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It’s My (Kid’s) Party

There’s a rule that if you are going to hand out birthday party invitations at school, then you have to invite everybody in the class. I just today found out about this rule.

I sent Colum to school with a handful of invitations for a few favourite classmates and a mom friend told me about it in the school yard. Maybe I’d heard/read something about it before? Like last year maybe? In any case, I didn’t know.

It will be okay because I already sent a note to school last week and asked if his kindergarten teacher could discreetly put the invites in the kids’ bags and she said sure. I also told Colum that his teacher would give them out and he shouldn’t say anything because we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. We don’t want anyone to feel left out. But we simply cannot accomodate everybody. I thought I was being extra considerate.

I don’t understand what else parents are supposed to do. I can invite the kids we see outside of school, sure. I can invite the kids whose parents I already know and like. But those aren’t necessarily going to be the same people my children want to invite. If a child goes to daycare or is bussed in, then they don’t get birthday party invitations? Not unless we invite all 20 children?!

I was so happy for Colum when he was invited to a couple birthday parties over the past year. I was excited that a couple kids liked him enough to want them at their parties. He had friends and I was careful to make sure those people were also among the few to be invited to our party. And now I feel cheated.

I feel worse than cheated. I feel foolish and there’s a lump in my throat as I write this. Those party invitations which we were not expecting in the first place were not special overtures toward friendship. We rearranged our family’s weekend schedule to accomodate those parties and the birthday kid, perhaps, didn’t even particularly want us there. Those invites were nothing but an obligatory duty set forth by some meddling administration.

And now, when Colum’s classmates receive their invitations, will they also imagine that everyone was invited? They (or their parents, rather) won’t realize that we only invited seven children. They’ll probably assume we aren’t expecting, indeed don’t even want, everyone to attend.

And to what end? So everybody feels included and nothing is special. Of course, people will continue to have parties and they will continue to invite only a select few people. As the kids get older, they will know. It doesn’t matter if invitations are handed out inside or outside of school. They will know. Not everybody is going to be friends with everybody, that’s just life. There’s no school policy that can change that.

Am I missing something? Do policies like these really help anyone at all?

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Babyproof My Brain

I recently wrote a post at The Bad Moms Club about how I’m flirting with the idea of not babyproofing this third time around. I just can’t trust my older kids to keep the chokables away and the baby gates closed, I don’t think.

Then again, I don’t remember making a big babyproofing effort with my other two kids either. How exactly did they get from infancy to childhood in one piece anyway? How did we survive moving into a house mid-reno with a four year old and a 18 month old?!

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Really now.

The answer came to me this morning while I was making coffee. That’s right, before I even had a coffee. I pulled the coffee maker forward to fill it with water and add the coffee grinds. Then I pushed it right back into it’s spot at the back corner of the counter. Obviously. Except then I remember the countless times Ed or some other well-meaning, coffee-making person has just left it there, brewing hot coffee at the front of the counter.

I then remembered my sister-in-law putting on the kettle using the front burner of the stove. My babysitter couldn’t find the knives because she didn’t think to look up high, on the wall-mounted shelf above the stove and next to the microwave. Anytime we had company at our old, second floor apartment, I was constantly shutting the door at the top of the stairs. I’ll step into the backyard and immediately spot the lighter that was left on the steps or the saw on the back porch. The list goes on.

Ordinary people without small children walk around oblivious of all the potential dangers inherent in everyday objects. Seriously, people, stop giving one year olds balloons to play with! I’m this close to a heart attack over that one. They will put them in their mouth. And do you not see the baby beelining it to that plastic shopping bag? What is your problem?!

And then it dawned on me. I don’t have to babyproof my house because I’ve already babyproofed MY BRAIN. I can automatically scan our surroundings and pick out all and any hazards and take the appropriate measures. It’s my secret mutant power. Sadly, it only seems to work for my own kids. I’ll always have the knowledge, of course, but my instant, danger radar is somehow linked to my own children and disappears as soon as they’re on to the next stage.

