Gibby in the Garbage

One of my favourite sayings is "Grace is for Mamas too." It's also for dogs.

Here's the thing - It's very, very hard to show my dog grace when he gets into the garbage. I let him stay upstairs and trusted that he wouldn't make a mess, when I was leaving the house for just 30 minutes. He seemed tired and lethargic. I thought at worse he'd jump up on the couch and steal a nap on it. WRONG.

I came home and the stench hit me. My house smelled like the dump. I ran up the stairs and there he was, laying on the the area rug in the living room. His brow furrowed over his big brown eyes. He gave his tail a slight wag, with his ears hung back and his head ducked down. The pathetic "I'm so sorry, I was so so bad" whimper escaped his throat as I drew a sharp breath. He knew he was in it deep.

Garbage is gross. Garbage on your kitchen floor is worse. Even worse than that is garbage on your sunroom floor on a hot day. At least it was papers and some scrapings from the previous night's dinner. I shudder when I think of the time he found some raw chicken breast in the garbage and left them on the floor of the boys' playroom.

It's also hard to remain calm when you have a 19 month old boy who wants to inspect every single piece of trash on the floor. He wants to help pick it up. He points to the carnage and says "uh-oh". Then he innocently tramps through the mess and I can feel the panic and the anger in me rise. I am trying so bloody hard no to explode.

Gibson; poor sweet Gibson gets the brunt in my frustration. I yell at him. I rage at him. I want to kick his furry butt out the door. Instead I open the gate and he takes the walk of shame to the basement. My boys are looking at me, wide-eyed and full of concern. "I'm sorry Gibson got the trash Mommy" says Bear.

I clean up the mess, with the help of my boys. They sit on the couch engrossed in a DVD as I disinfect the kitchen. Then I open the gate and whistle for Gibson. It takes a few times until he slowly makes his way up the stair and flops down in the middle of the living room. I sit next to him and he politely wags his tail.

"I'm sorry Gibson". I say. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." He looks up and licks my hand which means "I'm sorry, and I forgive you."

I don't know what it is about life that makes it so hard to keep my temper in check. I sometimes feel like I have set this impossible ideal for myself. I feel like a complete failure every time I am human and lose it. Again, I find myself thankful for the grace that God has for me.

Market Melt

As mothers we have all experienced it. The public meltdown. I normally have a little mental checklist I go through before entering the grocery store:

Has Bear gone pee lately? Is Squirrel dry?

When's the last time they ate? Should I be anticipating a low blood sugar crash?

Have I told Bear what I expect - don't wap the price tags, don't leave my side and no, we are not getting Fruit Loops.

The other day, I had answered:

Yes, yes

Right before we left - they're good for a couple of hours

AND

Yes!

So, the shopping trip should have been a success, yes?

No, it most certainly was not. It was the most horrific, painful, rip my stupid gray streaked hair out and burn in on the floor type of trip.

It started in the parking lot. For some reason I couldn't figure out Squirrel started to cry. He kicked his legs against the shopping cart, knocking off his rubber boots and exposing his bare feet. He was wailing, lamenting, wringing his hands. At this point the need for food trumped the need to abandon ship. If I didn't come out of the market for something, we'd be eating noodles with butter for dinner. Against my better judgement I entered the store, attempting to comfort my baby while fending off the nasty glances of senior shoppers.

Squirrels shrieks turned to gravelly groans. His face turned red. He started to rock the cart. He was one step away from projectile vomit and a spinning head. I hate not knowing what my baby wants. It is so sad when he doesn't have the words. I can't explain to him that we need food, that I'm a neglectful mother to let the food situation in our house get so dire. I wanted to pop a cookie in his mouth to shut him up. I wanted to run across the parking lot to Spinnaker's and grab the first bottle of hard liquor I found on the shelf and down it right there in the store.

I rocked him gently, and he still wouldn't stop crying. He twisted and dove for the cart, the basket part of the cart that contained his boots. He pulled out the boots, threw them on the ground and wriggled out of my arms. He jammed his feet into the boots, took my hands and smiled.

That's it? It was about boots?

