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In The Picture

A couple weeks ago Alison Tate wrote on The Huffington Post about how, as a mom to four young children, she hates having her picture taken. She’s tired and crumpled, holding onto some baby weight and not feeling very attractive. At a family party, however, her four-year-old son asks if she’ll go into the photo booth with him. She hesitates at first, but then realizes that she wants them to have pictures of her. “I want to be in the picture,” writes Tate, “to give them that visual memory of me. I want them to see how much I am here, how my body looks wrapped around them in a hug, how loved they are.”

The post received a huge response. Of course it did. When Tate talked about even avoiding mirrors, I was nodding. Sometimes — especially during those first few months postpartum — it’s easier to just avoid looking in the mirror. There were days I would rather risk going out in public with fizzy hair all askew, cheese sauce on my chin and a wildly overgrown eyebrows than have to look squarely in the mirror and accept what I saw. Store windows became evil, reflective surfaces threatening to expose my ill-fitting pants and heavy mid-section. Cameras? No way.

So when Best Buy asked if they could send me a camera in order to document me spending time with my family, I said yes. Yes, I would take pictures of myself and my children and my husband all together. I’d take pictures of myself, just the way I am, and post them here for all to see. Because Allison Tate is right, the kids don’t care. When they look at me, they see their mom and they know how much I love them. They deserve to have the memory of that love for the rest of  their lives.

So, we went to the movies! We went to see a preview of the Scooby Doo caper Music of the Vampire that will be airing on Teletoon this Saturday. It’s a 2011 animated feature in the style of the classic TV shows and I really enjoyed it. Colum and Irene were terrified at times, but I kept reminding them that the monster is always just some guy in a costume on Scooby Doo. Always.

 

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I like to drive. So do all my chins.

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I can’t believe the theatre is so empty at 9:30am! Yes, I can.

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This makes it look WAY more happening than it really was.

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All of us together! With Scooby! This very well might make it onto our holiday cards. If I sent out holiday cards.

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Because it’s never too early for popcorn.

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Mary kept her dad busy chasing her up and down the side steps throughout the movie. Irene was in snack heaven.

And I must admit, it’s nice not having to be the one behind the camera all the time. We’ll have to do this again.

Do you think you’ll be able to brave the camera lens with your kids this holiday season, moms?

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On Giant Tricycles and Other School Memories

This post is part of the Our Kids Private School Expo Blog Hop.

Memories washed over me the moment I opened the door to register Colum for kindergarten. Well, it was actually the smell that washed over me. You know that school smell, right? I can’t describe it for the life of me, but I know it when I smell it. That special brand of Toronto grade school aroma seeped into my psyche, allowing layer upon layer of memories to rise to the surface.

I remember all the kids and the teachers calling me Rapunzel in kindergarten because I wore my hair in a long braid. They’d call me Rapunzel, the kids would, and then they’d pull my hair. There was the first time I used the bathroom in senior kindergarten and couldn’t find my way back to the classroom. And the trophy case on the main floor was exactly at forehead level if you’re in grade one or two. I learned that the hard way.

I remember the over-sized tricycles that were stored in the gym change rooms, the sort of pebbled tiles in the halls and the foot pump that turned on the water at the bathroom sinks. I remember those metal desks with all my notebooks crammed inside. I also remember sitting on the carpeted floor in the library and being read to long after I could read to myself.

Ohmigod, the film projectors! I’ll never forget the creak and groan of the already-ancient film projectors as they started spinning. Once we watched an old made-for-tv movie about a boy who had freckles all over his back. The boy was played by Christian Slater. I remember that.

I don’t remember my teachers very well, actually. My kindergarten teachers, yes, and also grades seven and eight. But everything in between is kind of foggy. I remember almost all of their names and some minor details, but that’s about it. I’m sure they were fine teachers.

But as much as school is about learning, it’s also about venturing out on your own and sometimes getting lost on the way back from the bathroom. It’s about creating memories that are all your own. I hope my kids make some good ones.

I also hope that school smell never changes.

I’m participating in the Our Kids Private School Expo Blog Hop.  Yesterday’s School Memories post can be found at Raising My Boys.  Tomorrow, the fun is happening at Ariane Griffiths.
Join the conversation!
Twitter: hashtag #OKSchoolMem
Facebook:  www.facebook.com/ourkidsnet 

 

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Stuff I’m Digging: Ikea “As Is” Chair

Up until yesterday evening, this chair was in my living room. That’s pretty much how it usually looks, too — maybe even a little better than usual. The tear is relatively new, but the cover has been washed recently, leaving only the stains that will never, ever come out. Often the cushion in on the floor and sometimes the entire chair is tipped over, serving as a fort.

