Author: Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

Rebecca Cuneo Keenan is a writer who lives in Toronto with her husband and three children.

Is it March Break YET?

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.

The beautiful, mild winter notwithstanding, I’m ready for spring. I’m ready for more daylight and warmer weather and hanging out at the park. Al fresco breastfeeding! Kids bouncing off playground equipment instead of the living room walls!

But first, my friends, first, we get March Break. It’s as though the universe has dictated that we must be brought to the very threshold of our breaking point — two and half months of relentless school routine in the frigid Canadian winter — before we’re granted a break. I know for many working parents March Break is a huge pain, a giant scramble for alternate child care. But I am counting the days.

We will not be taking a family vacation at the same time as every other family in North America. We will not be escaping to a cottage or even heading downtown to check out over-crowded attractions. Nope. But I also won’t be begging and pleading, ordering and insisting, wrestling and then finally crying for a three-year-old to please just put on some clothes, any clothes, so we can take her brother to school. I won’t be making lunch at 11am so we can catch the 11:45 school bus that will take my son to his 2.5 hour-long school day. I won’t be packing him a snack or drowning in a sea of kindergarten paperwork. Didn’t we just do a fundraiser yesterday?! I won’t be waking up a baby so we can pick my son up from the school bus and I (hopefully, please let it be true) won’t be walking around the neighbourhood with a purple little-girls hair elastic static clinging to the side of my head and a giant black streak from who-knows-where across my cheek because who has time to look in the mirror while hustling three kids out the door to catch the school bus.

We’ll be hanging in our pj’s, watching cartoons and snacking on Kinder Surprise eggs because I’m working as part of a campaign to remind you about how awesome those treats are. (Smooth segue, right? I know.) Seriously, though, we’re just going to hang out at home and in the neighbourhood, taking it easy. We’ll maybe do a craft and play some games. We’ll probably do some baking and head down to High Park with friends. We’ll for sure crack open one or two Kinder eggs and my kids will happily play with the cool new toys they come with while I do some laundry or something. And maybe Ed will even find the time to get something done around the house. (*cough* paint the stairs *cough*)

And after March Break is over, and the school rush is back on, at least it will be spring. Right? Please let it be spring by then.

What do you guys have planned for March Break? You can win $500 toward a family staycation at The Kinder Canada Facebook page for the month of February, so act fast. (Click the My Kinder Moments link on the left of the Facebook page.) And check out the new Kinder Surprise toys while you’re there, too. They’re really are pretty neat.

Tags Kinder Surprise, March Break, school routine, stay the hell home

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You Know

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date February 24, 2012

She wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t want that, you know,

peanut butter on my toast.

Just jam.”

Her right shoulder lifted to meet her ear in a half-way shrug.

“And, you know, don’t give me so many, you know,

little pieces like before.”

Hands raised palm-side up.

Surely I can get it right this time.

How hard can it be?

You know?

Tags 3yo, Irene, Snack

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The Month in Review Photo Post Thing, 01/12

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date February 1, 2012
3 Comments on The Month in Review Photo Post Thing, 01/12

I thought a photo recap at the end of every month might be fun. This could easily go the way of this blog’s advice column, weekend in the city video series, event listings, attempt to review every single playground in the city (yes, I did), and the list goes sadly on. But I still have to try, so … ta da! The inaugural month in review photo post thing! Currently accepting naming suggestions.

Two major Mary milestones happened around the new year. She moved from cradle to crib (but is still in our room), for one.

And we broke out the Jolly Jumper! Her staying power is still a little weak, but we’re working on it.

And then I dressed her like an elf, a Christmas elf in January.

I bought a cheaper sewing machine because I didn’t want to spend fifty bucks on a sleep sack when we have so many blankets that could be easily sewn together. And then I sewed one! All it needs is velcro. Actually, nearly a month later, it’s fine without the velcro. So $100 for the machine minus $50 for the sleep sack plus $20 in flannel, elastic and velcro that I may never do anything with and … I made my own sleep sack for only $20 more than the retail value. Yay me!

I got a fancy new Blackberry with a decent camera, so now my pictures won’t suck so hard. (Because I’ve decided I will never actually hook up a camera to upload pictures the old-fashioned way on any sort of regular basis and I’m just rolling with that.) (They will still suck somewhat because I’m still the one taking them.)

There were boardgames with Grandma and Grandpa (and we all know where that led).

