  The biggest accomplishment in life is a successful marriage.    Success is full of hard work, passion, love, tears and a strong sense of working towards a common goal.  The goal of making it work even when you can't see the light for the trees...or a very dark and dense forest.

It's damn tough but it's worth it.

After the movie my husband walked out of the room asking over his shoulder, "Have you ever thought of killing me?"

"No. Just physically harming you."  (It's very rare, this thought.  And I always feel really bad about it after.)

**************************************************************************

This.  Is 40.  (for one of us anyway)

Age ain't nothin' but a number honey but it sure looks good on you.

Happy Birthday John.

Love of my life.

Cheers to another 40 years.  Even if I want to physically harm you sometimes, you are my very favourite man in the whole world and I can't imagine my life without you.

(also?  Happy 13th non-anniversary...wow)

We're so lucky to have found each other.

Really.

I love you.

Why do you love me, Mumma?

I walked into the bathroom to find you standing on your step stool brushing your teeth.  Your lanky five year old body was clad in your too small Iron Man pajamas your wrists and ankles exposed.  You met my eyes in the mirror your mouth full of strawberry flavoured foam and at once I noticed your step stool really wasn't a requirement any longer.

My mind did a silent ka-boom as my heart seemed to simultaneously expand, flip and leap into my throat at these thoughts and the sight of you.  With two short steps I hugged you and kissed your temple, "Iloveyou, Iloveyou.  I. Love. You."  I held you tight to me for a second longer.

The reaction to my not unusual spontaneous affection and your question stunned me.  "Why?"

You actually wanted me to list reasons why I loved you.  My son.  "Why?  Because you're smart and fun and funny.  You are sweet and you're a good son, a good brother and a good friend.  Because you are kind."

You seemed satisfied with my answers.  But I wasn't.  They were all true of-course but there was so entirely much more and much less to why I, as your Mother, love you.

Did I say enough?  Too much?

Did I even need to answer that question?

But of-course I did.  You asked.

You wiped your mouth, rinsed your toothbrush knocking it on the sink a couple of times just like your father does and looked up at me with pursed lips.

I leaned down and gave you a kiss, "Toothpaste kiss!" we both chimed.

I realized I could go on for forever and a day about why I love you and the things I love about you.  From your impish dimply smile, the light freckle on your left cheek, the way your 50 pound body still crawls into my lap at the dinner table or snuggles with me at night before bed, the way you love to make babies laugh by making silly faces and the look on your face when you are concentrating on printing out something on paper.  I love the softness of your cheeks, your unruly curls and the way I can still see your face as a newborn while you sleep.

But why do I love you Adrian?

Because you are my son. 

And because of that I think you are one of the most amazing creations on the face of this planet.

The reason is as pure....

                                    .... and as simple 

                                                                     ....as that.

"I Don't Love You Mummy!"

He pushes his plate across the table in his usual 3 year old defiant style.  His face crumples and he yells, "Not a bagel!  I didn't want a BAAGELLLL!"

"Yes you did!  You just said you wanted a bagel!"  I was arguing logic with a tired and cranky 3 year old.  It was more than ridiculous. I was beyond exasperated after listening to him cry for an hour, going the whole live long day with him clinging to me like a fifth appendage and then finding half a container of baby powder complete with (okay adorable) footprints all over his bedroom after giving him a time out for kicking his older brother in the eye for absolutely no good reason.

"I'm not making you anything else Finley.  I'm tired of making you a million meals a day and you not eating any of them..." my voice rose into 'the voice'.  The voice that doesn't make it's appearance too often though too often in my opinion when my husband's been away for over a week.  It's normal right?  It's a deeper, uglier and yellier voice.  A voice that takes even me by surprise when I hear it.  A voice I hear then quickly realize it's time for me to step away from the situation.  "...SO EAT YOUR BAGEL OR YOU CAN GO UP TO BED RIGHT NOW!!!"

Of-course this just made the situation even worse, as it always does. I hated that ugly mean Mummy that I just became.  Especially when I heard the following words cried out by my 3 year old, "I don't love you Mummy!  I want Daddy!  I waaant Daaaddy!!!"  Ooof.  That stung.  Worse than an 'I don't like you'. Even possibly worse than an 'I hate you.'  He's three and he already knows how to hit where it hurts.  The tail of my baby Scorpion strikes again.

I leave the room picking up toys and random items of clothing that have strewn about throughout the day and wonder with angst if any other Mom's have this ugly mean Mom voice that makes their child not love them.

I return to the kitchen to find him with the bagel half consumed in front of him.  He finishes it up like our clash never even happened and walks toward me chewing the remaining mouthful of bagel with this arms raised for me to pick him up (for the 1000th time that day).  I scoop him up gratefully this time and he wraps all limbs about me like a baby monkey.  I bury my face in the deliciousness of the crook of his neck and speak softly into it,  "I'm sorry buddy.  I'm sorry I yelled at you."

His arms tighten around my neck and he says nothing.

Once Upon A Time

We piled onto our big king sized bed.

Me full of annoyance and exhaustion and my sons' full of energy.

