School's out!

It was yesterday that my Bear finished his first year of preschool. It has been amazing to see him grow and flourish from a shy 3 year old to a very sociable 4 year old.

I had my reservations when I first enrolled him in his preschool. I wasn't sure how he would do in a setting where I, Husband or my Mom weren't involved in being his primary caregiver. I wasn't sure how he would do around other kids either.

A few years back in our playgroup Bear was picked on and seemed to be singled out by one particular boy. He would charge at Bear and knock him down. He once put him in a headlock and tossed him to the ground. It got to the point that if ANY child came near him Bear would put up his hand and say "No, No!" and run away. It was heartbreaking to see my little boy so afraid of other children. So I told myself that if he wasn't ready, we wouldn't go and we'd only be out the $30 enrollment fee.

When September came and he seemed ready, I told myself that if he didn't like preschool then we'd just be out the September fees, and would find other things to do on the days that he went to school. I didn't even have to come close to making a decision like that because he loved school so much.

He has made friends, and plenty of them. The kids he is drawn to are wonderful, and all the kids love him too. Its sweet to see him doted on by a sweet little blonde girl who always insists on wearing dresses. He rough plays with her older brother. His best buddy is a shy, quiet little guy until you get to know him. Once he warms up to you, he is the sweetest little man! There is a little girl that is as cute as a button that he absolutely adores - and wants to have over for a bounce on the bouncy castle. He's only 4 and he's bringing girls home! Lord help us when he's a teenager.

He's definitely won a place in the hearts of those kids with his sense humour. He is such a ham. One day he came home with a really stiff chunk of hair. It was like he took a handful of gel and slopped it through his shaggy blonde hair. I asked him what he had been into, fearing in was glue or something crazy like that. He proudly told me "I wanted to make Hannah laugh, so I put yogurt in my hair!" I was not surprised in the least.

I'm going to miss seeing him in his puppy slippers, running around the preschool playroom. I'm going to miss the random pieces of art that I don't have the heart to throw away or recycle. I'm going to miss his stories of who did what, and so and so said this or that and it was really funny - you know the type of humour that only a preschooler appreciates?

Our first year of preschool was a success. I am so, so happy that it worked so well for my Bear. Next year I'll be in worse shape though. At least we have one more year til we venture in to kindergarten territory.

Can't Blog! Playing Wii!

We got a Wii. I haven't been this excited over video games since Christmas 1988. That's the year my Grandparents gave my brother and me the original Nintendo system. I can once again feel the same rush I felt as a 11 year old girl figuring out how to save the Princess.

I already feel addicted. As of yet we only have the games that came with it: Wii Resort and Wii Sports. I love the table tennis. I love that when I play the Wii Mii I always get Cole and I can always smoke him in the head with a ping pong ball. I love the background characters too. There are some really freaky looking ones - like super goth chick and angry Chinese man.

Then, there is the sword fighting. I love the intense violin as you're being chased by 50 Wii Miis. It's really, really easy to kick Cole's ass. Not so easy with Jackie. She is one tough Wii Mii!

At the risk of sounding like a complete gaming nerd I'm going to cut it off here.....

But I love my new Wii!

Hello new hair!

Hair! You are short and I am glad. You look good! You feel good! You are smooth, yet choppy. You are brown again. That skunk stripe is gone - or at least covered up. You are no longer ragged. I couldn't pull you into an ugly ponytail if I tried. I promise to take better care of you. I feel better just knowing that you are cut.

I feel like me again.

To my hair....

Goodbye, long, ragged Hair. You haven't been cut since November. I am sorry to tell you this, but you look like crap. You are too long. You are too thick. You don't want to be curly or straight. I should take better care of you, but I can't. I can't take 45 minutes to blow dry you straight. If you knew what happened to my house you would understand. My kids go bonkers when I'm out of the room. They are like savages. Today, while out of the room, my child pooped on the window sill. Well, he didn't actually do the squat and drop, but he was IN the window sill and had a great, big, explosive crap in his diaper, while standing on my sill.

Hair, you have decided you don't want to be brown anymore. You have decided to grow a big, fat, chunk of gray out the back of my head. You must be mistaken. I am not a skunk. It is not nice to be 32 and have an old lady hair colour as your natural colour.

