The (Returning) Working Mummy

I knew, even looking from the outside, that functioning as a working parent was hard. When I was home full-time, I would sometimes spy neighbours trekking with their kids to the daycare at some un-godly hour before 8 a.m. I thought, how do you get a pack of kids up, fed, dressed and out the door by that time? Everyday!?! Ack!

Thankfully, as the new bread-winner parent, I'm responsible for moving only one child to a second location before work. (My astonishment has still not diminished at how a lone kindergartener can fill 15 minutes with getting boots, a coat and a knapsack on. I'm getting a reputation with the teacher as the "always late" parent.)

In addition to new routines, there's also been the adjustment to new realities. Like the fact that I now see my kids only at breakfast during the week and on weekends (they're in bed by the time I get home from work). I went through what I imagine is very common kiddie-withdrawal for the first few weeks. But I must confess that putting up photos of my boys at my desk at work largely quelled that inner cry --though I certainly look forward to spending time with my young'uns.

Honestly, what I'm finding hardest is having very little time on the "margins," with this blog being one of the most obvious casualties. I do have some time for personal activities; for instance, I've started going to the gym again. However, I view a return to exercising as more re-incorporating a necessary aspect into my life, particularly in light of my post-baby weight and muscle-tone issues.

What's had to give are the "extras," including socializing, sewing and writing. (Not to mention, to a large extent, cooking and cleaning! Laundry gets done --otherwise I go nude to work.) This is not a new quandary for parents of young children, just a new one for me. And I know things will eventually settle in to routines and feel less foreign.

But, in the meantime, as we figure out how to create a little more space in the margins, bear with me if I'm posting far less frequently. If you're experiencing a similar situation, how are you finding it?

I Think Homer Simpson May Be On To Something

The weeks leading up to the holidays were exceptionally busy for our family (which explains my blogging silence), with the top-3 developments being: 1) we adopted a second dog (yes, we're crazy); 2) all 4 kids were truly ill, and have continued to be for the past month; and 3) I got a job!

Perhaps it was all this extra stress on top of the usual holiday busyness, or maybe my kids are just going through a really annoying phase, but this Christmas season I did not have "peace" and "joy" at the forefront of my thoughts. Nope. Rather, the past few weeks I've wanted to throttle my young'uns more than at any other time.

Please understand that we did enjoy many moments of fun preparing for and celebrating Christmas --it wasn't a total wash. And, most important, I did not in any way actually throttle my kids. I just really, really wanted to. I even began to understand Homer Simpson and the impetus for his over-the-top methods of discipline.

I've reached previously-unknown levels of anger before in response to my boys' periodic misdeeds --you know, all that stuff that makes parents crazy, like non-stop complaining, outrageous fickleness, baiting you to see how you react... But for the past few weeks it has seemed that we spend all day, every day mired in these behaviours.

And this affliction of sour-puss-ness has beset not just one, but all of the boys. So I've been trying to deal with one insolent lad and have had the others, one after another, add their own needs to the mix, always things that require my immediate intervention. The net result is that I feel like I whirl from one problem to the next until we finally wrestle the kids into bed.

I admit that I found this year's holiday a bit disappointing, as a lot of things didn't get done or felt rushed due to everyone's crankiness or low energies. But the reason I share our experience is to let anyone else who needs it know that sometimes family celebrations fall a little short of the Norman Rockwell ideal, and that in those moments we all identify a little with Homer Simpson. (*Though we never behave like Homer Simpson, because we are the adults, we know better and that would never be okay.)

So... how was your holiday?

The Halloween Candy Conundrum

Does anyone else find Halloween candy more plentiful than you remember it being when we were kids? This Halloween, my kids --who are small and don't move fast-- each came home with a sack of loot that I swear had a combined weight greater than any one of the boys!

I know there are lots of smart people out there who will give you sage advice on the best, most responsible way to dole out the Halloween stash. And then there's me...

Last year, I limited my guys to one piece of candy each per day. Sounds reasonable. Except that I had to endure, every day, the relentless badgering of, "Can we have the candy now? Can we have it now? When? Now?" It made me hate all candy that was and has ever been.

This year, I decided to ignore all the sage advice and just try to eliminate the sugary stockpile as quickly as possible. Here's the progress to date: Halloween night, I let my exhausted kids binge on their accumulated candy mass (they were so tired no sugar high could keep them from sleep). That got rid of a certain amount right away. Then, each morning after breakfast I've been letting them at their stash again.

The result?