The evening was abundant with the typical push-pull of parenthood.

Brush your teeth.  Get your jammies on.  Stop bugging your brother.  Put your pj's on.  Don't suck on the brush...BRUSH your teeth.  Leave your brother alone.  Okay stop!  Both of you!  Brush your teeth!  Where's your pajama top?  Where are your pj bottoms?!  What is going on with you guys?!

Nothing really out of the ordinary but enough disobedience and non-listening that I had told them no Wild Kratts! 

And then.

No Books.

Punishment indeed.

So they climbed into our bed.  The bed I share with my husband and the bed with which we seemed to have lately developed a routine of falling asleep in when he's away.

Lights were clicked off and darkness surrounded us.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?"

"Yes, yes!!!"

I had no idea what story I was going to tell them however.  But when I opened my mouth it must have been the fact that I missed their Dad that this story sprang to mind...

"Once upon a time there were two best friends who were really hungry so they decided to check out this new restaurant..."  ---

"Who were they?  What are their names?"  asks Adrian

I decided to go with the facts, "Erin and January were their names. -- When they got out of the car to go into the restaurant January tripped and fell on her face.  She broke her sandal ----"

"Why do you break your sandal?!  I want Aunt Erin to break her sandal!"

"Because that's not how the story goes bud.  Aunt Erin helped me up though."  In truth she actually didn't.  I grabbed a hold of a metal bar that happened to be in front of me to assist me up from my terribly ungraceful fall.

"But I don't want you to fall!!!!"

I tried very difficultly to hold my patience.  This was not how I envisioned my fairy tale story to go...

"Bud.  Just relax and listen to the rest of the story ok?  So.  Mummy - I mean January falls and breaks her sandal.  They walk into the restaurant and up walks a boy who January thinks is the most handsome boy in the whole world.  And he thinks she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen but she doesn't know this.  In fact, for him it is love at first site ---"

"Who's him? Who's him??"

"His name is John.  January was so embarrassed and thought he was very cute that she couldn't even talk to him.  But then 6 months later she got a job at the same restaurant.  She wondered if John worked there still but she didn't see him for weeks.  Then one day someone tapped her on the shoulder..."  I tapped Adrian on the shoulder..."And held out his hand to introduce himself, "Hi, I'm John."  January knew that his name was John and when he saw her face he remembered her too.  They became friends and then about 3 months later they started dating ---"

"What's dating?"

"Dating is when two people  who really like each other get to know each other.  They go to the movies and out to restaurants.  They walk on beaches and in parks. They do lots of fun things together. January and John moved in together.  Many years later he asked her to marry him around Valentine's Day on the floor of their tiny apartment.  She said yes of-course.  About a year and a half later they had the most beautiful wedding.  Do you know what a wedding is?"

"What's a wedding?"

"It's when two people promise to love each other no matter what.  Then they have a big party with all of their favourite people.  They dance and talk and eat and drink wine ---"

"Wine?  Why they drink wine?"  This is my 3 year old speaking up who has been in the crook of my arm, quiet as a mouse since the beginning.

"That's just what adults do sometimes."

Adrian speaks up now, "I don't drink wine!"

"No but you're not an adult.  Kids drink juice or water or pop."

"Pop?!"  Weddings are clearly looking mighty fun to my boys right about now.

"So January and John got married and about a year and a half after that they had a beautiful baby boy that they named Adrian --- "

"Yes!  I came first!"  Adrian pumps his fist in the air like it was some kind of race that he won or something...

Which...technically speaking I suppose it was.

"And then 21 months later they had another beautiful boy that they named Finley."

"Mummy?  Is that a true story?"

"Every bit of it baby doll."  I hold his face in my hand in the grey evening light until he laid his head on my belly as my little Fin remained half asleep in the crook of my arm.

They quickly fell into slumber.

****************************************************************************

The next evening:

"Mummy...when I put my head on your tummy last night I could hear your heart.  It went like this, "Ba-bump."

"You know what that was don't you?  That was my heart saying, 'I love you.'"

Hummy No Longer

"Mummy I'm hungry."  Stated/whined my 3 year old.

"You're what buddy?"  I was sure I didn't hear him right.

"I'm hungry Mummy."  Clearly said.  The 'ngry' said with perfect pronunciation.  It was 'hummy' no longer, the adorable quirky way he had of saying 'hungry'.

'Hummy' sadly gone the wayside for the not as cute way of saying it properly.

To join the toddler word rubble along with 'nee-neck' (kleenex), ' wawee' (water), 'Aiden' (Adrian), 'loveee' (I love you).

I buckled him into his car seat, pressed my warm cheek briefly against his cool one, kissed his nose and asked him one more time,  "Are you hummy buddy?"

"Yeah.  I'm hungry.  Cheerios."

Yet another piece of toddlerhood falling away into the depths of my memory that stores these bittersweet moments as my heart it seemed audibly expelled a wistful sigh.

A Trip to Remember: A Mother and Daughter's Perspectives

A Daughter's Perspective

When you get a text from your Mother asking if you'd like to go on a trip, somewhere hot no less, not to mention her treat what other answer do you have than a resounding HELL YES.