You have been through so much. You were blonde in your early years. I wanted you blonder so I sprayed you with sun-in. That was what you did in the 80's when you wanted blonde hair. I'm sorry I fried you. You were very nice when you were that golden caramel colour. It was great of you to grow that way. I permed you when I was 16. I'm sorry about that. You went through a lot with all those chemicals that lady poured onto my head.

You've been dyed many colours hair. Remember when I dyed you burgundy, and then purple? Remember the green streaks. They were supposed to be blue. Remember when I cut you super short and then bleached you? Then dyed you dark brown?

You've been hacked and grown out, bobbed and razored. You've been permed and straightened. You've been bleached and hi-lighted and dyed. I've covered you with scarves, braided you and covered you with embroidery thread. I've even put beads in you and once tried to mat you into dreads.

Tomorrow you are going to be cut again. I hope this means that I'll have more time to take care of you and make you look pretty. I want to do you justice, Hair! You will also be dyed. I'm too young to be gray. Or maybe not confident enough. Whatever it is, I don't want to be gray. Not yet.

Tonight is the last night that you will be pulled into a messy, scrunched up, rat's nest of a bun, or ponytail, or whatever it is that you call what I do to you. It's horrific, but tomorrow that will change.....

So long, Hair!

Fix it with a coke

Squirrel's separation anxiety is peaking. He wants to be held all the time. Not worn. I tried to get the backpack on so I could wear him on my back and he screamed and chopped it to the floor. I put him on the counter when I was chopping vegetables and he promptly stuck his foot in the barbecue sauce that I had made. He's had a cold and his nose is perpetually snotty and he does not want to be wiped.

So, I handled it like any mature adult would handle it. I had a great big Mommy meltdown. With dramatic exasperation I threw myself onto the couch, put my head in my hands and let out a loud "Ahhhhh!" I don't normally like conducting myself like this in front of the kids. I mean, I'm supposed to be teaching them how to deal with their frustration without kicking and screaming and yelling.

Bear was sitting on the love seat drinking a cup of milk when I did this. He looked at me and said "I know what you need Mommy? You need a great big sip of my milk."

"No I don't." I told him. "I don't want any milk."

"Juice? Would you like some juice?" He smiled.

"No Bear. Please. I'm really, really frustrated." I told him.

"I know what it is. You need yucky drink. That's what you want." He said this with a nod and a great big grin.

"Yeah, that would be nice." I said.

"Then go on, get one." Bear exhorted.

So I did.

Nothing is fair at the fair

I learned a lesson this weekend - Never take a child under two years to the fair.

They are not allowed to go on rides. This made Squirrel really sad. He sobbed and kicked and screamed. He doesn't understand why he can't go on the rides. He doesn't understand when I say to him in a gentle voice "I'm so sorry, I know it's not fair."

Bear had a blast. He went on the roller coaster twice - once with me and once with Nana. He went on some cars that went round and round, and a minuscule version of the Dumbo ride at Disneyland - except the containers (is that what you call them?) were fish or ducks instead of large eared elephants.

I can't wait til next year Squirrel. You and me are doing the roller coaster baby!

Chaos

This morning was one of the lousiest mornings I have had in a long time. Take both of the really "good"things about being 4 years old and 20 months old and that was the mood of the boys today.

It is very nice to have two full blown tantrums in the street. It's even better when you can see your neighbour standing in his living room window watching the tantrums. It feels great when your child runs across the front grass and attempts to butcher your camellia with his light saber even though you warned him once to stop.

When I was driving Bear to Sunday School both Bear and Squirrel were screaming and crying in the back seat. Bear was angry because he lost the privilege of using his light saber. Squirrel was angry because the shoes he wanted to wear were so small I couldn't get them on his feet. I was on the verge of tears, and of laughter. That crazy, psychotic, holy-shit-I'm-going-to-lose-my-mind type of laughter. I had images of accelerating as fast as I could and slamming on the brakes, just to relieve some tension.

By the time I reached the church Squirrel was asleep, snot smeared across his face and tears glistening on his long eyelashes. After a humiliating attempt at parallel parking and a good hug Bear, happily suited up in his bee costume, made his way into the church like nothing had happened.