1. We have relatively little candy left at this point, just under a week post-Halloweening.
2. A good portion of the stash never got eaten, because being free to sample they'd discovered what they liked and then opted to relinquish less palatable items.
3. They're choosing to consume less and less each day. I think we're down to just a few choice pieces each.
4. Our home is a badger-free zone. Knowing that they get free access to the candy each morning has meant that they aren't asking me for it the rest of the day.

Now, I'm not so naive as to think that this method doesn't have any flaws or drawbacks. Nor am I suggesting that it's the right solution for everyone. But for us (for me) this plan is working! 

I've also been trying to think up ways to limit or stem the intake right from the start. No epiphanies yet. Any ideas?

The F-Word And Me

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You Can't Do It All, All The Time...

Do you ever feel like you're maybe keeping on top of things, perhaps even making headway, and then suddenly have your illusions shattered and find yourself plopped back into reality?

That was certainly my experience last week. I was feeling pretty good about my productivity and domestic organizing: somehow I was keeping on top of the dishes (well, within a day or two), holding my own against the laundry, accomplishing some culinary feats of skill, making inroads into the pervasive clutter and not yelling (too much)!


I must have been on a high. I certainly developed visions of grandeur: a clean house --dusted, vacuumed, toilets shining-- and tidy kitchen; creative and nutritious home-cooked meals (no more cereal for dinner! and, why, I think I should start baking my own bread!); abundant clean clothes with no articles left to languish eternally in the hamper; and a place for everything and everything in it's place. Foolishness, I know...

Looking back on these euphoric days, I can see now the warning signs of an imminent reality-check. The newly-bought labels for the kids' toy bins that wouldn't stick and whose curling edges invited swift peeling off by curious little fingers. Laundry going up on the line and not coming down until after it had been rained on, and dried, and rained on again. And, of course, my own single-minded focus on "accomplishing things;" ah, that's a slippery slope, that one!

The first disruption of my domestic-diva bliss was (as is so often the case) illness. Nothing renders your brain mushy or saps your energy more decisively than staying up all night with a sick child, am I right? Then multiply that a few times as the virus made its rounds.

The ultimate sign that my streak of efficiency was finished was when I dumped an entire casserole into the garbage. I had cooked it before we all fell ill, carefully using up some leftovers to boot, and it had remained untouched for the better part of a week while we shunned solid food. When I finally went to serve it for dinner, I detected an unappetizing aroma. The whole thing had gone bad.

As I spooned the offensive casserole into the bin outside, I thought about how it illustrated the fact that we can't truly be in control, fully organized, on top of everything, especially when it comes to family life. Too many variables, too many rogue agents, too many germs.

Today, I looked around our home with the dishes piled in the sink, pet fur massed in the corners, homeless bits and bobs blanketing random surfaces, stacks of clean laundry abandoned on their way upstairs and heaps of dirty clothes strategically collected along the baseboards. For all intents, it appeared as if my efficient streak had never happened. Ah, well, the memory remains, which is proof that it was real. Right?

Standing In The Darkness, Looking To The Light

Do you ever feel like the answer to all your problems was waiting for you at a certain juncture, and you looked the other way at the wrong second and zoomed right by?

We've been working doggedly on something big and I just found out that I screwed up. A non-communication turned into bad information, and that resulted in a colossal miss. Aarrrggghhhh!

As a result, I'm like a limp balloon, like something that used to have buoyancy, but that now lies crumpled on the floor. We'd been stretching ourselves to make something good happen, and I feel like I've given the best of my energies (whatever was leftover from mummy-ing all day) to produce a ginormous failure.

While in this emotionally dark trench, I have been reminding myself that although the situation seems hopeless from the present vantage-point, the passing of time often reveals such a catastrophe to be the advent of an unexpected opportunity. Plus, I have been --grudgingly, I'll admit-- inspired by various pop culture staples, such as post-breakup-"I will survive"-type songs and those terrible motivational posters that hang in places of business (you know, the ones with the statements that are one level up from what you might find in a fortune cookie).

Basically, I need to remember that ultimately what's important (and rather defining) is not the failure, but how I respond to it. Here's to hope and resilience!

If you're needing some spiritual uplifting, check out a song by one of my favourite bands, Rancid, called "If I Fall Back Down." A nice live rendition is here, and an acoustic, chilled version by singer Lights is here.

How I Survive, Really: The Dirt On Cleaning

I do not clean my house. There. The truth is out.