Irene started calling all elastic bands Silly Bandz and wearing them around like so many rubbery bangles.

We watched playoff football as a family and I was so proud the kids were mature enough to finally let me watch a game in peace. Er, we watched football as a family for ten minutes and then Colum and Irene started playing football, slamming into the couch and tackling each other on the carpet in front of my game. (Giants for the Superbowl, yo!)

We attended the funeral of Ed’s mom’s cousin, a good woman taken long before her time. Unfortunately it was the only occasion even remotely formal enough for Mary to wear this beautiful dress, a gift from one of her many great aunts.

Colum played hockey first thing on Sunday mornings and practiced outside on Monday evenings, even in a snow storm.

Irene decided to raid the too-small clothes boxes again and squeezed into a size 18-month white dress. She paired it with an OshKosh hoodie, striped leggings and winter boots. And she pulled it off, for crying out loud. She pulled it off.

Tags blackberry camera, boardgames, crib, elf, funeral, hockey, jolly jumper, kids clothes, month in review, pictures

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I’m Expecting … Birth Centres, Aren’t You?

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date January 28, 2012

All three of my births were attended by midwives and I cannot say enough about the quality of care I received. So it’s too bad I’ve said very little.* Hey, a gal gets tired and lazy and can’t be blogging all the time when she’s pregnant, okay? Lay off.

So let me just say this. Midwives provided me with knowledge and understanding throughout my pregnancies. They gave me information and sought out my explicit consent about every test and procedure. They helped me be in control. Midwives taught me about the stages of labour and about birth and breastfeeding. They were in my apartment at the start of my very first labour telling me to get some rest. They were there when the anesthetist asked if there was a history of spina bifida in my family because surely it wasn’t the fault of his epidural that I only had pain relief on one side of my body; it must have been my fault. Midwives were there when my baby boy was finally born after days of labour and hours of pushing. And they rushed to my home to take his blood and bring it to the lab when he developed jaundice three days later. Midwives knew to duck when my water burst and hit the hospital wall while I was pushing out my second baby. Midwives made it just in time to catch my third baby at the end of my bed and I didn’t even have to leave my home for a week.

Midwives are very big part of how we became a family. They do good work. They do important work.

Right now women in Ontario have to choose between a hospital or a home birth. During the last provincial election campaign, however, Dalton McGuinty and the Ontario Liberals promised a third option: birth centres.

Birth centres are independent sites located within communities where midwives provide comprehensive care during labour as well as prenatal and postnatal. They promote the normalization of birth while providing high-quality, evidence-based care. Birth centres would save our health care system a lot of money and open up hospital space and resources for the people who really need it.

Many women don’t want a medicalized hospital birth, but aren’t comfortable with a home birth either. It took me two midwife-assisted hospital births to even really consider that maybe we could do this at home. Birth centres are the perfect solution.

Ontario Midwives want to make sure the Liberals follow through with their campaign promise to fund birth centres in the next budget to be presented in March. You can show your support by sending an e-postcard to the premier right now. I just did and it’s super easy.

And now, a video.

* I guess I did write this post and this one and this one.

Full disclosure: The Ontario Midwives did send me a lovely mug and water bottle as a thank you for writing this post. This in no way affects the content of this post. This is not a sponsored post.

Tags birth centres, midwives, ontario midwives

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X-Treme Board Game Disaster

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date January 25, 2012
7 Comments on X-Treme Board Game Disaster

Confession: I can’t get my kids to pick up after themselves.

It’s worse than that, in fact. They like to take entire toy bins and games with a zillion pieces and just dump them out all over the floor. Leave them alone for a few minutes and you will return to find a room that looks less like some children have been playing and more like a madman has been rifling through all the drawers and shelves, throwing and breaking things willy nilly.

We had taken all of the board games they’ve been given as gifts and put them away in a cabinet in the office. They’re really too young for board games, anyway, without full adult participation. During a visit with Ed’s parents last night, however, Colum followed me down to help choose a board game for him to play with his grandparents. He claimed to already know where the games were kept and I reminded him that he wasn’t to get them out on his own. They played Sorry and Guess Who, said goodnight to grandma and grandpa and went to bed.

End scene.

