The Day After Christmas

Twas the day after Christmas
And throughout chez McLean
The house was in shambles,
The children, insane.

Noisy toys echo down and upstairs
Nerf bullets sting bottoms but nobody cares.
Boxes are stacked, poised to fall on poor Farley
The mass of recycling truly is gnarly!

Transformers and RC cars are keeping Ben happy
So the clothes and books his mom bought seem slightly less crappy.
There are ribbons and paper and gift bags aplenty!
With new clothes and bling Carmen looks about twenty!

Between the presents and chocolates and the constant snacking
One thing is for sure – this Christmas ain’t lacking.
Happy Holidays to you from Bryce and Ren
And of course the two monsters, Carmen and Ben.

May you dry out from the parties, embrace shortbread weight,
And may 2011 be totally great!

November 5

My son turns five today. It's hard to believe it's been so long since he showed up, nine days early, to turn our world on its ear. And every year I celebrate the angel that entered the world on November 5 and I take a minute to remember one who left it the same day more than 20 years before.

My Grandma Jean died on November 5, 1982. I was only 9 but I remember her so clearly: her laugh, the songs she sang, her gift of Smurfs and Smarties every time we visited, her doing handstands against the fence, her amazing food. I think of her a lot, wishing she could have watched us grow up, could have met my kids, could have had the chance to really enjoy life. She deserved that. So did we. Grandma Jean was a force, and she was taken too soon.

I like to think that Ben and all of his energy, his strength, his sweetness rushed to be born to balance out what was lost on that date, and he's doing a pretty good job of it! Happy Birthday, little man. Great-Grandma Jean would be proud!

Hockey

It was bound to happen but now it's official. I'm a hockey mom. Ben started hockey last weekend at 4 years old. He was out there in his full gear, leaning on his stick for balance, showing off his Flames jersey, inching his way across the ice. He was so cute (other than the few tears about ill-fitting socks and then ill-suited games) and he had fun out there. Of course he wants to PLAY hockey not just learn to skate but he's starting to realize that he has to do one before the other. There were some kids skating like pros out there, which made me feel like we should have been teaching him long ago. There were also some kids who couldn't stand up or get back up once they fell. He's somewhere in between. I know he'll be fine out there. He's ready. I'm just not sure I am.

I started thinking, as my butt began to freeze to the bleachers, that I was going to be out here early Saturday mornings for a decade or two. I'm going to watch my little boy learn to skate, learn to check and take a hit, and probably watch him get into a scrap or two if he's anything like his father on the ice. I'll most likely curse the 'hockey parents' that freak out about bad calls and bad coaching and celebrate the boys' victories, both on the scoreboard and off. I'm going to watch my baby grow up -- granted measured by all the new,expensive gear that it'll take to keep up with him, but well worth the investment!

He shuffled off the ice for the first time a better skater than when he shuffled onto it and I was so proud that he'd gotten out there and was eager to go back again. So I'll pack Carmen and I a warm blanket and cushion and to-go mugs and we'll gladly sit and watch the show.

School Time

Carmen got up early this morning. She NEVER gets up early. She was just too excited to sleep. She wanted to get to school, to take on grade two. She got dressed in her graphic T, blue pleated uniform-type skirt, and knee-high socks, brushed her hair (which she insisted I blow dry with a roller brush last night)and even cleaned her glasses. She was ready. Over breakfast she wondered who she'd be sitting with, what they'd do on the first day, if there was going to be any new kids in her class, and if they would be doing the Christmas concert or the spring one this year. She wanted to come home for lunch to tell me all about her day -- but only this once. Then she wanted to stay at school with her friends.

We gathered up her new indoor shoes, backpack, and snack bag and headed outside. Before we left I insisted on the first-day-of-school picture, which she happily mugged for. As I snapped the picture and headed toward her school, I couldn't help noticing how grown up she looks all of a sudden. How grown up she acts sometimes. She grabbed the dog's leash and raced ahead of us, Benny not far behind her. I know it won't be long before she's walking herself to school... but I'm glad it's not yet.

Apples and Oranges

Apples and Oranges
When I had Carmen, it was like magic. She slept well, ate well, was easy going, and she grew into a sweet and smart toddler. When I got pregnant again I thought I had the tiger by the tail. I knew what I was doing; after all, I had done this all before. Like so many times since, I discovered how wrong a person can be when it comes to trying to figure out raising children.