Am I right?

The last time we spent 4 consecutive days together just the two of us without any obligations, school, job etc was, as my Mum pointed out, probably the first year of my life.  So this was definitely going to be a unique experience.  I was curious.  And yes maybe a tad bit nervous about how this would all go down.

Turns out pretty darn amazing.

Except for the drive to the airport.  Which involved:  Not having a clue where we were going while driving on the highway in the dark and amongst aggressive Toronto drivers and blowing snow.  This could have gone the way of really, really bad when I realized I spoke while the GPS was speaking and my Mother (not so) subtly hinted not to speak.  Anymore.  At least when the GPS was talking.

I got the hint.

I realized something then.  I realized a lot of things on the trip actually.

1.  When travelling with your Mother you will recognize how much you are becoming her.  Such as driving skills.  My Mother and I are both good drivers.  We just aren't very good when we have no idea where we're going in bad weather and darkness.  Now I know what my husband goes through when I'm driving in situations such as these.  Which is probably why I don't drive when we're going somewhere together.

2.  When travelling with your Mother you don't have to worry about filling silences.  It's very comfortable.  You read, you nap, you walk, you talk.  It's just....nice.  Peaceful.

3.  Even though you are a 35 year old woman, wife and mother, that will not stop your own Mum from taking care of you.  From running your shower water to make sure it's warm enough when you get in.  To picking up your towels.  To bringing you drinks poolside and making sure you've had enough to eat.  The simple fact is: A Mother never stops being a Mother.

4.  She will make one of your bucket list dreams come true.  When you tell her you've always wanted to swim with dolphins?  She will make that happen.  And join you.  Even though she had no interest in doing that in the first place.  And it will be one of the coolest experiences you've had...and you shared that with your Mom.  That's pretty special.

5.  You will learn your Mother has a major sweet tooth.  She must have her tea and cookies every night before bed.  She will encourage you to break hotel rules to make sure this happens even though there is no food allowed in the rooms.  She will abscond cookies from the buffet and hide them in napkins and Styrofoam cups.  She will sneak them into your bag and the next day you will think that's sand at the bottom of it...but oh no!  Those...are cookie crumbs.

6.  You will laugh at the same things and when you laugh...you will realize you have the same laugh.

7.  She will make you feel beautiful by always telling you so and constantly taking your picture.

8.  Along with making you feel beautiful, your Mother will also make you feel like you are basically the most awesome person in the world.  Best Mother, Best Wife, Best Daughter.  Turns out...Great Mother's are really good for the ego.

9.  She will tell you a story over a game of cribbage about when she was hospitalized for a really bizarre illness when you were just a baby and your Dad had to take care of you for the first time alone.  When he took you to the hospital to visit her, your Dad forgot the diapers so they had to steal one from the maternity ward and how they had a good laugh about it.  She will tell you how hard it was to be away from you and you will be reminded again how much your Mother loves you and still thinks of you as her baby girl even though you are now a grown woman, wife and Mother yourself.

10.  You will see your Mum as the same person but in a different light. You will see a lot of yourself in your Mother and realize that that! is a really wonderful thing.

***************************************************************************
A Mother's Perspective

I texted my daughter in a moment of weakness that we should take a vacation somewhere warm.  I had been working a lot, was in need of a rest and sunshine and decided to take the one person I’m the most comfortable with and love more than words can say….my daughter.  I sort of thought she’d say yes.  I also saw this as an opportunity to plant the seed that when I’m older and she picks out my retirement home it should be a good one with great food.  I also learned some things about my daughter .

1.      She can pretend to be calm when she’s actually chewing a hole through her cheek from nervousness while driving in a storm, in the dark, in uncharted territory.  It’s one of the scariest places I know which is Toronto Pearson Airport. 

2.      My daughter and I laugh at the same things and she has a beautiful infectious laugh plus she is seriously brilliant and witty…a killer combination for a travel companion.

3.     Is it the chicken or the egg syndrome here?  Did I pick up her clothes and towels before she had a chance to do it or is she still like that?  When she was a teenager I would find multiple wet towels on her bedroom floor so I guess I’ll never know.   I found I was still concerned about her well being too.  It was hot in Jamaica and I was constantly bringing her beverages to stay hydrated which resulted in me having a drink too which meant frequent trips to the washroom.  She still has the bladder of a camel. 

4.     A few years ago my daughter told me one of her bucket list items was to swim with dolphins and I remember thinking that I would help her accomplish that.  I didn’t know when or where but it kind of landed in our lap and there was no way it was getting away.  It was a complete blast and something I would never have done on my own.

5.      I rarely sit still for more than a few minutes which comes in handy when you’re being a mother hen for the first time in years and it also highlighted the fact that my daughter is one of the most calm and relaxed people I know.  Another great travel companion attribute along with her giggling willingness to commit a bit of larceny by smuggling cookies out of the restaurant. 