This is a choice I have made:

1. Because I am mother to four boys aged five and under, and so each day is filled with lurching from chaos to crisis. 
2. Because, I am the type who needs at least eight hours of sleep per night... which I do not get because of the first reason. But really where I was going with the sleep thing, is that once I get everyone else in bed, I am zonked and often fall asleep soon after.
3. Because if I have a minute, I spend it throwing dirty clothes into the washing machine, or emptying the dishwasher of many small plates and bowls, or even scouring pots. (If I don't do these things, suddenly we have no clean clothes to wear or vessels to eat out of or cook with.)
4. Because the futility of the endeavour depresses me. There's nothing as discouraging as finally washing the kitchen floor, only to immediately have the back door open and a troop of muddy paws dash across the shining surface.

My favourite domestic tasks to abandon:

• dusting
• vacuuming behind furniture
• washing floors
• cleaning windows
• folding clothes
• ironing 

But, the best part is that I'm learning that I'm not alone. Unless they have a cleaning service or children of a helpful age and/or temperament, other mummies make similar choices.

So, let's relax and let go of our misconception that every mummy's house is pristine except for ours! Like so much of parenting, this messiness is indicative of a stage in our families' lives; it will pass. I can't imagine that on my death bed, I'm going to look back on my life and say, "If only I had dusted more..."

Pssst! Want Some KD?

Kraft Dinner, beyond the dorm?

I fed my children Kraft Dinner tonight, in all its obscenely orange glory. But, before I self-flagellate too much, it must be noted that good ol' KD has evolved!

It is now possible to buy KD in a whole wheat pasta version (with orange or white cheese powder) and also in three versions that Kraft is labelling "Smart," meaning with vegetable, extra fibre or omega-3 content in the noodles. Gasp!

Of course, the stuff is still very high in sodium and the added benefits are passable in terms of quantity. For example, the KD Smart vegetable variation gives half a serving of vegetable per 3/4 cup of prepared pasta, and I can't see a child eating more than 3/4 of a cup, so we're still at least 4 1/2 servings away from the recommended number of 5-6 servings daily of vegetables/fruit.

In other words, KD Smart or KD whole wheat have at least some nutritional value, but they in no way let me off the hook regarding serving vegetables or other whole foods.

Nevertheless, as a quick and cheap dinner, it's hard to beat, and with healthier versions available, I no longer have to slink off to the Mummy Hall of Shame for buying it. Thus, may we all be absolved from any torturous guilt associated with serving KD! (Hey, you can even blame me for making you look at it on your next trip to the supermarket.)

(As an aside, I should note that one of my boys rejected his bowl of KD, saying, "I don't like it," and another wanted to know how much he had to eat before I would let him have some fruit. So, apparently I've not corrupted them yet! And, truthfully, I originally bought it for our camping trip.)

Dining on Table Scraps

This evening, for dinner, one of my boys ate the end of a cucumber and an apple core, both intended for the compost bin. That's all. Yes, really.

The context? Well, first I must share that I have a firm policy on eating at dinnertime. If my kids do not want to eat dinner, that's okay; but once dinner is over, the kitchen is closed until breakfast. With four young boys, I do not wish to open myself to becoming their personal short-order cook, on-call at any time.

Tonight, one of my three-year-olds was not interested in dinner. Fine. After our bedtime routine, and as I was carrying one boy to bed, the three-year-old in question announced he'd wanted to eat dinner.

He ran downstairs while I was bedding the others. When I followed him into the kitchen, he pointed at his empty plate (I'd put the leftovers away already). I explained that dinner was done and that he must wait for breakfast.

Upon registering this news, he --screeching all the while-- grabbed the only edible morsels still on the counter: the butt-end of a cucumber and an apple core.

I felt a strange mix of emotions as I watched him gnaw at the cucumber remnant and nibble at the apple remains. On the one hand, I was horrified that my stalwartness was causing one of my darlings to consume table scraps in lieu of a meal. On the other hand, I admired his resourcefulness and was thankful that he had landed on a solution that allowed us both to "win."

He did accept going to bed relatively quietly after that. And, he probably won't try for dinner after-the-fact again... Or at least not for a long while...

Lightening McQueen Cake, or My Existential Crisis

So I need to confess I did something not very "Realistic Mummy" for our recent kid birthday. I agreed to make a Lightening McQueen (LMQ) cake. (If you don't co-habit with young primary schoolers, LQM is a car character from Disney's oh-so-creatively titled movie franchise, "Cars.")

In fact, I made the cake not once, but twice: one for the family celebration (as a trial-run) and then another for the party with school friends.

My lumpy-surface cake, after I'd stuck it back together.

For the trial-run I opted to make my traditional dairy-free, spelt flour cake (extended family allergies). And I did not slather the pan in shortening like the instructions directed. Those two moves together resulted in a well-stuck cake that wouldn't leave the pan without heavy persuasion. ("Don't tap on the pan to loosen the cake," the instructions said. Yeah, right.)