If I could cut out the morning, the day would have been nice. Life has just been stinking hard lately. Husband is working 10-12 hour days. He didn't work last Sunday afternoon, but he's been gone late every. single. day. since June 1st. He was out of town for 2 nights last weekend. It wears on a mother that is trying to balance the needs of two very different boys, care for a mammoth fur baby, and take care of the household chaos as well.

The chaos makes my brain hurt, and it makes me pissy. I almost imagine myself cleaning up my house in a forceful rage, to Bulls on Parade by Rage Against the Machine. It makes my kids and Husband pissy too. Husband says he thinks he married an impostor because when he met me my house was as neat and tidy and organized. That, it was.

I was also single. I got up every morning alone. I only had myself to cleanup after. There was no other adult leaving wet towels on the bed, or downstairs on the dryer. There was no hair stuck to the sink from one shaving his head. I didn't have to get up and make any one's lunch, or breakfast for that matter. I only had my own clothes to wash. Not my own, Husband's and two very active boys. Sometimes they go through 3 outfits a day. That's a lot of clothes.

Then, there are the toys. I try really hard to keep up on their playroom. Really, I do. You would think after stepping on army men or hotwheels with my bare feet that I would have learned my lesson. Anyone who has stepped on one of these knows what I mean. Not this mama, she hasn't learned her lesson. Their room is my absolute last priority. Bear has zero interest in helping - no matter how fun I make it. So if he wants to play in chaos, so be it.

I didn't have a dog when I lived alone. Here we have one gigantic behemoth of a dog who sheds hair 24-7. I swear I could make a small terrier out of all the hair that boy drops around the house every single day.

I also only had to feed myself. Cookbooks excited me. I'd get off on meal planning. Now, thinking of what to eat is just one more task I must complete. Is it healthy? Will the kids eat it? Will Husband eat it? Trying to make food that pleases three other people isn't easy. Especially when four year old tastes are involved.

Most importantly, I didn't have anyone else to entertain. I spend most of my days making sure that Bear and Squirrel are content and not bored. I could have a house that would make Martha Stewart seethe with jealousy if I just stuck my kids in front of the idiot box all day. It's important to me that we go places, see things, do things. I want my kids to remember their childhood that was full of adventures, climbing, swinging and sandcastles. I want them to take joy in having a picnic in nature, or french fries on the wharf. I know my own Mama did the best she could, but I remember cleaning, and more cleaning and Sesame Street.

So, my house is chaos most of the time. But it's clean, sanitary chaos. There may be toys strewn across the floor and jeans hanging off the kitchen chair, but baby, you can eat off my bathroom counter. That I make sure of!

My kids go a bit loopy when they're stuck indoors, and now with summer coming I can see many long sunshine filled days. I can't wait! And as a friend of mine just said to me last week "C'mon over. Just don't expect me to do the dishes or wash the floors for you."

Smashed

Today my beloved Curious George mug was smashed to bits, and it's my fault.

I had given the mug to Bear to drink from. He had been sad, and had wanted some milk, so I put the milk in the mug to cheer him up. Once he was finished I asked him to put it up on the counter so that Squirrel wouldn't find it and try to carry it around the house.

Bear is 4 and he forgets things. He left George on the pleather cube in the middle of the living room and moved on to play in his room. I was engrossed in whatever I was doing, and Squirrel toddled in and found his prize. He carried the mug to the sun room and with great gusto dropped in on the floor, where it promptly broken into 3 large pieces, and a zillion dusty shards of porcelain. I say with much honesty that I wasn't mad. I was sad. I pointed at the mug and gasped and Squirrel knew immediately that what he had done. He came to me and threw his arms around me as I bent down for the hug that he was offering. He gave my back a rub. Bear entered the sun room and when he saw the broken pieces he burst into tears. He thought it was his fault. He said that he was crying for the mug, crying because he was sorry, crying because I could never, ever bring it back again.

I cleaned up the mess and the 3 of us had a cuddle on the couch. I explained that even though the mug had been left where Squirrel would get it, and Squirrel had thrown it, I was the Mommy and I should have checked to make sure that the mug was safe. I know that in reality at his age Bear is going to forget to take the mug to the counter. He's a kid.