This particular trip reminded me of a trip I took with Bear, while heavily pregnant with Squirrel. Bear was 2 1/2 at the time. He was not toilet trained yet. It was near dinner time - the stupidest time to grocery shop. I don't even remember what set him off but as we were leaving and he was screaming he grabbed at a rack of pamphlet as he stretched out of my arms. I hadn't realized that he actually had a grip on the rack and the whole thing came tumbling down. There were pamphlets and papers everywhere. The rack made such a clatter that the entire store seemed to stop for a moment, like a restaurant will when someone breaks a dish. I felt like every set of eyes in the store was watching me. The judgemental middle-aged woman. The 80 year old grandfather that made his own children choose their switch off the backyard tree. Young women who didn't yet have children, but by golly would never have a brat like that. It was then that I truley wanted to spontaneous combust.

I found myself pushing the shopping cart out of the store in a daze. I got to my car and I feel apart. A woman appeared and asked me if I needed help. I let her load my groceries for me as Bear screamed in my arms. I thanked her and she went on her way. I sat in my car and I cried. A few moments later there was a knock at my window. The same woman said "I am so sorry you had to go through that. We all do. My kids do it at Walmart." Those words, they were the most comforting words of my life. She asked if she could hug me, and for the first time in my life I let a stranger hug me, in the parking lot of Save On Foods, and I sobbed.

For me it is always a good reminder not to judge other Mamas when we see them having a tough time with their children. Maybe the babe is under fed, tired, or wet. Maybe they really want something they can't have and are having a tough time accepting that. Chances are the Mama is handling it the best way she knows how.

And for the record, I am positive the woman in the picture above has a bottle of scotch in her purse.

No rest for the weary

I have a friend who posted on her facebook status "There should be a big, red, dot on my wall with the words 'Bang head here'."

I hear you dear, sweet friend, I hear you.

Today was one of those days. We have a nest of sparrows living in our roof. Of course it's the part of the roof right by our bedroom window. Of course they start chirping at 4 am. Put that together with the sunlight streaming through the curtains and you have two wide awake children at 5 am. That makes me very short on patience.

It doesn't help that Squirrel doesn't let me sleep in. He needs me in the morning. He doesn't give a fiddler's fart about me for most of the day - but come morning he needs me. The odd time husband will try to get up with him. It only ever lasts about 10 minutes before Squirrel is pounding the door calling "Mama! Maaaaaama!"

So I'm sleep deprived.

I'm yelling a lot.

I feel like a horse's behind.

I'm so glad that grace is for Mamas too.

Me and my idealism

I'm going to be blowing off some steam tonight......

I was at Gymboree the other day with Bear and Squirrel. I love Gymboree. I hate their prices, but I manage to land a good sale now and again. Besides, I had word that they had some pirate stock in, and Bear loves pirates.

Bear and Squirrel made a bee-line to sit on the coloured plastic chairs in front of the TV as usual. There sat a dark haired little boy, watching Yo Gaba Gaba alone. After a few minutes of TV watching Bear asked me if I'd sit down, so I did. I gave the little boy a wave, and a hello. He instantly burst into tears. He ran to a middle aged woman, jumped in her arms and sobbed "I want my mama!" The grandma snapped back "Oh, cut it out." She proceeded to shame him, stuff him into the stroller and tell him he was scaring everybody with his howls. I stood there in disbelief. Her grandchild wants his Mama and she is a complete bitch to him. It was so incredibly sad and rude and unkind. I'm glad that one lady told the woman "He's not scaring me." What sort of thing is that to say to a child? He didn't look much older than 3.

As they were leaving the woman looked at me and said "I don't know what his problem is." Pardon me? Didn't you hear him? He wants his Mama! So I said "It's pretty clear to me, he said he wants his Mommy. He's sad and needs a hug." The woman puffed and left the store. She left me wishing I had said more.

I just don't get some people. Why would you not hug a crying child? Why are feelings of sadness, of loneliness, or even just being hungry and done with the mall something to be so mean and angry about? It breaks my heart. How can we stop a hurting world if we don't embrace our kids when they hurt? How can they learn empathy and compassion when big feelings are pounded back inside?

If a friend called us in tears, would we tell them to call back when they were ready talk without crying? Of course not. The thought of it is ridiculous. We listen, we may empathize. We may even offer prayers, a cup of tea, or something else tangible. We'd take care of our friend in need.