I’m upstairs nursing Mary, getting her changed and dressed, getting dressed myself and am engrossed in assorted other morning business. The kids are downstairs playing or watching TV, I assume. I come down to find ALL OF THE BOARD GAMES including two versions of Monopoly opened and their contents strewn across the living room. I dare anybody to go from zero to utter destruction faster than my two oldest kids. The only game they’d left downstairs was 90’s Trival Pursuit, of course. I don’t think there’s a single soul under the age of 30 who is even tempted by that one. (But if you are over 30 … Dudes, 90’s Trivial Pursuit! My place! After bedtime!)

The upshot is that I spent all morning cleaning and organizing various game pieces and play monies. I tried to yell at them to clean everything up, but it was clear they were in WAY over their heads. If I wanted actual games that could ever be played with again (and, believe me, I totally considered the big garbage bag instead), then I’d have to do this myself. The Monopoly with which Colum is utterly fascinated, but is way too old for him, is put away where nobody but me will ever find it, the linen closet. The rest of the games are put back into the office cabinet and will be taken away for a LONG time should they be pulled out without permission again.

Still, though. My kids don’t pick up after themselves even aside from X-TREME BOARD GAME DISASTERS ™. I’ve tried everything. And, by everything, I mean that I’ve tried using every kind of empty threat that I can think of. I know there are other (better!) ways of getting your kids to tidy up on a regular basis, but they all seem to involve copious amounts of time and energy, of which I am in short supply.

So, dear readers, what is the exact, magic empty threat that will finally work? Okay, fine, I’ll even consider more arduous approaches that involve actual parenting and discipline and all that jazz. I’m getting desperate.

Tags board game disasters, messy rooms, tidy up, toy clean up

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Which Would You Rather Eat, I Mean, Look Like?

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date January 16, 2012

Pre-pregnancy jeans, take 3:

20060425 baguette 05 — Image courtesy flickr.com/photos/23126594@N00/135026216/

Blueberry Streusel Muffins — Image courtesty flickr.com/photos/veganfeast/3925029206/

Success!

Well, my mid-section is still a little more muffiny than, say, a baguette with, er, hips and leaky breasts. (How do those French women stay so slim?) But this time — THIS TIME — I have been able to wear them for several hours and they don’t even hurt.

So either my sweet-free New Year’s resolution is yielding results or my jeans finally caved. “Hot damn, woman, you’re not trying to fit that ass in here again, are you?! Okay, stitching, we’re going to have to give a little this time.”

Either way, I seem to have developed a disturbing affinity for pastry-themed analogies.

Tags muffin top, pastry obsessions, postpartum weight loss, pre-pregnancy jeans

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Diapers, More Than Meets The Eye

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date January 10, 2012
1 Comment on Diapers, More Than Meets The Eye

Okay, it’s time to talk about diapering. I can hear the cheering already.

I used a diaper service (paid for by my mom) for the first few months with Colum and then switched to disposables full-time when my service ran out. (Until we were toilet training, that is. I swear by cloth trainers if you’re not too poo adverse.) With Irene I requested that my mom just buy me some diapers instead, but she really wanted me to have the service for the first couple months. So we picked out a couple dozen larger-sized prefolds at a local store. The problem was that they were too big when the service ended and then I lost all my cloth diapering mojo by the time they did fit. I think I used about half a dozen, one time. Oh god, the guilt still burns.

Pregnant the third time around, I figured there was no point even trying to kid myself. Three kids. There was no way I would be organized enough to pull off cloth this time. I was reading Amalah all summer, of course, since she just had her third kid and I needed to remember how to find the humour in sleep deprivation and spit up-drenched sheets. So, yes, I read her epic posts about cloth diapering with three kids and what works and what doesn’t and saw how cute the bums are with the diapers and the covers and everything. But nah, I wasn’t swayed. My pregnant cohort Emma Willer went out and got some cloth diapers for her third baby and I think I laughed. These women were simply better people than me and I didn’t mind saying so. I was keeping my expectations low this time and I didn’t care how many baby seals they had to club for me to do so. (What’s that? Disposables don’t come from baby seals? Oh, that’s much better.)

Fast forward three months and I’m pretty sure I lost an entire week of my life reading an internet’s worth of wisdom about cloth diapers (and don’t even ask about the Youtube videos). Before I knew it there were diapers arriving in the mail, the word “Snappi” became a regular part of my vernacular and I started cornering defenseless (and often childless) people and forcing folding demonstrations on them. And my poor brother-in-law, Sean, knows more than he ever wanted to about the antibacterial properties of properly lanolized wool. I may need a twelve step program, but at least I haven’t purchased a pack of diapers in a couple months!