6.      When you’re alone with your daughter and there are no interruptions or evidence of husband and children you will start calling her Baby Girl again and when it falls out of your mouth the first time you’re gobsmacked that you just did that.  The second, fifth and tenth time it comes easy. 

7.      If you’re lucky you will learn that she is a health food freak and your grandchildren are being fed good food that is all homemade.  If you listen you will find out she adores her husband and believes him to be one of the most handsome men she knows and her children are very blessed to have him for a father….in fact he is and they are. 

8.      I think for my daughter our trip was one of those moments in everyone’s life when they suddenly see their parents aging.  You know how it is…you go along for years and your parents never age and then one day you see a new wrinkle or their eyesight isn’t as good as yours or their hearing is less than it was.  What you don’t see is the aching hands and shoulder and the myriad of worries that come with aging.  I believe she had a few moments of enlightenment. 

9.     You wonder how you raised such a beautiful woman who has confidently become her own person with surprisingly few quirks. Maybe I should give her some of mine!  We do share some similarities in many areas though, like the laugh, the love of reading, the knowledge and comfort of at least one other person on this planet who loves you as much as you love them and with whom you share a long history.

10.  You will long for retirement so you can spend more time with her and her family because really, isn’t that what‘s most important in our walk through this life?   You will have shared something that has created memories that only the two of you can share and that will come in handy when I’m in the beautiful retirement home with great food that she has so lovingly selected for me.

When I was really her Baby Girl 

A Welcome Home

In a flurry of stress I clean and cook and scrub and bake.  Wash dishes and floors, wipe down bathrooms and tidy rooms while asking myself in a frustrated voice 'Why?!  Why?!' I'm leaving in 24 hours for warmth and sun and relaxation!  Why am I doing this?!

I stick post it notes up for my husband on the fridge.  I fret and wonder if things are going to be done right.  Right meaning my way.  Right meaning not my husband's way.

Even though there is absolutely nothing wrong with my husband's way.

At half past dark thirty I awake before the alarm.  I fix my eldest's snack and write a little note, "See you in 4 sleeps.  Be good for Dad.  I love you!!!"

I check my post-it's to make sure all is written down and taken care of between sips of coffee.  I refrain from kissing them good-bye while they sleep.  And then I do anyway.

Over the next 4 days I enjoy hot sun, rest, relaxation by a pool and beach side.  I try to remember what it's like to be on call 24-7, to be at a constant barrage of requests, demands and whining.

Yet I forget.

How quickly one gets used to such luxuries.

I miss my boys, my husband like crazy.  I try not to think of them too much.  Especially at night.  The pangs in my heart are physical when I recall their voices, their soft skin, their dimpled smiles and blue eyes, their snuggles and smell.

And yet I am having a wonderful time.  It's quite blissful even.

I wonder how my husband is handling them, what he's making for Adrian's snacks and for meals.  If he took them to Chuck E Cheese as he promised.  I know he did and I try not to be grateful that it was him and not me.  But I am.  He would have more fun than I would, I am sure of it.

I wonder what the house looks like and yet I don't care.  Because it really doesn't matter.

*******************************************************************************

Yet my husband?  He knows me.

He picks me up with a great big kiss and hug.  He's so, SO happy to see me and does it ever feel amazing to be missed.

My boys greet me with quiet smiles as I clamber over the seats and kiss them exclaiming how much I missed them.  Finley begins his chatter.  He asks about the beach and when can he go and where's Gaga and tells me about the big mouse and how he didn't dance with him.

Adrian remains quiet.  "He just woke up." John explains.  My biggest boy's wide blue eyes watch me and my heart pangs with the distance I feel from him.

How is it that they've grown in 4 days?

I feed them crackers and chocolate from my purse because they're hungry and that's all we have in the car on the very long, very treacherous ride home.  A blizzard it seems of-course.  Finley continues his chatter and inquiries and Adrian says the occasional sentence here and there.

We arrive home and...was it ever nice to be home.  I now know a fraction of the relief of what my husband feels like when arriving home after work travels.

"Come here you guys!  Now I can really say hello and give you big hugs and kisses!"  Adrian runs at me full force and I scoop up all 50 lbs of him, his long legs wrap around me as I kiss his cool, soft cheeks a hundred times over.  This.  This is what he needed.  It's what I needed. "I missed you like crazy Aidykins." Riley whines and leans against my legs.

The floors shine, the kitchen is spotless.  There is nary a toy to be seen.

My husband.  He's a good one.

*******************************************************************************

I awake to the sound of feet on stairs and the smell of coffee.  My husband sets down something on the nightstand beside me.

I open up one eye as he kisses me good morning.

Fresh coffee and grapefruit.

He leaves the room and I hear the sound of my sons' playing.

My family.  It's a wonderful one.  I close my eyes and count my blessings.

It's great to be missed.

It's even better...to be home.

You Smell Them

Spotting the large mass of clothes in a pile between the bedroom wall and the dresser in my five year old son's room I sighed in exasperation and began to rummage through it all disgruntled and frowny on a Sunday night.