I found myself with a fussy little baby boy who cried for no apparent reason. Where his sister had slept like an angel in her car seat, Ben chose that time to scream bloody murder until we reached our destination. Carmen and I skated through feedings and diaper changes without so much as a rash. Ben and I, on the other hand, were plagued by painful diaper rashes and thrush that not only turned breastfeeding into a toe-curling, miserable experience but also stained his mouth (and his clothes) purple from the gentian violet treatment—just in time for his first Christmas pictures.

Now Carmen is an independent, confident, nurturing almost-second-grader. She loves to read, do crafts and play games. She loves to help out in the kitchen and worries about stains on her clothes. Ben is happiest with club in hand smashing whatever happens to venture into his path, all the while wearing his watermelon and berry stains on his shirt like a badge. He can’t resist kicking or karate chopping toys and people alike as he passes by. He peed in his Crocs one day and in a bucket in the backyard another – something his sister would never dream of doing even if she had the equipment to do so.

I never imagined kids that came from the same mix of DNA could be so different. If I have taken nothing else from the last seven years it has been that comparing my two kids is like trying to compare apples and oranges. My little “fruits” are both sweet and fantastic but totally unique. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Familiar Strangers

Throughout the school year we were in a fairly predictable schedule: school, sports classes, weekly play groups. Now that we’re settling into these lazy summer days, I got to thinking about the familiar strangers that we saw daily for 10 months and don’t see any more.

There is the woman with the Golden Retriever puppy named Amber (the dog, not the woman). We passed her every day after dropping off at school. Farley would give Amber (again the dog not the woman) a sniff before they carried on with their walk and we headed home.

Then there is the man in his sixties heading to the bus in the morning. He was always dressed in a pressed suit and a fedora, ready with a smile as we passed him on the hill. He looked like he’d just walked off a 1950s billboard for some new suburban development – classy, distinguished, timeless.

We’d also pass the grandfather whose grandkids go to Carmen’s school. He was much more organized than us so he’d greet us with a ‘good morning’ on his way home as we were rushing to get there before the bell. We were early one day and he panicked a little as we passed by on our way home. He checked with us to make sure he wasn’t late. I’m sure it never occurred to him that we could be on the ball enough to be on time!

So to all the men and women we nod to on the street, make room on the sidewalk for their dogs and bikes as they do the same for ours, and see during the Tuesday morning grocery shop, you may be out of sight but not too far out of mind. We’ll see you again in September –same time same place!

Mini-Me no More

I have always thought of Carmen as shy. Reserved. Contemplative. And I guess I’ve enabled her to opt out of things because I’ve thought of her as shy and made her think of herself that way too. I’ve worked to expose her to different situations, built her confidence with sports, and encouraged her so she wouldn’t be as painfully shy as I was when I was growing up. And it seems these efforts are starting to pay off.

I volunteered at her Museum School field trip last week – I had a group of four kids (including Carmen) and we wandered the Glenbow Museum, examined artefacts, sketched exhibits, and talked about the stories these objects told. It also gave me the chance to watch Carmen interact with her classmates and participate in discussions in a way that I never have before. It’s an understatement to say that I was surprised at what I saw.

She was opinionated but not obnoxiously so. She threw her hand in the air when questions were posed by the guides and teachers. She was assertive yet respectful, had fun and soaked up information, and even put on a play for the rest of the class to show what a particular pioneer artefact was for and she did so without hesitation or serious nerves. That would have crippled the 7-year-old me!

Carmen is still a bit quiet in class (which I’m good with) and watches what is happening around her before jumping in (again, that’s okay by me), but she is also an active, eager member of the group who isn’t afraid to express what she thinks or feels. As it turns out, she isn’t me after all. She’s way smarter, more confident, and prettier than I ever was. And I couldn’t be prouder.

