Category: Parenting
Friday, Mar 23, 2012 | Kids, Parenting, Readings |
my boys
Yesterday the phone never stopped ringing, and it wasn’t telemarketers calling either; it was just one of those days. Today the phone hasn’t rung once and the house is quiet. Yesterday I was abuzz with energy and excitement. Today I feel the need for an afternoon caffeine boost. Thank you, cup of sugary tea.
Yesterday lots of pretty awesome things happened, but my favourite moment was sitting outside in the super-hot sunshine with my eldest, sharing a street dog. He topped his half with pickles, mustard, and ketchup. I topped mine with pickles, hot peppers, and ketchup. He was briefly out of school due to a crazy bug bite that clearly required attention. After the dr’s appointment, we went to the pharmacy together, and then I spotted the hot dog stand. He was hesitant and concerned about missing more school. He kept checking his watch. Finally he said, “Whatever you think, Mom.” And I thought, YES! More time with my boy! How often does this happen?
I’ve been doing about one reading/week since the book came out. Today I read and spoke to a grade ten class at a nearby high school. The students were great, and came up with lots of excellent questions, both about the sections I’d chosen to read (largely around the theme of activism and responding to human-made atrocities) and about the writing process. I was nervous, but need not have been. Hard to believe my eldest will be that tall, that thoughtful, that nearly-grown-up-looking in just five years.
Will he still say, “Whatever you think, Mom?”
:::
Interested in bringing The Juliet Stories to your book club? My publisher has provided a thoughtful “Reader Guide,” food for further thought. It can be accessed by visiting The Juliet Stories at House of Anansi, and then clicking on “Reader Guide.” (It’s a PDF file.)
Thursday, Mar 15, 2012 | Holidays, Kids, Parenting |
who pulled the hair of whom?
I spent the morning working on a poem. One poem. All morning. Here is what I said when Kevin popped in to bring me lunch (yes, he pops in and brings me lunch! and it’s hot! can you see why I love having him in charge of childcare/domesticity for the morning?) — I said, “Why are poems so hard to edit?” Editing a poem is not like editing a story. Every move must be tiny, every word added or taken away a potentially ruinous disturbance to the whole. And so I lifted words with tweezers and tried to humble my way into a few miniature solutions.
And then my children invaded the office. Kevin had gone to work. And someone had pulled someone’s hair (I was apparently to judge this problem and demand a sorry from the proper person; an impossible situation as you no doubt appreciate). My “solution” was to grab a few photos to capture the moment. This is not patented parenting advice by any means, but it passes the time. (Can you spot our resident ham?)
And in the end, weirdly, both kids said Sorry. I’m not sure why.
The holiday continues apace.
:::
And here is today’s post on The Afterword (my last; sigh): on the motherhood/perfection illusion.
Monday, Jan 16, 2012 | Parenting, Publishing, Work, Writing |
This week has not been the easiest. We’re halfway through January and already I’m seeing cracks in my new year’s plans. My hip creaks (literally) and I need a training plan that will accomodate returning me to injury-free status (no long runs for a little while? I’m ever so slightly panicked at the thought). I haven’t taken a Sunday photo today. The weekends are proving more packed than anticipated. I sense the dropping of many balls. I’m probably dropping several right now as I sit and type in my dark office instead of heading for the dinner table.
….
And I’m back. Decided to head for the dinner table when the cries for Mommy grew too strident. They need me at the dinner table. I need to be there too, catching what’s falling, in touch with the many moods.
And there are many moods. Disappointments to walk alongside. Hopes. Plots and plans. Energy that might be silly and outrageous or emptied out and low. Sadness. Grumpiness. Sibling unkindness. Siblings racing around and egging each other into greater and greater goofiness.
Tonight my mind is occupied, too, by tomorrow’s publicity meeting tomorrow with Anansi. I hope to return with good news to share, and good energy to share, too. I’m entering into a new stage of this book’s life, and I have very little control over what happens next: how the book is received. It’s a tough stage for me. How to let go? How to be graciously accepting, no matter what? How not to dwell or muddle or worry or fret? There may not be an easy answer. Sometimes just gutting through is the only answer I’ve got.
Wednesday, Jan 11, 2012 | Kids, Parenting, Soccer |
I was hoping for the best yesterday. Good to stay optimistic. Also good to set expectations LOW to MIDDLING. Yesterday, swim lessons began again, plus soccer, plus more soccer. The unpromising start to swim lessons included bringing the wrong bathing suit for Fooey (much much too large–her sister’s, in fact), and CJ declaring he would NEVER duck his head under the water. (“Just tell the teacher no thank you,” I advised. “But the teacher ALWAYS wants me to.” “I get that. Just tell her no thank you, not today.” “NOT EVER!”) This led to full meltdown on the pool deck. Somehow, two kind lifeguards hauled him off me and got him into the pool. “Go! Give us five minutes!” By the time I got up to the seating area, he was fine. So fine, you’d never have guessed he’d recently been in full mutiny. We ended this fine opening swim session by losing one child’s underpants. Found later in her pocket to everyone’s amusement.