The boys had picked out 5 or 100 books each to read and were sitting patiently on the bed waiting for bed time stories.  My husband was laid up in our bed across the hall in the dark because...well because he had never felt so tired in his entire life and every single bone and muscle in his body was aching and he could barely move and 'Ohmygod, ohmygod, I'm in so much pain" was groaned and moaned over and over and over...and over again to the point where I simply tuned him out with a roll of my eyes and went about business as usual.  As all good and loving wives do. 

I sighed and began throwing dirty clothes out his door into the hallway and scraping unknown food stains off of his school uniform. "Adrian really.  It's great that your clothes aren't all over your bedroom floor but maybe we can start working on learning to fold and putting away the clean clothes. How am I supposed to know what's clean and what's dirty in here?"

"You smell them."

That's when I heard guffawing from dear husbandinsomuchpainhecouldbarelytalk across the hall.

Guilty.  

Children do see and hear all.  

Fact.

Mind Babble

I found out the other day it's a very dangerous thing for me to forget my earphones when I head to the gym.  For one thing the motivation factor flies out the window because let's face it...the music at the gym is hardly above a whisper.  There is zero motivation in quiet music no matter what bass factor is happening.  What also happens, specifically when I do cardio, is that my mind tends to go overboard - more than usual...random thoughts zing at me at a furious rate.  I want to zone out and 'ommm', you know, get into a mindless groove while running or pedaling but I found out years ago that I'm not great at meditating.  I'm not even good at it.

So there I found myself on the bike - not the lazy recumbent one but the ones that actually gives you a cardio work out even if you're only half into it.  I could hear the spinning instructor on the floor down below calling out with intensity.  The voice was blurry but I could definitely sense the urgency in his voice.  They must have their butts up off their seats now, I thought to myself.  And then this is how my mind went from there....

I wish I did spinning.  It looks like an awesome work out.  Everyone's always shiny with sweat when I walk by.  But that spinning instructor guy kind of sounds like a male version of Jillian Michaels and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do so well with a trainer like that.  She scares me.  Although this season you really do see a softer side to her.  I like Dani.  I hope she wins.  I really should do a spin class.  Except it seems they're all regulars that go.  And I'd probably be that girl that 'stole' someone's bike unknowingly and I'd feel all self concious about it the whole time thinking I'm getting daggers shot at me and my whole 'spinning experience' would be tainted.  I'd  feel like the new girl at high school entering the cafeteria for the first time and having no idea where to sit because everyone knows that there are certain tables reserved for every clique.  Man.  Why am I so insecure?!  I'm 35 years old.  I am a woman!  High school was not that fun. I wonder if I ever came across as an insecure person?  We all have our perceptions of people but we're probably seen differently by others than what we see in our own minds about ourselves.  It really sucked switching high schools halfway through.  I'll never do that to my boys.  Then again it really does give you character and sets you out of your comfort zone forcing you to come out of your shell if you're in one, that is.  It really does suck though. But I wouldn't have met my best friend in the whole wide world if I didn't switch high school's.  I miss her.  I hope my boys are good teens.  Bah - don't even go there right now.  I'm really going to miss them next week.  I really need music...this is terrible.  Whatever happened to my City of Angels CD?   I've lost a lot of material crap in my life.  All my favourite things it seems.  What happened to my favourite grey shirt....I think about that stupid shirt way too much.  It completely just up and disappeared one day.  One day I was wearing it...next day...poof!  Gone.  I'm starving.  What should I make for dinner tonight?  Hmm.  I should keep it light and no wine tonight.  I have to fit into my bikini in a week for Jamaica.  Yum...jerk chicken.  I can't wait.  Four days of bliss doing whatever I wish.  It'll be nice to spend time with my Mum.  I miss her too.  I hope John has fun with the boys.  I probably should write him a list of what to do.  He has to make snacks for Adrian everyday. Healthy snacks.  And make sure his class gets their Valentine's on Thursday.  So cute...I remember well celebrating Valentine's Day as a little girl at school with our little homemade pouches hanging beside our desks gathering sweet cards from classmates.  Aw. I wonder if the resort will have a fun theme night on Valentine's Day. My Mum's my date.  That's funny.  I should ask Nicole about that spinning class.  She seems to go to a lot.  She would totally know if I was sitting on someone else's bike.  I'll send her a facebook message. I really, really, really wish I had my earphones.  Regis and Michael have good guests on today.  I LOVE Melissa McCarthy.  Bridesmaids was hilarious.  She seems so funny and down to earth.  I wonder if her show really told her she wasn't allowed to lose weight because of her contract.  That's really crappy, denying someone wanting to get healthy. My butt is going numb.  How do I expect to do a whole 45 minutes of a spinning class when my butt's numb after 13 minutes?  My other parts aren't feeling so great either.  This can't be good.  I wonder if anyone peered into my mind right now what they would think.  I think I probably seem a bit manic?  I'm not manic.  I'm sure everyone's mind thinks this way. I should blog about this.  

Please tell me I'm not alone in my mind babble.

Arriving at Five (with a sigh in my heart)

Mere hours old.