Is this a common thing? A sort of mother’s instinct? Or am I really a super hero? Colum will be so psyched if I’m a hero!

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Mom Blogging 2.0, The School-age Years

Man, do I have some funny stories. Real zingers, I tell you. But I think I have to keep these to myself.

There is no better fodder for a parenting blog than the exploits of babies and toddlers. (Except of course for public breastfeeding scandal. That’ll drive your numbers up better than any laundry detergent giveaway.) Babies are funny and tragic all at once. They are cute!  The first couple years are really all about parents trying to keep sane and support each other.

And that is why I keeping having babies.

Okay, no, not really. But it’s getting harder and harder to write about my almost-six year old. Even if the anecdotes don’t embarrass him today, they might later, after some Google name searching unearths my entire archive. In fact, I think using my kids’ real names helps to keep me honest in that regard. As long as I’m writing under my own real name (which my ego keeps insisting on) then pseudonyms are a pretty thin veil.

And while nobody love self-deprecating humour more than me — really, it’s almost all I do — it only extends to your kids up to a certain point. I could totally dig a funny story about a giant-sized 12 month old who just sits in one place while his peers run circles around him, for example. A story about a 12 year old who places last in every athletic competition can’t really be funny, however, without also sounding kind of mean. I think.

So I write about the baby and about my own ineptitude and it’s all well and good. But Colum and Irene are such a huge part of my experience of parenting. Dudes, the job doesn’t end when they start kindergarten. I know! Why don’t they tell you that in the starter guide?! There’s so much more to talk about beyond breastfeeding and babyproofing, but I’m having a really hard time figuring out how.

Help? Any and all ideas would be more than welcome.

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High Park Zoo: Keep the Memories Alive

We didn’t go anywhere when I was a kid.

Actually, we went everywhere. We just didn’t go in very many places. I had a rich and varied childhood, filled with the experiences of so many front lobbies, entryways and exteriors. From the wax museums of Niagara Falls to the Royal Ontario Museum and the Hockey Hall of Fame, we visited some of the greatest thresholds in the region. Once, we even stepped over a low railing and walked around the grounds of Fort York. That was a thrill. My brother still talks about the time my parents actually bought tickets to take us to the top of the Empire State Building. It was mind blowing.

One place we did go, however, was the High Park zoo. Growing up in the west end of Toronto, the zoo was a mainstay of my childhood. It was always open, year round, and it was always free. In fact, I’m not sure we ever went there when it wasn’t freezing cold. My dad would park up near the Grenadier Cafe and we’d scurry down the steep hill toward the entry. We were always trying to hustle in just before sunset, it seems, when the old wooden gate would be pulled closed for the night.

Once inside, it was always the same animals, the same ones that are there now. The fallow deer are quickly followed by Mouflon sheep and the peacock pen. Moving on, you can check out wallabys and Barbary sheep and (my favourite) the bison. The stinky yaks are across the road next to the Highland cattle. Bounce back to visit an emu or two and then finish up with the capybara and the llamas. And that’s it.

There’s an intimacy to that zoo and its rough-hewn road and walkways. It’s just big enough to be truly thrilling for a small child and small enough to get through without a meltdown. It’s a living, breathing part of my own personal history, my family history and the history of our city. And bringing my own children there is one of the great joys of my life.

The High Park zoo has lost its funding. The zoo is not included in the city of Toronto’s operating budget for this year and won’t be able to stay open beyond June — this June! — without alternative funding.  City Councillor Sarah Doucette believes $100, 000 (and there’s only $75,000 to go!) in donations will be able to keep the zoo running until the end of the year and buy enough to time to explore corporate sponsorship or other funding options. (The entire park was bequeathed to the city on the grounds that it remain always free of charge and open to the public, so user fees are not an option.) My husband, Edward Keenan, also wrote about the plight of the zoo if you want to learn more. Fellow mom blogger and High Park local Emma Willer wrote about what the zoo means to her family. She wants to see you there for Earth Hour!