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I don’t have to tell you it’s an Ikea chair. Ed and I picked it up in the As Is room for a discount because it has black smudges on the white fabric under the cover. We’ve had it since we first moved in together last summer eleven years ago.

On the one hand, I have three young children who destroy everything. (Well, at least one of them destroys everything. I won’t say who.) So clearly “good” furniture is something that can wait. On the other hand, I am sick of living in an Ikea showroom from 1998 that looks like it’s been through the wash with a box of crayons and a pink bird. I’m ready for real, grown up furniture.

Lucky for me, quality furniture shopping sprees are way beyond my means, so I won’t be tempted. Still, I’d promised myself that we were done with Ikea for furniture. (Because who can ever give up the meatballs and drawer organizers?) We would replace our current stuff sloooowly by either saving up for great individual pieces or scoring great finds that we can restore ourselves (yeah, right).

At the same time, though, I realized we could use some actual furniture in our basement playroom. It may have been the sight of my nine-year-old niece sitting on the rubber play mats amidst a pile of blocks and dolls and dinosaurs and saying, “I’m bored.” The kids are getting older and might like to actually sit on a chair or a couch while they’re down there. I guess that’s understandable.

So there we were at Ikea last night, checking the bigger kids into the ball room after eating at the cafeteria and getting ready for a leisurely stroll through the showrooms, just Ed, myself and baby Mary. It was practically a date! We noticed that they had just changed over many of their showrooms so it was all nice and fresh. (And also the very best time to shop at the As IS section. Shut up, Rebecca. Shut up. Don’t do it.)

Um, yeah. So there we were in the As Is area salivating over a $2000 display model fridge that had been marked down 50%. If only my plain old, ordinary fridge didn’t work so well! But, alas, we don’t need a fridge.* And then my gaze fell upon a chair.

Everything I hate about Ikea furniture — assembling the damn stuff, how flimsy it can be and how it looks like it was just spit out of an assembly line — this chair was not. It was sturdy (heavy, even) and attractive and already full assembled. (Another AS IS room perk.) There was a giant side-by-side-with-ice-dispenser-fridge-shaped hole in my heart and I was going to have to fill it with a Stokholm chair.

Behold.

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I’m never going to give you up, Ikea As Is room!

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Now I just need to find the perfect thing to hang on the wall above the chair.

*And yes, I totally would buy a fridge from Ikea. In fact, both my stove and dishwasher are from the Ikea As Is and they are both fantastic.

Come to think about it, not only do we have a lot of Ikea stuff, but most of it is As Is room finds. What have you scored from the As Is room? Is there any interest at all in hearing about some of our other As Is finds? Because I can go on about them, it seems. 

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Calling Bullshit on Walk To School Day

Walking To SchoolIt’s Walk To School Day and I call bullshit on the whole thing.

I know walking to school is ideal. It’s better for the environment. It’s good exercise for the kids (and parents). And it helps alleviate vehicular congestion around the school. I already know that. And guess what? So does everybody else.

It’s probably why the walking rates for those that live within easy walking distance of our school are already close to perfect. Unfortunately, a large proportion of the student body does not live within easy walking distance. It’s one of only five Catholic schools in all of Toronto to offer French Immersion that starts in kindergarten. So many families are willing to travel quite a bit.

In fact, even the official catchment area for the school is big enough that they offer bussing. We happen to be just outside that catchment area, though, and make the five to ten minute walk to and from the nearest school bus stop several times a day. Otherwise, it’s a 20 minute walk for me and a 35 minute walk for little legs to get to the school. Consider the round trip and consider that I have one kid in half day kindergarten and one kid in full day Grade 1. Do the math! Walking would be ridiculous.

So it’s Walk To School Day and my little junior kindergarten Irene comes home all excited about it. There’s a slip of paper in her backpack for me to fill out and a letter explaining that everyone who walks will get entered into a draw for a prize. “We have to walk to school tomorrow, Mommy,” she says, “Or I won’t be able to get a prize.” And again, every 15 minutes all night long. “Maybe,” I tell her. “If we wake up early enough.” She’s beside herself with worry about this prize.