The other night after I put you and your brother to bed I lay in the dark of the winter night in the bed I share with your father. The bed seemed far too big for little old me because your Dad was away.  I thought about your birthday party, running over the details in my mind to make sure I had everything on the checklist.  I've ordered your cake - just as you requested.  Spider-Man.  The venue, check.  RSVP's, check.  Then quite all of a sudden my mind rewound to five years ago.  I kept turning it over and over and over in my mind the fact that you're going to be five on Sunday.  Superbowl Sunday.  Five years ago you were born on Superbowl Sunday. I wanted to giggle at the memory of your father fixing the television in the delivery room so that he wouldn't miss The Game while I laboured on and on and on...and on with you little love of mine.  I wanted to laugh and roll my eyes (because really?!!!) and bask in the memory but instead tears fell down my face.

What was this?  What was happening to me?!  I've always inwardly shook my head at people that have cried over their children getting older while I outwardly empathized.  What is there to cry about?  It's a celebration!  A time to celebrate another wonderful year of new stages, new lessons, new growth. But there I was.  Crying, feeling ridiculous and somehow not able to come to terms about the mere fact that you're simply going to be one year older.

My Mother always told me that the first five years in a child's life are the most important.  Important for what reason, I'm not sure.  Perhaps the first five years of a person's life can shape them into the adult they will one day too soon become.  A good indication of the person they will be, their values and morals. That sentence that my Mother told me years and years ago has stayed with me.  And now here you are.  You've arrived at five. I'm finding it very difficult to wrap my head around it and wondering if I've done a good enough job and have done right by you so far.  I believe I have. I hope.

These past five years with you in my life, Adrian, as one third of my heart and soul keeper have been the most wonderful, the most challenging and the most life changing five years of my life.  You made me such a huge part of who I am today.

You made me a Mother and a better person.

You continue to do that.

You are five but you still hold my hand.  You even gave my hand three squeezes on the walk to school the other day which just about made my heart explode out of my chest.  One squeeze for every word...

I. (squeeze)  Love. (squeeze) You. (squeeze)

I taught you that on one of our first walks to school.  And you remembered.

You are five but you still want me and only me to lay my head down next to yours at night and tickle your back until you fall asleep.

You are five but you still climb into our bed almost every night and lay as close to me as possible.

You are five but you still have that little lisp when you say your 's's.  I can't get enough of the way you say 'sassafras' or 'suffering succotash.'  The cuteness is almost too much to bear.

You are five but you still love to sit on my lap whenever possible even though my legs almost immediately fall asleep under all of 50 pounds of you.

You are five but you let me give you as many kisses as I wish when I drop you off at school.  Okay so you might squirm a little with protest but you're smiling when you do. And you may not always respond with an 'I love you too' after I tell you as much.  But I know you love me.  I know you do.  Even on those days that seem so far in the future but which will only come too quickly, when you might think or say or yell otherwise about or to me...just know that I know, you love me.

Yes.  Even then.

And I, you.  No matter what.  No. Matter. What.

Always, always know that sweet boy.

I find myself lately during these moments wondering if the next time will come.  You're not a baby, nor a toddler, nor a pre-schooler.  You are only getting older.  These heart tender moments that I at times take for granted will someday come to an end.  But I'll tell you something...something I often tell you and with which you smile quietly about...you will always be my baby.  Even at 55 you'll be my baby and that's a fact.

The few days leading up to your fifth I felt as though I was grasping at the last bit of your four year old self and it just seemed to be slipping by too fast.  I keep thinking if these five years passed by this quickly and time only seems to accelerate as we age...well 15, 20, 25, 30 will be right here before I know it.

Childhood is a beautiful and delicate time.  Like a handful of glitter thrown in the air.  It feels like it's everywhere and will be around forever...it drives you a bit crazy and you may wish it away.  But you can't help but admire it at the same time. Sparkles abound and catch light  in every corner and reflect off of every surface.  It seems as though you cannot escape it.  But even that last piece of glitter floats away eventually.  I suppose that's how I feel right now...I need to revel in the shiny beatific beauty of your childhood because  too soon I feel like I might look back and wonder where it all went...hoping with a desperate heart that I didn't miss a thing.