That's a lot of blue icing! 

What I was left with was a rather mangled, vaguely car-shaped mass that could only be redeemed by an expert decorating job. Too bad it was just me doing the decorating. Nevertheless --and despite tinting my entire first batch of icing blue-- I think I managed to pull off something that resembled LMQ, even if he did look oddly lumpy.

At least you can tell who it is...

Feeling confident from my more-or-less success, I looked forward to the second go. I made a different cake recipe and even got it out of the pan intact! Then things started to unravel. I have few clear memories of the day before the party, save that I began to make icing around 10:30 p.m. Did I mention that I made, not one, but two kinds of icing, both of which required somewhat laborious preparation? And did I mention that the design required six colours of icing, in addition to the un-tinted white?

A couple of hours later, as I was starting to pipe the outlines, the existential crisis hit. I began to ask myself, "Is this really what I was meant to do with my life? Were all those years of education and skill-building without purpose? How did I get into this mess?"

By 3 a.m. the cake was finished. I'm pretty sure I flopped into bed after that. And I must say that the cake looked pretty good! Was it worth it? Hung jury. On the one hand, I did mostly enjoy the project (not the 3 a.m. finish part) and the result was more than acceptable. On the other hand, I think the party guests looked at it for about three seconds before it was cut and distributed.

Much better!

Would I do it again? Probably. I feel like I say "no" to a lot of things. So when my kid turns to me and excitedly asks, "Can I have a LMQ cake for my birthday?" and I know I can rise to the challenge, then I want to say yes. And I did mostly enjoy it. (Just not the 3 a.m. part. Did I already say that?)

(In case you're interested, I'm also posting separately the recipes for my edible masterpiece.)

Perfect Storm

Do you ever have days when things conspire against you to make it seemingly impossible to keep your cool? I had one of those days today.


This morning I asked my partner to bring his collection of midnight-snack dishes out of our bedroom and down to the kitchen. ... He forgot.


I asked him to empty all the overflowing garbages in the kitchen (recycling, garbage, organic waste). ... He did not.


I asked him to please put a new set of sheets on a bed that had been wetted. ... He ran out of time.


(In his defense, my partner is generally a very willing helper, and he was up til the wee hours of the morning working his second job. I can't really complain...)


The reason I asked him to do these things is because I find that upon waking I am immediately and completely engaged in feeding, clothing and placating four munchkins, all the while counting down to crazy hour when they've exhausted all possible activities in the house and have to get outside before they tear the place down. I need to have a tea and dress myself. Showering is optional. Everything else is just not happening.



But, I could foresee that the day would not run smoothly unless these minor domestic tasks were taken care of. Especially because we were having a "whining day," meaning throughout the day at least one kid was whining/crying/complaining/screeching at me. Usually two. Sometimes all four. I went through the day feeling like my head was going to explode.

Quiet at last! Ah, videos....

After walking our oldest down to afternoon JK, the remaining three kids and I returned to the house, with me desperately hoping everyone would nap. I re-served lunch for those who had missed it the first time round and went upstairs to put new sheets on the aforementioned bare bed. 


While I wrestled with the barely-stretchy mattress protector, I could hear the two-and-a-half-year old twins tormenting each other and the clanking of dishes on the table. I hoped it was dishes colliding with each other, and not dishes hitting the floor or being upended, which would send juice and food flying all over. Our youngest, meanwhile, feeling bereft, simply sat at the bottom of the stairs and wailed.


I then herded everyone upstairs (with everyone protesting) and tried to have them lie down (which only had them protest more). Leaving the baby to wail now from the upstairs gate, I ran down to make the multiple trips from the kitchen to the outside bins to empty our various garbages. (It may have been foolishness, but I opted to tackle the garbage, in order to A. clear space on the kitchen counter so I could remove dishes from the table, and B. avoid doing this during dinner prep when many clawing, whining beings would clutch at my legs as I went past.) 


During one pass, I discerned that the smallest voice was strangely silent. It had been replaced by a faint tinkling sound --the sound of a bowl, a glass(!) and a spoon being used as playthings! Yes, the midnight-snack dishes had been discovered by tiny hands. Finishing with the garbage, I ran back upstairs to rescue the breakables. 


From returning to the house to getting little people into bed, it had been 45 minutes. In addition to the other tasks I had done, I had also changed five diapers. (Only three kids in the house. I'll let you do the math.) Once the kids were safely cloistered, I went into the kitchen and screamed at the sink for a bit. Yes, I did.