So they did walk to school today. Ed took them because, pfft, no way was I making that happen. Mary’s babysitter is only a block away from home and my time is too precious, sorry kids. Ed walked them to school but they didn’t make it in time to meet up with all the other kids and get Halloween stickers and decorations. They didn’t even make it in time for school. I just hope that Irene get something for her effort.

But, really, I’m just sick of the school dangling prizes in front of my children. Bribing them, essentially, to walk to school or sell more magazine subscriptions or whatever it is. Rewards can be good motivators for older children, but for kids under ten or so it just seems cruel. So the kids who don’t walk to school, who can’t walk to school, don’t get a prize? Only the kids whose families can afford to live in the fairly affluent area nearest to the school get to participate? The poorer kids who get bussed in or whose parents drive them or who take public transportation get nothing?

And for what? So all the school administrators and families that already freaking walk can pat themselves on the back and feel good about spreading awareness to those lazy families who can’t be bothered to walk.

It all just seems horribly misguided to me.

Tell me what I’m missing, people.

photo credit

 

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Shelved and Floored

Last week I finally cracked open several boxes of kids’ clothes and pulled out the little boy stuff. It was all the little sweaters and t-shirts and adjustable-waisted pants that I’d been holding onto in case we ever had another baby boy. Now that Mary is officially a year old, I’m fairly confident she’s staying a girl. That makes two girls in this house and a need for more and more closet space. So I hauled FIVE boxes of boys clothing into the dining room, sorted it according to size and packed it all into the back of a friend’s station wagon. Sweet.

I only had to break down two or three empty boxes and bring them out to the recycling bin and my job would be done. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “I’ll get around to that later.”

I left the empty boxes stacked neatly in the corner of the dining room overnight, dear readers.

Here are the crime scene photos:

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Now, I’m no CSI agent, but there appear to be children’s books, greeting cards and art gallery brochures strewn across the floor.

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And on chairs.

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And in boxes.

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Not so much on shelves.

There weren’t many books on the one kiddie bookshelf in the dining room or on ANY of the shelves up in their bedroom or down in the playroom. And ALSO, when did Colum start reading Macleans? All this time he could have been catching me up on current affairs!
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But the jokes on them. Because there was no way I was going to sift and sort through an entire bookshelf’s worth of kids’ books without weeding them out. I easily filled a box full of old colouring books and magazines, stray pages, comic book covers and anything torn to pieces or shredded to bits.

This time I brought them out to the recycling bin right away. I wasn’t born yesterday.

There was also some sweet baby cousin action over the Thanksgiving weekend. For your viewing pleasure:

Fwd: Mary 2

It’s a bad idea to encourage the kids to play with the pantry just so I get to clean that out too, right?

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Happy Thanksgiving

It’s Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend which means all I have to do is make a cheese sauce to bring to my in laws for dinner. Sweet.

Remember as kids when there was this yawning eternity between holidays you couldn’t even bear to wait until the next one? Now one holiday leads into another and I feel like I am constantly stressing about an upcoming birthday or occasion. Like, I  haven’t even put away the coffee urn from Mary’s birthday party (shut up) and I’m already buying Halloween costumes and thinking about what we’ll do for Irene this year. Plus there’s Thanksgiving, a family wedding and holiday planning is already rearing it’s tinseled head.

I should probably try to revel in the present a little bit more and plan to do so this weekend. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, whether you’re going whole hog turkey, pot luck or take out.

In “can’t get enough of me” news, I wrote a couple things elsewhere this week:

  • A defense of letting a big kid ride in the stroller for Today’s Parent
  • And a personal essay about how I used Barbies to keep playing with dolls (read keep engaging in narrative-driven creative play) long after I should have been “too old” for dolls on the Barbie I Can Be FB page
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Guess the age/weight/sex! Step right up!

I popped into the drugstore to pick up a couple things and was standing at the cash, Mary on my hip.

“Aw, how cute,” said the cashier, “How many months? Eight?”

I was fumbling around in my purse, digging and digging for my bank card. If you don’t know, why guess? Anyway, I was grateful to no longer care in the least if a stranger thinks my baby looks too small, too young, too bald, too cold or too hungry.

“Twelve actually. She just turned a year. Do I swipe or insert?”

“Oh.”  She looked taken aback. “So is she walking yet?”

There was a weird glint in her eye, a tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, she’s just starting to walk,” I say, punching in my PIN code.

“She looks like a boy,” she said. And here it comes. “But I noticed her pink socks.”

So proud. She was so proud that she noticed the socks and was able to correctly guess at the baby’s sex so as not to offend me by guessing wrong. She was so proud that she had to brag about how she could tell my baby was a girl even though she clearly looks like a boy. Because that’s so much better.