It seems pointless to get angry about the mug. What good would that do? I know that Bear, and to an extent Squirrel, had felt the upset over the broken mug. How could yelling at them be effective in any way?

When we sin, we feel guilt. We feel remorse for what we have done. God doesn't answer back to us "That was a pretty stupid thing to do. How could you do that to me? After all I've done for you? Shame on you!" God forgives us. I have committed so many wrongs against my God. Yet he forgives me. The least I can do is emulate that grace to my kids. Even if it's just a broken mug.

My Grandma

My Grandma has been with Jesus for six years. It's been six years since I sat with her at her table in her kitchen. It's been six years since we've played Yahtzee and then had a cup of tea while watching Everybody Loves Raymond.
I miss her every day. I miss her when I look at Squirrel and see her in his eyes. I miss her when I'm lonely. I miss her when I feel like there is no one left to talk to. Because she always understood.

I think of the way she was when I was a little girl, sitting at her organ. When she was a little girl she wanted to play an instrument. It was war time, and in those times there was no money for an instrument, let alone music lessons. Her only doll she ever owned was sold to feed the family. The ration cards were never enough.

She was born at the start of the depression and her childhood ended when she married, a few months after the war was over. Her grandmother suffered a stroke on her wedding day, and died a few days after. She was only 17 when she sewed her most valuable jewelry into the hem of her dress and came to Canada as war bride in 1945. The marriage didn't work out in the end and she went back to Belguim. She would return to Canada again to stay, when she met, and married my Grandfather.

She had five children, her only daughter is my Mama.

My grandma made me feel special. She once told me that I deserved a man that would hold me in his hand, like a delicate little bird that I was. She knew me better than anybody. I could tell her anything.

My heart hurts when I think that she didn't live to see my wedding day. I'm sad that she will never meet her great-grandsons in this lifetime.

My heart rejoices though, because I know that she is rejoicing with our King. She is with the grandchildren she never got to hold because they left us before they were born. She is safe, and she is warm. The horrific memories that would torment her throughout her life have died with her body.

She is healed, and full and new again.

Simone Marie Sully
February 1, 1929 - June 6, 2004

Bear and Squirrel

Bear and Squirrel....... how did they get names like that?

Bear is the nickname I bestowed upon my son when he was less than 2 years old. I'd call him honey bear, or baby bear, and it was shortened to Bear over time. I probably call him by his first name Aaron 1/2 the time, and Bear the other half. It suits him. He tells me he likes it when I call him Bear, and it's special, because no one else calls him Bear. Just me!

When I started this blog I wanted to retain some anonymity with the general public. I already had a nickname for my oldest son, but nothing has really seemed to fit for my baby. At the time we were reading a book called "Friends and Pals and Brothers too!" by Sarah Wilson. The brothers in the books were buddies, like I tell Bear he and his brother will be. This of course will be once Squirrel gets old enough to be more than the pain in the butt that knocks down museums and takes his toys without asking. The characters in the book are nicknamed Bear and Squirrel, which Bear loved.

I have actually never called my baby 'Squirrel.' He is known only as Brendan, except when I'm lazy and I call him 'B'.

So those are my boys. They're sleeping right now, side by side in my bed. Bear was out first. He had a rough time after we got home from the park. He cut his thumb on a pokey book, and now has his thumb wrapped in a Toy Story band-aid.

Squirrel didn't feel like sleeping at first. He sat in my lap for awhile, had some big feelings about not being permitted to take binoculars to bed, and finally collapsed in my arms an hour later than he usually sleeps.

I'm hoping this means I get to sleep a bit tomorrow.... but chances are I'll be up with the birds......

Museum

My Bear built me a museum today. Nobody has ever built me a museum. He was so proud of it too. He lead me by the hand from our living room, to the sunroom, making me swear I'd keep my eyes closed. He stood as tall has he could and with his arms sweeping the air he shouted "Ta-da!" Squirrel squealed with glee and swooped in to tear the museum down. This of course did not bode well.

So my museum found a home on the tea cart, next to the kalanchoe that I never water. I didn't even know that Bear knew the word museum.