Sweet boy of mine, today you are five.  You have gone from a chunkalicious high spirited newborn that cried torrential tears when you were upset and giggled and smiled so amazingly when you were happy that it seemed sun beams shot out of your dimples and beautiful blue eyes.  You quickly turned into a toddler that exhausted  and entertained me beyond any kind of normal.  And then into a smart as a whip pre-schooler who had raging tantrums and still tore around like a miniature tornado with incomparable energy.  You are five now.  You have a much more contained energy though still a ton of it along with a mind that doesn't stop and a mouth that enjoys to mock mine.  Your tantrums are few and far between now and even then a mere whisper of what they used to be.  You love to learn and read.  You are writing your own name and printing words out now and you love to do so.  You are beginning to read words.  And to the humourous and wondrous chagrin of your father and I when we spell out words while conversing, you now can (sometimes) figure out what we're saying.  You are a lover of things strange and unusual. It seems at times you  fear nothing...though now you are showing a more vulnerable side that captures my heart even more if that is even possible. You are a chocoholic and a carboholic but you enjoy most foods.  Except you are a major disliker of crispy bacon, olives and eggplant.  You love Superheroes especially Spider-Man, playing Beyblades, conjuring magic, playing videos games on your DS and yes you even enjoy playing with your little brother (most of the time)...you make each other laugh more than anyone else and I take such delight in hearing you together.  You have an incredible imagination even though your favourite sentence lately is "I'm bored". You are coming to realize 'bored' is not an option in our house so you're quick to move on and find something to do.  You love sports and are already amazingly athletic.  You are a lover of animals and all things living.  You are very smart with a great sense of humour and a wonderful quirky way about you. You are independent.  You are incredibly social.  Your circle of friends rival your father's and mine. I hope you keep a lot of these friends, for childhood friends are unlike any you'll have after.  You're cranky when you're hungry and moody when you're tired.  And when you are both you're next to impossible.  Then again who isn't?  But when you laugh and smile I still still those beautiful rays of light shine from your eyes just like when you were a four month old babe. And oh how can anyone resist those dimples?!

Can your father and I tell you how proud we are of you?  So proud Adrian.  So very, very proud.

Today I took your face in my hands, squishing your still soft and chubbalicious cheeks gently in them, your full lips pouted outwardly as they had no other place to go.  I kissed them and I asked you jokingly, "Do you even know how much I love you? Do. You. Even. Know???"  I do this often, with playful aggression at random times.  This usually occurs while passing through a room and seeing you there.  My love for you suddenly seizes me fiercely by the heart and squeezes so hard I feel short of breath that there really is no other choice than to do this to you. It sounds kind of crazy I know.  But you'll come to love that about me someday.  Maybe you already do. You always answer my silly question with a huge smile, "No!" And it's not because I don't show you how much I adore you.  There is no possible way I could be any more loving or not tell you enough because I tell you at least half a dozen times a day.  But the truth is you really don't know how much I love you.  For the love a parent has for their child reaches eternity and beyond and back again a million, trillion, bajillion times over.  (it's a scientific fact you know)  It resides in the deepest depths of the heart and in corners of the soul you never even knew existed before your little bundle of preciousness arrived.  Someday you will know how much I love you.  Someday.  When you have a child yourself. But not until then.  (don't rush it)

So there you go angel face.  If you've understood from this letter even the tiniest speck of love that lives in my heart for you that is still enormous.

Happy Fifth Birthday Aidykins.

(three squeezes from my hand to yours)

You and me...in the early months.

In your happy place.  On the beach.  xo

Chocolat

Sunday morning.  Running errands.  With the boys.  My husband was driving and high pitched whiny voices assaulted our ears continuously for what seemed like hours when it fact in had only been one.

One hour too long.

As we turned down our street the little voices of our sons' continued to pierce at our eardrums from behind us and wear us down down down.

They were...

Hungry.

Tired.

He's doing...blahblahblah...to me!

Are we done yet?

Are we home?

When are we going to be home?

Oh.My.GOD.  Would it ever end???  My husband's eyes and my eyes spoke with flitted glances of annoyance and eye rolling.

As we pulled into our driveway my husband asked them, "What in the world would you do without Mommy or Daddy for a whole day?  What you do?!"  A rhetorical question of-course but that which made my mind grey with dark contemplation as the truck came to a stop.

There was a silent pause as the truck was turned off when we heard our soon to be five year old son answer with quiet conviction...

"Eat chocolate."

Rise and Shine

Abrupt movement at my side of the bed startled me from deep sleep.  And a dream.  A very strange one.

His  voice met my ears in the dark of the very early morning.  How early I wasn't aware of yet.  But my mind was muddled and my voice crackled deep with grogginess.

It was early.

"Mummaaaa...I'm hungry."

"Oh honey..." I lifted the book that blacks out the neon green numbers of my bedside clock..."It's too early.  Just give me a few minutes please."

I see his thisclose to five year old body take a seat oh so patiently on the bench opposite to our bed and I closed my eyes again.

My eyes were closed but my mind could still see him sitting there.  Waiting.  So quietly.

I opened my eyes to find his shadowy figure against the winter grey dawn that peeked from the corners of the window blinds.

How still he sat.

My heart clenched then bloomed as that voice whispered inside my mother-soul.

Someday this won't happen anymore.  Someday he'll be able to get up and make his own breakfast.  There will be no early morning visits to your bedside. Someday...way too soon...snuggles with Mumma will come to an end.

"Why don't you climb up and cuddle with me for few minutes?"  I lift the blankets and he climbs up to form a small S inside my capital one.  My arm wraps so familiarly around his torso, my chin rests atop his sleep mussed curls.

"I was having the weirdest dream when you woke me up buddy.  I was dreaming about talking baby Rhinos named Casper."

"I dreamed that I was at school and we were playing soccer at gym but we were having our snacks too!"

"You were!  Well.  That is a crazy dream."

"Uh huh."

"This week at school you're learning about the letter 'O' right?"

"Yeah."