I’m not sure exactly how I got from there to here, but I know it has something to do with unearthing a dozen unopened prefolds from the Irene days. I thought maybe I’d sell them or give them away, but the guilt! It burns! Money was pretty tight leading up to Christmas, too, so the idea of washing my own diapers started to shift columns from “time-consuming idealism” to “worth it to save a buck”. And of course all those cloth diaper posts I’d read were rattling around in my subconscious, quietly chipping away at my determination to do everything the easiest way possible. The final straw, however, was when I had to change Mary’s entire outfit — undershirt and all — THREE TIMES in one afternoon because of poo squishing up her back. This does not happen with cloth diapers; it just doesn’t. The poo might ooze a bit around the legs and they clearly can’t compete with disposables in terms of pure volume of pee containment, but you won’t have to deal with poo exploding up the your infants back over and over again. Screw this noise, I thought, and stuffed a giant prefold into small-sized Bummi wrap and called it a day.

Right then. Since this prelude to a small post about cloth diapering has become a long post unto itself, I’m going to have to hit you with a cliff hanger here. More details about what, how and why I cloth diaper will follow later this week. Can you even wait?!

Oh god, at this rate I won’t have any readers left by the end of the month.

Tags cloth diapers, disposable diapers

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This Year, Man. I Swear.

Resolved:

Lose more weight
Write more sentences
Make more money
Do more dishes

I have been walking five miles a day — at least — ever since Ed returned to work after Mary’s birth. That’s five days a week for ten weeks for a grand total of 250 miles. I walk with a baby strapped to my chest and a three year old in a stroller and I walk fast. I walk fast and hard and my muscles ache and my shirt gets drenched with sweat. I walk up and down hills and have worn a hole in the heel of my left shoe. And I have not lost a single pound. NOT ONE LOUSY POUND!

So, as much as I love aching muscles and sweaty pit-stained shirts, I’m going to have to take this in another direction. From January 1st to February 10 (which is 1.5 weeks before Lent when I’ll give up something again) I’m staying away from sweets. That means no more cookies, cakes, tarts, pies, squares or anything full of empty calories that I’m tempted to grab because I haven’t had time to feed myself properly. And, in anticipation of the annual deep freeze, I’m swapping my daily walk for a thrice weekly go on my parents exercise bike. Guys, I had better lose a pound, or thirty.

My dad would always say he needed to write a sentence and then we could go to the park, the grocery store, my grandparent’s house or wherever. In fact, he still does. Because you can’t write a novel in any given moment, but you might be able to manage a sentence. I have three young kids with no child care and no housekeeper; I’m lucky if I can hammer out a blog post in one sitting. I just need to focus on using the time I do have, naps and evenings and weekends, to write one sentence at a time. I’m not working on a novel at the moment, but I may get there yet.

I was able to find the New Yorker fiction issue cover on the right thanks to the miracle of the internet. It’s from 1995, so I was just 17 when it came out, but it made a lasting impression. Here it is, New Year’s Eve, and while everyone else is partying, the writer keeps writing. I can hear my neighbours partying, their recycling bin slamming shut and laughter and music wafting, as I type. Someone once said on Twitter (and I paraphrase): If you can imagine doing anything else at all besides writing, you should go ahead and do that. If you cannot, then write.

Just one more nugget about writing as it pertains to parenthood. I had a grad student friend with an infant who said Margaret Laurence did all her writing between the hours of 10pm and 2am, after her children were asleep. My friend was lamenting her own inability to get by on so little sleep. I actually do all right burning the candle on both end, so maybe I should really considering knocking off a couple novels in the middle of the night rather than watching Law and Order reruns and tweeting shit out to my two followers in Australia. I couldn’t find a quote from Margaret Laurence talking about writing around her children, but I did find this one: “When I say “work” I only mean writing. Everything else is just odd jobs.”

I suppose it would look better for me to resolve to spend more time cuddling with my children. Or, to give more to charity. Or, to take in sick puppies. But guess what? I can’t do any of those things unless I make more money. Money, money, money, money! Being a grown up adult with a house and children and a car (omg, the car) is expensive and I really need to clock more than two or three billable hours per week. Mary’s almost four months old *sputter* and I should be able to get her settled into a more predictable nap routine. It’s time for me to hustle up more paying gigs — as many as possible — and give this professional writing thing a real go. (See above. As though you just skipped to this paragraph.)