Isn’t it so good to not care about this kind of thing anymore? Ohmygod.

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Stuff I’m Digging: Tablet in the House

I’ve been running a pretty low-tech household for someone who spends half her life on the internet. We have one TV and DVD player in the living room, a laptop computer, a couple smartphones and a 2G iPod touch with a cracked screen. That’s it. There’s been no video game systems — no Xbox, no Wii, no DS, no PSanything, nada — no desktop computer and no magical fridge that will place grocery orders for you and have them delivered to your door. (Why is that fridge not a thing yet?!)

Until now.

Rogers generously gave me a Samsung Galaxy Tab 8.9 LTE so I could see how it fits into our family. And, boy, does it fit.

And tablet makes six.

I had been in possession of the new Galaxy Tab for all of ten minutes before I started using it as a bribe. So much more effective than cookies, let me tell you! But that is also how Angry Birds became the first thing downloaded to the tablet and how I really didn’t get to play with it myself until the next day.

Eventually, I did get a chance to hang out with the Tab and get to know its ins and outs. I really like using it for online recipes in the kitchen and it’s a fairly good e-reader as long as you’re not trying to read in the backyard while your two little girls nap in the car — damn you, sunlight!  It has a half-decent camera, and if you suddenly need to record your baby’s first steps, you’ll be able to hang onto several thirty second videos of her falling out of the frame to show to your grandchildren.

For the most part, though, it’s good for games (and helps postpone the inevitable whining and begging for an actual video game system) and it’s really, really good for TV and movies.

Rogers has given me limited-time access to the full slew of their Anyplace TV on-demand programming that compliments your cable subscription (limited-time for me since I don’t have cable).  But even without cable, Rogers internet, home phone and wireless customers can access a decent selection of  shows and movies. So, streaming from Sportsnet on Anyplace TV,  Colum can actually watch a Blue Jays game for the first time. Colum can watch a game while Irene watches cartoons on TV and I cook dinner. (Mary is presumably pulling books off the shelf and eating rasins off the floor.)

I can even let Colum take the tablet up to his room to watch the last inning in bed without all the concerns that go with having an actual TV in a kid’s bedroom.

Plus, since it’s an Android, you can stream anything that runs on Flash, too, which opens up a whole range of viewing options. I even sprung for the $40 HDTV adaptor so we can use the tablet to stream things right onto our TV.

You guys, I’ve been watching a lot of tv. A lot, a lot. I’m all caught up on the new Parenthood episodes and also, ahem, season 2 of Grey’s. Is Derek going to leave his wife for Meredith?? I have no idea how this will end! It’s really not good. I may need an intervention.

My own personal productivity issues aside, I really like the versatility of the tablet for our family. It fills the technology gap left by the sad passing of my dear Acer and more. And maybe one day I’ll even let the kids download a second game.

Who else has a tablet or iPad at home? What more can I be doing with mine? 

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Bath Time, Baby

This post and giveaway are sponsored by Mustela.

Ah, bath time.

Don’t you cherish those quiet moments with your babies? There’s the squeals of delight as they learn to splash and the soft suds on their newborn skin. There’s the classic baby bath-time fauxhawk and the little hooded towels and the smell of fresh clean baby as you nuzzle their bare bodies.

I’ve got to admit, I had to go pretty deep into the vault to pull out those memories. Because, dude, three kids. Bath time is less like a mini spa experience and more like hosing down the elephants at the zoo. Well, if the elephants were really, really dirty with fingernails that could kill a man.

Sometimes Irene hops into the shower with me, but usually I do all three kids in the bath in one go. Well, we take shifts. First baby Mary gets her turn and then Irene will hop in with her. I pull out Mary and then Colum hops in with Irene and they play while I towel Mary off and get her into her pjs. Then I put her into bed or hand her over to Ed if he’s home and tackle Irene’s hair and nag encourage Colum to try to wash his own body.

It’s really a shame, actually, since Mary LOVES her bath like neither of my other kids ever did. The other two were hot and cold, going through phases where they seemed to enjoy it and others where just the sight of lukewarm soapy water was enough to trigger a full-on melt down. But not Mary. She has loved every single minute of every single bath since the day she was born.