I may think this because I am an idealist to the core, but I am so sure, so confident, that if we love our children through the tough times, their little hearts will grow strong. They will grow to be compassionate people. That's what this world needs. More care, more understanding. That's the world I want my children to grow up in. It's the legacy I want for my grandchildren. It's certainly the world that God wants for His children.

Say What?

Two nights ago, while we lay in bed finishing up our stories, Bear and I were talking about all the new things that Squirrel could say. We then started to ask Squirrel to say them.

I asked him to say cookie, and he replied, with a huge goofy grin "kiki". I asked him to say Big Bird and he replied "Bee Bir". I asked him to say bath and he giggled and said "baff". Bear started to wiggle and bounce and said "I have one, I have one. Squirrel, say Darth Sidious". Squirrel smile slowly spread to a gigantic grin and he said "Dar Seh-e-us". We laughed so hard we could hardly breathe and Squirrel just sat there grinning.

That night as I watched them fall asleep, I fell in love with them again. I can't believe how much they have both grown. It seems like just a few nights ago I was nursing Bear to sleep, as God knit Squirrel together in my womb. Time goes so fast. Why can't I pause it?

Thinking about being pregnant reminds me of something Bear asked me a few months ago. He asked "So Mama, how'd Squirrel get inside you anyway? Did you swallow him?"

Out of the mouth of babes!

Kiki

Squirrel is beginning to speak. He's stretching is vocabulary past Ah-wa, Mama, Dada, Gi-sen, hi, bye-bye, this way, ball and my favourite; see-hot. He walked up to me today and said "Kiki." I didn't understand. It didn't sound remotely like anything, or anyone we know. I said "I'm sorry baby, I don't understand!"

"Kiki!" he said again, more urgently this time, with a tug on my shirt.

"I'm sorry! I don't understand." I told him again. This time he took my hand, led me to the fridge and pointed to the tupperware container sitting on top.

"Kiki!" he insisted.

Ah.....COOKIE! How can you NOT give a little one a cookie when they ask for it by name for the first time? So out came the cookies: one for me, one for Bear and one of course, for Squirrel.

Fast forward to tonight. He was one sad little man when it was time for bed. He wanted Bear's remote control Hummer in the worst way. This unfortunately is off limits. He already sorta broke it today. He's too little to play with it. I carried him screaming into the bedroom, his arms outstretched for the car. I had to think of something, and fast.

This last week or so, Squirrel has be into Sesame Street. Elmo and Cookie Monster have definitely caught his interest, more than any other characters. I ran to his bedroom and quickly found Bear's stuffed Cookie Monster and brought him back to our bed. Squirrel's eyes lit up and he held out his arms when he saw him.

"Kiki!" he exclaimed. He clung to Kiki as he nursed to sleep. When he was done nursing he drowsily rolled over and Kiki slid out of his arms. Squirrels eyes popped open and he called out "Kiki?" I tucked Kiki under his arm as Squirrel closed his eyes, falling back into his slumber.

My baby has adopted his first Lovey!!

Brotherly Love

Bear got angry the other day. Really angry. I have never seen him so angry in his whole life. He's 4, big feelings are pretty normal. Why he got angry is something that made me so incredibly proud of him.

We were on a play date at a friend's house. My friend has two children, I'll call them Emma and Jack. Emma is about 5 1/2 and Jack is nearly 4. Bear, Squirrel, Emma and Jack were headed to Emma's room to play. Jack was having a particularly bad day, and had it out for Squirrel. My friend and I were enjoying a nice cup tea in her living room when our tranquility was shattered. We heard Jack shout "No! No Squirrel you CAN'T come in Emma's room!" Squirrel shrieked and then Bear shouted "He can so. You stop it. You stop it now. He CAN come in. Don't you tell him that!"

My friend and I jumped up. I have never seen my Bear so beside himself with anger. His face was red. He was spitting while he screamed at Jack. I seriously thought that Bear, for the first time, would pound the crap out of another child. Bear then looked up at me and told me Jack had said that Squirrel was not allowed in Emma's room, and that Jack had pulled on Squirrel's shirt to keep him from entering the room.