Home Again

Bryce and I just got back from our first vacation together as a couple -- it only took us 13 years to get away! We went to San Francisco with a few friends and it was a great time. Now it's back to the real world of laundry, kids' schedules, and responsibilities. I will, however, take away a few things that I learned while away:

- my kids sound like helium-filled cartoon characters on the phone
- being 3 hours early for a 7:30 am flight translates to an obscenely early morning
- it may say something about me that the highlight of the trip was walking around an old jail (although I guess Alcatraz is in a class all its own)
- pro baseball games are WAY more enjoyable when you've got really good seats
- coastal weather does not agree with my hair
- the sunny, blue skies of California in the movies obviously weren't in San Fran in May. Holy crap for fog and wind!
- knowing I'm not responsible for the kids allows me to sleep like the dead (or maybe that was because of that early morning flight!)
- I'm a home-body and was ready to return after 4 days away from the monsters

It's great to go away but it's even better to come back. I don't know what those songs about leaving your heart in San Francisco were about -- mine is firmly planted in the chaos of home.

Moms

I spent Mother’s Day with my mom, Bryce’s mom, my dad’s wife, and being a mom. It made me thankful for the strong women in my life and all they have taught me about what it means to be a mom.

So far, in my experience, it has meant the following responsibilities:
Taxi service
Social networker
Athletic coordinator
Chef (or at least food preparer – I have limited skills)
Referee
Tutor
Boo-boo kisser
Clothing folder
Knock-knock joke laugher (even though they make no sense and are really not
jokes at all)
Art collector...

I try to nurture my kids, make them feel appreciated and valued, and make them feel happy and excited about their day – all without making them spoiled and indulged. It can be a fine line! I’ve taken what I’ve learned from the moms around me and I hope I’m doing the right things for my little ones.

My hope is to have my kids talk to me about anything and everything as they are growing up and be the one they turn to throughout their lives when things are tough or when things are amazing. My hope is to have a relationship like the one I share with my mom. I talk to her every day, she supports me unconditionally but isn’t afraid to tell me I’m off my nut, she’s there to help out no matter what I am doing, and she laughs at my stupid jokes. She’s my best friend and if I have half the relationship with my kids that I enjoy with her, I’ll be happy.

Carmen told me yesterday that I was her best friend. I’ll have to remind her of that when she’s 16 and I won’t let her date some 22 year old drummer. Until then, I’ll take the compliment and run.

SMILE?

As a teenager, I remember empathizing with friends who had to get braces or retainers or some other God-awful dental contraption while secretly (and maybe a bit smugly) thinking “never gonna be me.” You see, I have perfectly straight teeth, a nice smile. Textbook, my dentist had said.

Apparently the textbooks have changed. Now, 20 years after my friends suffered through metallic smiles and painful adjustments, I’m on the road to braces to fix a jaw misalignment. Me. Braces. Very uncool. Even more uncool is the orthodontic splint – think retainer meets mouth guard— that I’m sporting now for the next 6 to 12months. It’s horrible! It feels like it takes up my entire mouth, I can’t talk, it’s uncomfortable and I look like a total dork. Mortifying. You can expect to see more posting and emailing and facebooking so I can avoid actually talking to anyone. Nothing personal. No one needs to hear a middle-aged woman lisping through an unattractive appliance!

You would think a married, secure person like me wouldn’t get too worked up about orthodontics. Hell, if it’ll reduce my brutal headaches and jaw pain I should be excited. Apparently I’m not. Maybe I’m vain. Maybe I’m cheap (this stuff is costing a fortune!). Maybe I’m just bitter that I’ll be in splints and frickin’ braces until I’m almost 40. I guess it’s a combination of it all that has me feeling like I want to crawl back into bed for the next, oh, 2 years.

Okay. Enough complaining. But when you see me, remember my fragile psyche right now and keep the jokes to a minimum. Thankth.

The Table

I was cleaning our kitchen table, cursing as I tried to scrape out the food wedged in the crack running down the middle and scrubbed in vain at a spot of paint or ink or felt marker that is clearly not washable after all. As I was cleaning I saw the faint impression of words that had been etched in the soft pine decades earlier. Words I wrote as I was doing my junior high homework, pressing too hard on the lone piece of paper atop the surface of the table.

I remember my old kitchen table (which is now my kids’ childhood table) in its prime. It sat in the sunroom of the house in which I grew up, draped with the tablecloth my grandmother embroidered. The centerpiece was my Mom’s onyx fruit bowl filled with onyx fruit that she painstakingly wrapped, piece by weighty piece, and hauled back from Mexico in her carry-on.