So it was pretty nice to get to write this post for Mustela because it forced me to slow down and enjoy the experience with her. I hardly even called out to the other kids to please, please, for the love of all that is holy and good, stop that and go to your room and get undressed. I focused on Mary and her giggles and her little baby toes and her little baby bum and her little baby elbow dimples. I dwelled on all her little baby bits that are getting ever bigger and will soon be giant, dirty kid parts and it was good.

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Baby fauxhawk!

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DIY wall tiles. Oh dear.

 

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Best smile in the history of the world.

The Mustela newborn cleansing gel itself was really nice too. It’s hypoallergenic, alcohol-free, paraben-free, phthalate-free, phenoxyethanol-free and all of that good stuff. It’s used in hospital nurseries around the world and they apparently say in France, “Mustela çà sent le bébé!” This is the first time I have ever used any Mustela product, but as soon as I took Mary out of the bath and breathed in her baby freshness I thought, yes, this is exactly how a baby should smell.

CONTEST CLOSED

Congrats Stephanie!

But try it out for yourself! Shoppper’s Drugmart carries Mustela or WIN their Dermo-Cleansing newborn gel right here. Leave me a comment telling me whether or not your baby loves or hates the bath and I’ll draw a winner next Tuesday, October 9 at midnight using random.org. CANADA only.

Although this post has generously been sponsored by Mustela, the opinions and language are all my own.

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Thanksgiving Dinner Survival Tips

Thanksgiving is upon us once again and with it the warm and fuzzy memories of holiday time spent with family in years past. Let me tell you a story.

Ed and I were newlyweds or maybe we weren’t even married yet. We definitely didn’t have any children. I was at his parents’ home helping to prep for Thanksgiving dinner and went down to the basement to get something from the fridge. Upon returning to the kitchen, Ed’s sister said, “Rebecca. Is it true that you like the turkey neck?!” “What? No!”

And thus I narrowly avoided a lifetime of Thanksgiving turkey neck dinners.

Because while I’d been in the basement, my mother-in-law was planning on saving and preparing the neck. When my sister-in-law and her boyfriend started to make fun of the idea they were shushed. “Rebecca likes the neck,” she hissed. And, of course, if she had been labouring under the mistaken idea that I love turkey necks and had gone to the trouble of cooking the neck just from me, I would have eaten it. Because that’s the way I was raised. And, choking back bits of gristle, I would have raved about how delicious it is. Because that’s the way I was raised. And then how do you ever back out of being served your very own special turkey neck year after year? You don’t.

Navigating the minefield choppy waters delightful challenges *ahem* of holiday dinners with your extended family can be tricky. So here are a few points to keep in mind this Thanksgiving, no matter what part of the turkey you’re feasting on.

  1. Pitch in: Help with the prep or the cooking or the table setting. Cut up some bread, serve some wine. At the very least help clear the table and take a shift washing dishes. It’s the right thing to do and, very often, it really is the best way to visit with the host. You may even keep a turkey neck off your dinner plate by showing up early!
  2. Enjoy what you can: You may be a vegetarian or a vegan or on a gluten-free diet. Maybe you just can’t handle onions or parsley or whatever. You already know there’s going to be stuff you can’t eat; you’re used to it. A good host will try to make an alternative main, but that doesn’t always happen. So if you end up with a plate of undressed salad and some roasted squash, just remember that it’s about more than the food. Depending on who’s cooking, you could be lucky you didn’t have to eat that stuffing after all!
  3. Meet people halfway: Sitting beside Aunt Rhonda and hearing about her lap dogs trip to the vet might not be your idea of a good time, but at least she has a story to tell. Be a good guest and come prepared with a couple stories and conversation points to bring up with various people. There’s nothing worse than awkward silences and, in many cases, the further you can steer the table talk away from politics and religion, the better.
  4. Let things slide with the kids: I’ve learned from a long series of trial and error that holiday dinners are not the time or place for making sure your kids eats their veggies. Actually, try to ply them with some raw veggie sticks and fresh fruit early in the day, so you’re not even tempted to worry about it. I do believe in sitting the kids at the main table and offering them the dinner everyone is having, but chances are they’ve already snacked on olives and bread sticks and are saving room for pie. It’s fine.
  5. Don’t get sloppy: Getting drunk may seem like a good idea, oh boy, may it ever. But overindulging does very little to help in-law and extended family relations. Remember that time Uncle Gord got out the video camera and then fell on the dog? Yeah. Don’t be Uncle Gord. Do keep a nice bottle at home to look forward to, though. You’ll deserve it.

What am I forgetting? There are so many variables, it’s hard to list them all. I want to hear your best “getting through holiday dinner” tips.