Here’s what you can do:

  1. Donate right now, right here. Ten dollars will score you a tax receipt. Double that and earn my undying gratitude. Pick up the entire $100, 000 tab and I’ll have your baby. Kidding. Kind of.
  2. Spread the word. Anybody who has ever been to High Park has fond memories and a story to tell. We want to hear yours. Blog about it, tweet about it (#SaveHPZoo), Facebook about it, talk about it at the water cooler. Remind people that places like the High Park zoo make this city worth living in and then get them to donate. (See step one.) Heck, here’s a bit.ly link to the donation page: http://bit.ly/HnnWSM
    Put it out there! (After you donate.)
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Surprise! It’s Easter Again

Disclosure: I’m part of the Kinder® Mom program and I receive special perks as part of my affiliation with this group. The opinions on this blog are my own.

So Easter is less than two weeks away. Breathe. It’s okay that you completely forgot there even was an Easter and have no ideas whatsoever about what to get the kids or what to bring to your aunt’s and, omg, they didn’t schedule a hockey game for Easter freaking morning, did they?! Or, you know, whatever it is you’re stressing about. That was just a wild guess.

As far as the kids go, all that matters is an impressive display of chocolate. And by impressive, I mean BIG and LOTS OF and LOOK! BUNNIES. They really don’t care about your selection of  fine, artisanal, handcrafted eggs — especially if it’s a small selection. Last year I spent way too much money on not nearly enough chocolate at a better chocolate shop and then still wound up at the Walmart’s trying to fill out the stash at the last minute.

But if you really want to feel good this Easter, Kinder’s Joy to Share campaign supports the Children’s Miracle Network (a seriously good cause that gives money to children’s hospitals in your community) through their Kinder Seasonal Easter Products. Or you can make a personal donation online. The Kinder Facebook page also has some truly inspiring stories of families that have been touched by the Children’s Miracle Network in their local children’s hospitals.

As for us, I think getting up early to hunt for chocolate and then watching my son play one of the last hockey games of the season will make for a pretty fantastic Easter morning after all. And no potluck dinner can have enough salad, right? What’s your must-have Easter morning treat?

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A Pox On This House

“Is he short of breath?”

“No.”

“Is any part of his skin purple?”

“No.”

“Is he feverish?”

“No.”

“Are his lymph nodes swollen?”

“I really can’t tell. I’m holding a baby and the phone and he’s running around in circles with a foam sword.”

“I see.”

The (male, not that there’s anything wrong with that) nurse from Telehealth Ontario agreed that it’s probably chicken pox. Colum had been playing outside after school and came in to wash up for dinner with one hand rubbing at his waistband. Bug bites already, I thought. I pulled up his shirt and discovered more bites and more and … hold on. I suddenly recalled a note from school that said something about chicken pox, yadda yadda, if your child hasn’t been vaccinated, yadda yadda yadda. Colum was vaccinated, you see, so I hadn’t given it a second thought. That’s likely also why he was feeling pretty much normal except for the itchy spots.

And so the nurse kept on with his questions and treatment recommendations for Colum until I basically had to be all, “Okay, enough about that kid. He just ate three bowl of spaghetti and sprinted up and down the stairs four times. He’s fine. What about my baby? I have a six month old who hasn’t yet been vaccinated against the chicken pox. What about her?!” The upshot was that Colum should avoid breathing on her, coughing near her or lying on a bed next to her while he’s contagious, which he has been for the past 48 hours. So, yeah, she’s probably going to get it.

According to mister tele-nurse it should be all right if she does. Unless, of course, she gets sores INSIDE HER MOUTH and then REFUSES TO EAT. Great. Let’s hope that’s not very likely. I should probably have asked if I should take the baby to the doctor if she does get symptoms. Better yet, I think I’ll call the doctor and let her field that one herself.

“Do you have any more questions or concerns at all?” “No, I think that covers it.” “Okay, goodbye.” “Bye.” *click* Oh wait! Crap. I have another kid too. Maybe I should also care about her! Poor Irene. Well, she’s been vaccinated at least, but we can all see how effective that is.