My friend stepped in told Jack that yes, Bear was right. Squirrel was allowed to play in Emma's room. Emma, Bear and Squirrel, who was sporting a pair of pink sunglasses, entered Emma's room. Jack dragged his feet, sulking behind them. We hadn't even sat down when Bear shouted "Hey, don't take those from him! He had them first." I ran down the hall again, to find Bear taking the pair of pink sunglasses from Jack, and putting them on Squirrel's face. Squirrel beamed and threw his arms around his brother. Big brother sticking up for Little. It was one proud day for this Mama.

Summertime

Summer is coming. I can feel it. Spring has definitely been here for awhile, but summer.... I can feel your warmth already! It is so amazing to wake up to the birds chirping, the fresh morning air smelling of bluebells and the cool sunlight streaming in my window. Its definitely motivation for this lazy lie-abed to get her butt out of bed.

We had our first boat trip of the season on Sunday, Mother's Day. It doesn't really count as Squirrel's first trip, but it's the first he can remember. Last year he was still an infant as we putted through the Gorge to the inner Harbour. This time he was really freaked out at first, but after a few minutes he was babbling at pointing to "twees", and comfortably scooting to the back and front (or is it bow and stern?) of the Zodiac.

The one thing that I couldn't believe as we motored along was how we are so blessed to live in this beautiful city. Really, who can launch a boat at the end of their street and go downtown for ice-cream? It's amazing to walk along the Harbour, cone in hand, doling out change to buskers like Dave Harris, or Bear's beloved Plaster Man.

There is a park that we stop at along the way. It's on the beach. The beach! For someone who grew up in Surrey, a park on the beach is truly wondrous. You can swing on the swings and see patches of water through the trees. A welcome contrast to a busy street and unkempt houses, I tell you!

I haven't been this excited about summer in a long time. Beaches, even when half the beach come home with you in your car. Parks, water parks, picnics and the smell of coconut sunscreen smeared all over your body. Living barefoot in my flipflops. Dinner on the patio at Milestones on the rare date that we get. Barbecuing every night - burgers, hotdogs, chicken, ribs. Sweet potato salad. Beers or ciders on the back porch after the kids have gone to bed. Makes one want to crack a beer, listening to Janis Joplin's rendition of Summertime, and relax the night away.

Never Violence

Never Violence
by Astrid Lindgren

Above all, I believe that there should never be any violence. In 1978 I received a peace prize in West Germany for my books [Pippi Longstocking], and I gave an accepting speech that I called just that: "Never Violence." And in that speech I told a story from my own experience.

When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking - the first of his life. And she told him that he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, "Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock that you can throw at me."

All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. And the mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because violence begins in the nursery - one can raise children into violence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was recently shared on a Gentle Christian Mothers, a message board that I belong to. The poster who shared this also said that she had found in a blog a suggestion to put a rock on our window sill to remind ourselves that violence is not the answer. What a beautiful suggestion!

It also made me think about my own thoughts on spanking. Spanking was so engrained into who I was. I was spanked as a child. It might have been for disobedience, for sass, for lying, for fighting with my brother..... I don't remember. I did learn that it was best not to be caught, so I learned to be deceitful.

I always assumed that I would spank my children. Right up until Bear was born. I thought that if I didn't spank my children then they would grow up to be bad people. I thought that the problems with our society came from children who were never disciplined.

I am so grateful to be blessed with a different outlook on things. I am so blessed to be surrounded by women who are wise, that can mentor me in my parenting. I am so blessed to be loved by a God who is full of grace and mercy. Grace and mercy are what I want my children to know, not violence or shame.

I have a rock on my windowsill in my kitchen. It's a rock that Bear found me. When I feel like grace based discipline is not working, when I feel like I am failing and that I just need to smarten my kids up with a spanking I look at my rock.

Kim Taylor

I'm not very good at writing reviews. Scratch that. I've never written a review. I was supposed to write a review for my college creative writing class. We went to some jazz club or something. I can't remember. I do remember that I got incredibly drunk and flirted with my teacher's son. I am still embarrassed, though I'm sure the incident is long forgotten by everyone else. Anyway, the review was never written because I didn't remember anything but the ciders and the cute drummer (teacher's son) from the jazz band.

I did want to share some music I've been into lately. Her name is Kim Taylor, and her music is simply beautiful. Someone I know said "if you don't know who Kim Taylor is, you're stupid." So check this out - so you're not stupid anymore.

www.kim-taylor.net

Oh, and my favourite song is Days Like This. You can listen to it on the music option below!