That last one was just a joke. It’s not physically possible for me to do any more dishes than I already do. Nothing short of starting to express milk into bottles and having to make my own baby food in the near future could possibly create more dirty dishes than I already have. I’m so screwed.

Tags New Year's, resolutions, writing

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Reindeer!

Post author By Rebecca Cuneo Keenan
Post date December 24, 2011

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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A Day in This Life

First it’s bodies hovering and leaping and flopping all around. “Don’t jump over the baby. Don’t jump over the baby. Don’t jump over the baby.” Then it’s nurse the baby, change the baby, cajole the kids into getting dressed. It’s the trial and error process of discovering which of her two or more dozen shirts is the one that Irene will deign to wear today. It’s trying to convince Colum that sitting still and concentrating is actually faster than flinging your body across your bed super hero-style. It’s pulling yesterday’s yoga pants back on and wrapping a spit-stained Moby Wrap over a clean t-shirt.

Then cook the oatmeal, feed the children, change the baby, make the coffee and empty the dishwasher. Check my email and make a phone call. Lunch time! Make some sandwiches, call the kids. ~~Pack Colum’s snack~~ Unpack Colum’s backpack, frantically flip through yesterday’s pile of paperwork, call the kids again. Pack the snack, feed the baby, change the baby, pack the diaper bag. Wipe their faces, wipe their asses, wash their hands. Coats, boots, hats, mitts! Go, go, go! Wash the coffee thermos, pour the coffee, wear the baby. Put on sweater, baby carrier cover, giant-ass coat, baby hat, mommy hat. Zipper all around.

Lock the door, grab my bag, push the stroller, forget my coffee (always!) and start walking. “C’mon, Colum. Let’s go, Colum. Run, run, run. We’re going to be late. Hurry! I mean it. Hurry!” Wait for the light, cross the street, walk under the train tracks and turn the corner. Catch the school bus, wave good-bye, and then start walking. Five miles a day for the sake of my own sanity and well-being.

Walk to my parents house, change the baby, feed the baby, give Irene a snack. Read a story, pick up toys, say good-bye. Boots, coat, hats, mitts. Go, go, go! Sweater, cover, coat, stroller, bag, walk. Unlock the door, hang up coat, take off boots, put socks back on. Start a mother-effing pot roast so the meat won’t spoil.

Sear the meat, chop the onions, celery, carrots. Check the recipe, drain the fat. Feed the girl a snack. Add the stock, find a bay leaf and throw in some herbs. Bring that sucker to a boil. Call my mother-in-law, cover the pot, turn off the stove. Boots, coat, mitts, hat. Go, go, go! Sweater, cover, coat. Run.

Greet the bus, take the backpack, cross the street. “C’mon, let’s go. C’mon. Hurry up. It’s freezing. Let’s move.” Under the tracks and across the street and up the lane and home. Coats, boots, mitts, hats all come off. TV goes on. Turn on the stove, flip the roast, peel the potatoes, pre-heat the oven. Feed the baby. Chop the potatoes, season and roast ’em. Drag the boy upstairs to change for the Christmas concert. Dress pants, white shirt, sweater vest, check. Dress shoes too small; light up Skechers it is!

Peel the carrots, fill the pot, turn on the stove. Flip the roast. Open the door and greet my mother-in-law.

Serve the kids, grab a bite, change the baby. Send mother-in-law to pick up husband, strap baby into carseat and commence the never-ending car wail. Boots, coats, hats, mitts. Go, go, go! Lock door, open car, strap in kids, forget diaper bag. Drive into a traffic jam, circle the block, go back for diaper bag. Let the car wail continue. Rejoin traffic, circle the church, park way-too-far away. Release the children, carry the carseat and hurry, hurry, hurry.

Deliver Colum to his teacher, file slowly up the steps and finally sit down with my family in a pew. Phew. I did it. Slip my coat off, look down and see yesterday’s yoga pants, a spit-stained Moby Wrap and a not-so-clean-anymore t-shirt. Oops. Well, at least it isn’t my birthday.

Oh crap. It’s my birthday, isn’t it?

I don’t want your pity. I got Starbucks after the concert courtesy my mother and mother-in-law AND I’m getting a Christmas/birthday dinner at my parents on Thursday AND the baby Jesus is more than enough present for all of us. Clearly.