I’m mostly worried about sending her to nursery school on Friday on the off chance that she’ll have contracted the illness but won’t have any sympotoms. What do you guys think? Should I assume the vaccine will actually work for her? Or should I keep her home for the 10 to 20 day incubation period so we don’t risk spreading the infection, no matter how small the risk and how great the nursery school fees? I really don’t know.

 

 

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Dishing About Dishes

Disclosure: I am part of the Finish Blogger Program by Mom Central. I received compensation as part of my affiliation with this group. The opinions on this blog are my own.

I’m participating in a campaign for Finish dishwashing detergent, as you can see. A package of Finish Quantum detergent arrived by post as part of my compensation, so of course I had to try it out. Immediately I began cooking and baking and trying to dirty enough pots, pans and plates to give this a whirl. KIDDING. I loaded up the dishwasher with the perpetual pile of dirty cups and dishes (last night’s pasta sauce already prehardened onto the plates) that resides on my kitchen counter. I also ate the last brownie out of the baking  pan, you know, for the campaign. It’s like I was born for this kind of work.

I also never use the drying setting on my dishwasher because I’m pretty sure it’s the very least I can do for the environment. (Please let me know if there’s something even less that I can be doing instead and I will do it!) The idea is that I’ll leave the door open when the wash cycle is complete and the dishes will still be hot enough to air dry quickly. The reality is that I forget all about the dishes and end up surfing the net into the middle of the night until my eyes start to water and I can no longer see straight. I then stumble upstairs and take a few swipes at my teeth and face, and pass out. Five minutes later I’m awoken by a baby’s cry, so I scoop her up, stick a boob in her mouth and fall back asleep. THEN, some time the next morning when I’m searching for the pink cup, it has to be the pink cup, NO NOT THAT ONE, I’ll remember to open the dishwasher to find some still-wet, spotty, could-be-cleaner-but-they’re-fine dishes.

But not this morning, friends, readers and assorted Google searchers, not this morning. The dishes were still kinda wet, of course, but they were not spotty and they were most definitely clean.

The good news is that you, too, can score a free sample of Finish Quantum by liking the Facebook page and then signing up for said sample. (The bad news is that they’re running out fast so go now. Hurry!) You can also score a $5 off coupon for the Wine and Cheese Show in Mississauga on their page, if you’re so inclined.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dishwasher to unload. Groan.

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February 2012. Pictured.

Hey guys, remember February? No? Well, let’s take a stroll down memory lane. It’s time for the monthly photo recap. Now two weeks late!

Irene was taking her first-ever dance lesson, a creative movement class, at a local community centre. Oddly (since there’s nothing but kids where we live) there was only one other little girl enrolled in this session. And if that little girl isn’t there?

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Irene also went skating on real skates (as opposed to bob skates) for the first time last month. I’m actually pretty bummed that we only got out on the ice with her once this year. I’m sticking to the new baby excuse … That’s good for a few months, right?

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We had a lovely visit with my grandmother. You see that kitchen table? It’s over 50 years old and my dad and his five siblings were all bathed on it every morning as babies. God, I love that table.

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And sometimes even a Scarborough strip mall can look kind of beautiful.

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Story time!

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There was even snow one day this winter! Seriously, it was the least winter-y Toronto winter I can remember. We only got to use the new Christmas sled once, but at least both my chins were there for it. Gah! Don’t look!

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I borrowed a Bumbo chair from a friend (thanks Elle!) and Mary is enjoying the new perspective.

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Mary and I went to the mall one Friday afternoon and enjoyed some quality time together. It was wonderful.

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Dinner out with three young kids is usually burgers, but sometimes pizza. This was burgers.

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Peer interaction is so important. Mary with Emma Willer’s little Charlie.

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Irene continues to push the frontiers of fashion.

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I’m trying to get Mary acclimatized to her playpen so I’ll be able to keep her safe from her big sibs. Hey! Wait a minute!

This is Colum’s first published photo and my only real workout these days.

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Pizza Day at Colum’s school means pizza lunch for us girls, too. Mmmm. Vesuvios.