I began riddles of animals that began with the letter 'O'...a game that has become a ritual for us.

.....A bird with really long legs that can run really, really fast...

....An 8 legged (or armed?) sea dwelling creature...

....A very hairy beastly looking animal..

"Mumma?  I'm hungry."

And the child's hunger could no longer be denied.

Down to the kitchen we went.

But wasn't it so lovely while it lasted?

Oh my but it was.

A Sweet and Sour Chicken Bawlish Kind of Day

Oh ho ho and a mighty hey!  Today was an early start - 6:03 to be exact.  But that's all fine and good.  It was Friday and I deemed the day to be a good one already.  'Cause I'm annoyingly positive like that on Fridays.  Even though I'm a Mom now and Fridays really mean squat.  But today?  Oh today.  Well it was full of lovely (note extreme sarcasm) ups and....
D
   O
       W
           N
               S

The day was peppered with good and bad.  Or sweet and sour as I'd like to so poetically put it.  I mean...it wasn't all a gong show of a shit storm.

Here's kind of how the day went:

Sweet:  My eldest wanted to do my exercise video with me.  We did the whole dern thing together.  And let me tell you - seeing your almost 5 year old do lunges and push ups is pretty freaking adorable.

Sour:  Having my 3 year old climb on me and cling to my leg like a chimpanzee as I'm doing lunges and squats.  Annoying as hell but also?  A little cute.

Sweet:  Having a play date with my littlest at my lovely neighbours home while my eldest is in school.  Bonus?   She made Smartie Cookies.

Sour:  Smartie Cookies.  There goes my morning work out.

Sweet:  Watching our little ones play together while having adult conversation (and eating cookies).  Oh and I got to hold a perfect little 6 month old baby girl.  Seeing, holding, talking to babies = major yearning uterus.

Sour:  Play date ended when child of mine decided to have a tantrum of epic proportions over ... a pear?  I'm not even sure what happened there but it was disastrous.

Sweet:  Picking up my eldest from school and getting to walk home with him just the two of us and talk about his morning while he held my hand and jumped puddles.

Sour:  Putting youngest child down for a nap as he continues to kick and scream like a wild banshee with rabies.

Sweet:  Playing Candyland and cards with my current favourite son.

Sour:  Hearing my youngest sneak down the stairs and announce he just crapped his pants.  Okay so those weren't exactly his words.  He simply said, "Poop".  And my heart sank to my toes.

Sweet:  Chatting with my BFF.

Sour:  Seeing my youngest once again sneak down the stairs  then down into the basement to watch cartoons with his brother WHEN HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE SLEEPING.  ARRRRRGH.

Sweet:  Finding them sitting as close as possible together on the giant sectional couch watching cartoons.

Sour:  Carrying very heavy 3 year old back up 2 flights of stairs screaming and crying because "I not tired!  IIIII NOT TIIIRRRRRED!"  Clearly.  He's not tired.  Right.

Sweet:  Quiet.  Green Tea.  Texting with friends about a girls night out for my birthday.  Party time.  Excellent.  That last saying?  Means I'm clearly cresting the hill you guys.  And if you know the origin of that saying you are too...if you're not already over it.  Because that movie was made in 1993.  WHICH WAS 2 DECADES AGO!  

Sour:  My littlest coming back down the stairs from his room where he's supposed to be sleeping.... AGAIN.

Sweet:  My neighbour texting me to invite my boys over.  Hallejuiah praise everything that is good though not so holy in an awesome neighbourhood.

Sour:  This means I actually have to be somewhat productive at home alone.  Which means I must finally tackle the 5 baskets of unfolded laundry in my room.

Sweet:  I'm folding laundry.  Sans children.  While watching adult television.

Sour:  Dinner must get made.  Children must come home.  Serenity. Ends. Now.

Sweet:  Boys behaved and had a blast.

Sour:  Forcing/Nagging Encouraging them to eat their dinner.

Sweet:  Mid dinner dance off when my eldest son asked me to dance to 'Beam me Up' by Pink.  We twirled and whirled and dipped and danced.  And then he smooched me when it ended.

Sour:  Right after that delectable dance he wanted dessert but somehow things got misconstrued and everything somehow went to hell in a handbasket. (what does that saying even mean?!)  Shit storm of major tantrum number 2 brewing at a fierce rate.

Sweet:  He eventually calmed down and made his way up the stairs.  We read books and snuggled.

Sour:  For some reason that I can't remember even though it was just over an hour ago but I probably blocked it out because ohmygodohmygod the crying!  I can't take it anymore.

Sweet:  Finley brought his big brother his giant stuffed puppy named Cuddles because 'he was crying' and then proceeded to make me the centre in a love sandwich when he climbed into bed with us instead up going back to his own bed because he didn't want Adrian to be sad but then got annoyed because he couldn't get the covers over himself just right while Adrian continued to sniffle and snuffle beside me and Cuddles the giant stuffed puppy threw his weight around on our faces.

The Sweetest:  having both of my baby boys asleep on either side of me.  Even if Cuddles the Giant Stuffed Dog practically suffocated us all.