That table served us well over the years. We gathered at that table for some great meals and some not-so-great ones. We laughed and cried around it too. I crammed for exams and wrote papers sitting around that table. It served as a witness to dreaded family meetings and was ringside for some terrible family fights. It endured angst-filled teenagers dripping with attitude, it celebrated birthdays, and it supported overloaded book bags at the end of a long day. It welcomed friends, even when these friends technically weren’t authorized to be there. It saw us at our best and at our worst. Frankly, if that table could talk, we would have to muzzle it.

And now the next generation is eating, celebrating, creating crafts, arguing and giving attitude around that table. Ben has left his mark, pocking the table with the pattern of fork tines as he pounds the table. Carmen makes masterpieces and occasionally forgets to use cardboard to protect the table from her creative palette, leaving behind reminders of her favourite colours. They have added their signatures to mine, adding memories that maybe they too will look back on in twenty-five years.

I finished clearing off the crumbs and the artwork and the toys that accumulate on the table through the day, pushed the chairs carefully under it(so the spindles on the chair backs wouldn’t dislodge again), and flicked the light off. Suddenly I’m not in such a panic to replace this old set just yet. It feels kind of like home.

Over-sharing

Yesterday the kids went out to play in the yard. As usual, I roared after them the pearls of wisdom passed down through the generations: “Watch out for the dog poop, stay off the retaining wall or you’ll fall and crack your head open, and close the door.” (It’s amazing how many things could have cracked my head open when I was a kid!).

Eventually the kids wanted to go out front to play road hockey. When we ventured out there was a boy from a few houses down –a second-grader from another school who we didn’t know – circling the cul-de-sac on his bike. We invited him to play and he dismounted and bounded over to our yard.

In the three minutes it took me to set up the net and get the sticks, I heard this boy impart bizarre and terrible truths (or an 8-year-old’s version of truth) about his family, all of them he shared without a second thought.
His dad had a ladybug crawl into his ear and had to have surgery.
His older brother struck and killed a child with his truck, and their mom went crazy.
He doesn’t have to ask permission to go anywhere or do anything – he just goes.

I shudder to think about what my kids must say about us when we aren’t there.
“My parents yell at us. All. The. Time.”
“My mom sits on the computer and doesn’t play with us.”
“My dad says mommy should start drinking to get through the day.”

Okay, so while Bryce has said that last one in jest, it isn’t something, to my knowledge, the kids have said but I can just imagine it popping out at sharing time at preschool.

I guess it’s our fault for teaching our kids the virtues of honesty without the subtle art of filtering and judgement. I guess that will come in time. Hell, it won’t be long before they are mortified by our existence and won’t even acknowledge us. In the meantime I guess they will continue to regale their teachers and friends’ parents with tales of beer consumption, bad habits, and God only knows what else. So to all of Carmen and Ben’s friends’ parents: remember – it’s not true. Or at least not completely.

I never thought I would blog. Never. Ever. My life just doesn’t seem exciting enough to talk about in public. And still, here I am, putting pen to paper (or the computer equivalent) for all the world to see. If not the world at least the three people who might follow my blog – assuming my Mom can figure out how to work her computer. So let’s say two people, just to be conservative. Sorry for the vote of non-confidence, Mom!

A blog seems to be a good way to get myself back into writing again. You see, I’m a raging procrastinator and am so brilliantly accomplished in this art, I can put things off almost indefinitely without them losing their place on my “To-Do One Day” list. Somehow writing got pushed back in the priority list and I’m finding that I’ve become a bit rusty. That might be obvious to both of you reading this, but take heart; it can only get better!

My goal is to start writing regularly, about anything and everything. The kids are old enough that their days (and mine) involve more than their bowel movements and sleep schedules so my horizons and topics of conversation are broadening! There is so much to enjoy, lament, and laugh at with them every day, why not share it? And I’m slowly regaining my life now that they are embarking on their own journeys (okay, they are only 7 and 4 but I can see it happening already!). As I get back my creative juices, maybe I can start creeping tentatively toward my goal of writing a novel one day. I’ll keep you all posted on how that goes. Wanna come along for the ride?