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My baby brother with two of my babies. Aw.

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We got hit with a nasty gastro bug at the very end of the month. Colum and Ed were the first victims and Irene followed suit a week later, missing The Lorax premiere. Poor thing.

The days of Mary lying on her back and playing in her baby gym for twenty minutes at a time are over. Alas. She’s been able to roll over for a couple months, but only just started doing it every single time you put her down. Then she gets stuck, of course, and starts crying. So we tried something new.

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Fancy shoes out for a walk.

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Check me out, Mom! I might even give you two minutes before I start screaming today.

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Nah.

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Don’t Forget! Claim Your Children’s Art and Fitness Tax Credits!

This post is sponsored by kbs+p, the advertising agency for the Canada Revenue Agency. I’m splitting the proceeds with a reader to help spread the word about these awesome tax credits. See below for details. CONTEST CLOSED

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You KNOW this is getting a tax credit!

I was about to charge a flight to my credit card last week when I realized the date. The beginning of March means registration for all spring and summer programs. I cheaped out and decided not to do any camps (because child care is only useful if ALL of your kids can go. That’s right baby Mary, I’m looking at you.) But I still had to shell out for swimming times two and t-ball for one. (And that’s it. I’m really trying to streamline the extracurriculars.) Better hold off on my vacation planning for another pay period or two!

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Third-time Firsts

Ah, firsts.

I remember diligently listening to my doctor’s recommendation to begin introducing Colum to solids with runny rice cereal mixed with breast milk and then to sloooowly introduce one food at a time, looking out for signs of allergies. I bought organic, brown rice cereal and painstakingly expressed fresh milk for each feed.

Irene had a similar start only I had wised up and just kept a bottle of breast milk in the fridge to use for cereal at first. I soon realized that pureed fruit make an excellent baby cereal vehicle too.

Both times I thought long and hard about what and when I would introduce my baby to solids. I looked forward to it. It was a big deal.  This time I thought maybe I’d skip the baby cereals altogether since they’re really only so much filler and the iron absorption rate for babies is low. I would probably buy some organic produce and start with that and then move on to meat for iron. And I’d definitely wait until she was fully six months. I thought.

Fast forward to last Saturday. My hand is cramping up from squeezing the manual breast pump for so long and I still only have six ounces of expressed breast milk. That’s actually not a bad, uh, harvest? I just haven’t started pumping early enough to get as much as I wanted. I’m attending a couple sessions of Podcamp Toronto and then meeting some friends for dinner and may be gone as long as six or seven hours. I think about dashing out to Shoppers for some “just in case” formula, but  don’t want to spend a lot of money on formula we’ll hardly use and I’m already running late.

“Here’s six ounces of breast milk,” I tell Ed, “Give her two three-ounce feeds and there’s a jar of baby apple sauce and some rice cereal in the cupboard. Feed her a little of that in between to fill her up. It’ll be fine.” And then I leave.

Yep, two ingredients instead of one; non-organic, ultra-processed rice cereal given to me as swag from somewhere; and a jar of organic baby food Santa had put in her stocking for the benefit of her older sibs. Oh, and she’s still two weeks shy of six months. And you know what? It’s fine.

Ed was kind enough to record this milestone for me. Let’s watch together:

She’s saying she wants more, Ed! Why aren’t you listening!? Thanks for having your sister’s back, Colum and Irene.

I’ve continued giving her a little pureed apple at dinner time (which is when she really wants to join in and eat with the rest of us) sans rice cereal. Last night I put some steamed broccoli from our dinner through the baby food mill and she gobbled it up. Interestingly, she had an easier time swallowing the more textured broccoli than the super-smooth jarred apple sauce that sometimes was thrust back out. I think it’s because it’s less like a liquid and therefore less confusing. I really don’t get why babies over five-months old need super thin purees.

The only thing I’m really sad about? Breast milk poop! Oh how I’ll miss that mild-smelling, water-soluble poo. Here comes months of mushy, stinky, real food poo and new adventures in cloth diapering. I’m really going to need a lid for the diaper pail now.