Remember how I’d planned to read to the little kids during AppleApple’s soccer time? Turned out it was in a school gym, with loud music pumping–more of an aerobic workout than a soccer practice. The girls had a blast, including Fooey. Meanwhile, ever-jolly CJ made me cover his ears basically the entire time. We couldn’t read anyway. Too loud. This is not a problem easily solved. No brilliant brainwaves came to mind as I contemplated another ten weekly sessions in this gym, staring at the little Canadian flag pinned to the wall, watching a bunch of lively girls leaping joyfully, whilst trying to remain compassionate toward a constantly-complaining three-year-old. Nope, not seeing the bright side.
At the end of that, we drove across town to pick up Albus and Kevin, who were at a different indoor field for their soccer practice (one-car family, remember?). CJ spent the opening minutes lying on the floor declaring life not worth living (to summarize), or at least not worth living given the lousy choice in snacks his mother had brought. Finally, I found a candy cane in my pocket. This proved to be “too spicy,” but worked as distraction. AppleApple got some playing time with the boys’ team; we all went in to watch. Fooey picked artifical grass. CJ complained about not having a ball to kick.
Basically, CJ is at a stage/age where he can effortlessly suck the fun out of just about any situation. For example, grocery store this afternoon. CJ in full tantrum seated in the cart wailing over and over the touching phrase: “Multi-coloured mini-marshmallows!” My skin must be elephant-thick by now, and thank heavens. Nothing draws the gaze of passersby like a screeching three-year-old kicking the sidewalk and declaring his lower legs–yes, the lower legs, to be specific–“too tired!” to go on. I’m not saying all gazes are critical. Some are closer to pitying, some to gratitude–thank God that’s not me. Which is admittedly how I feel now when I hear a tiny infant wailing from inside a baby carrier. I know the mother’s pain–how the baby is probably hungry and wants to nurse and she’s pulling a toddler by the hand and they just need to get this one final errand run, please, please, please just make it baby.
This too shall pass, in other words.
This too shall pass.
Saturday, Jan 7, 2012 | Kids, Parenting |
Ah, the dreaded Bedtime Snack. Arriving so soon after supper that I was often still elbow-deep in dishwater. Demands for variety, for a veritable menu of choices. Each child requesting something different. Spoons and bowls and crumbs and complaints. The growing suspicion that bedtime snack had become a more important meal, for some, than supper itself. Something had to give.
This was Kevin’s solution.
I didn’t post it immediately upon signing because I wanted to see whether or not it would stick. It didn’t entirely work over Christmas, what with the endless parade of eating and the crazy party hours we were keeping. But it’s been working pretty smoothly on more ordinary evenings.
Here is the full text:
BEDTIME SNACK AGREEMENT
This agreement is between “The Parents” and “The Kids”
Whereas, The parents agree to provide a substantial supper, NOTWITHSTANDING inedible suppers, the kids agree to receive a bedtime snack with no plate including but not limited to Apple slices and carrot sticks.
This agreement supercedes all previous agreements.
Signed at WATERLOO Dec. 21, 2011.
Aside from revealing my husband’s predeliction for random capitalization and punctuation (and the fact that I, his loving wife, will not let such things just pass by), the agreement highlights several important points: 1. no dirtying dishes post-supper 2. eat your supper 3. inedible means actually inedible not merely inedible in one person’s opinion.
For the past number of evenings, we’ve been snacking on apple slices and carrot sticks between episodes of Modern Family, which everyone in our house loves equally. Occasionally a cookie is thrown into the mix (no plate, ergo acceptable snack). We’ve even had several blissful evenings, post-supper, when all of the children have worked together with the parents to clear the table, help with the dishes, tidy the living-room and countertops, and vacuum–all in anticipation of the reward of sitting together as a family to watch Modern Family episodes.
We’ve never been a TV family, but there’s something so deeply pleasurable about sharing downtime together. We work together, then we get to hang out together. There’s a real connection to be made between effort and reward; and best of all, the work and responsibility is shared out, as in the snack agreement, not dumped on one or two in service to the rest. I don’t know whether this marks a lasting change–whether it will survive the return to routine and busyness–but let us hope so (or as Kevin might write let Us hope so). Because it’s been brilliant.
Friday, Jan 6, 2012 | Kids, Local Food, Parenting, Photos |
A sweet keeper is a squash (did you know that? extra points for you).
Here’s another sweet keeper.