Notice there's no sheet on my bed --just part of the mayhem...

The rest of the day was equally as taxing. It's not unusual for me to feel overwhelmed sometimes, or totally run ragged. But today I quite honestly was afraid that the craziness was going to pop the very thin layer of my sanity, and that I would run shrieking and drooling from the house and be carted off to an asylum. And I felt like having a stiff drink for dinner... meaning, instead of dinner. What I did do was eat a lot of leftover chocolate cake, reheat a casserole for dinner and sit everyone down in front of a video for an hour. 


Every parent has days like this. For me, today was one of those days. Here's to tomorrow!

What's With The Picture?

Most "small" blogs that I've seen are complemented by lovely pictures. Nothing extravagant, but well-shot, in focus, etc. But not here! Nope, the Realistic Mummy photos are... ummm... poorly-lit, fuzzy and rather amateurish-looking, right? Well, that's how we roll in this family, and the photos prove it.


The reality behind my photos is simple: I'm usually somewhat frazzled and disorganized. (Just ask my oldest's teacher about the instances when I honestly lose track of time and forget to pick him up from JK.) 


The thought of photos is typically absent from my brain until I'm about to publish a post. So, I haven't time (or inclination) to wait and devise a lovely scene to capture. And I'm usually writing and publishing while sitting in my dimly-lit bedroom trying to settle our baby. So, I grab the handiest photo-taking device (my cell phone or a cheapie point-and-shoot with no flash), take a shot of something tangentially relevant and make that post public!


Other moms I know seem to be ever camera-ready. Not me. I forget to bring a camera. Or I bring it and then leave it, untouched, in my bag. Or I actually get it out and have all my subjects scatter like roaches when the light goes on.


My dream is to one day own a snazzy digital SLR. Then I can really take good pictures. Then again, maybe I'll still just forget it in my bag...


In the meantime, I take ownership of my blurry, under-exposed, flat photos! Hey, I might even convince myself that they exemplify what the Realistic Mummy blog is about: not having your stuff together and accepting that, in truth, no one has it all together.  


Vive le fuzzy photo!


(Nonetheless, in honour of good photos everywhere, this post will not contain any of the typical shoddy things that pass for photos in this blog.)

And the Award for "Worst Mother of the Week" Goes To...

Me. The "Worst Mother of the Week" Award goes to me. It all started out like a regular kind of week. Little did I know that my view of myself as a "decent mother" would take such a beating in the span of less than seven days.

The backdrop was of four little boys making constant high-pitched noises and whirling in perpetual motion. Add to that the fact that we'd been running on a sleep-reduced diet for a week or so. I think it all just started to wear on me. Whatever it was, I was noticeably edgier.  


In an attempt to preserve some of my remaining sanity, I turned to the old-standby: videos. Nothing helps this mummy feel calmer than having her kids entranced by flashing images on the TV screen. (That alone earns me a half-point towards the Worst Mother award.)


But this time, I had put on a new video, an animated re-telling of a Tom Kitten story by Beatrix Potter. Safe, right? Wrong. 

Looks innocent, doesn't it?

In the video, Tom Kitten is captured by a pair of rats, who wrap him in dough and prepare to eat him. Their gnashing of teeth and Tom's panicked struggling seemed to account for most of the running time. My almost-five-year-old kept screaming, "Mummy, turn it off!" and I kept yelling, "It's fine! He's going to be fine!" At the very last second, Tom is rescued by his mother, who dramatically saws through the floorboards to reach him.


After I put the kids to bed, my almost-fiver came padding down the hall to find me almost half a dozen times in the span of a few hours. Finally, when I admonished him to stay in bed, he tearfully replied, "Mummy, we shouldn't have watched that video. I can't stop thinking about it, and it's giving me bad dreams." Ohhh, did I feel like the Worst Mother!

Another evening that same week, I used up all my patience getting dinner on the table. So when I ended up negotiating with my crew about whether and how much of the meal they should eat, things got a little heated. In fact, my partner gave me a time out. (That makes it sound bad, but what he did was to suggest that maybe I needed a break and why don't I take some time for myself?) But not to be defeated by an argumentative almost-fiver and two toddlers (and one hollering infant) I continued to oratorize from the next room. Eventually, I could hear our oldest comment quietly to dad, "I wish I had a mummy who didn't yell." Sigh. Another check for the Worst Mother.
  

A few days later, I came down sick and called in the reinforcements --aka the grandparents-- and asked them to take our oldest for the day. Wonderful. Except that our boy, in true almost-five fashion, flat out refused to go with them. Yes, even hid under the dining room table. In the end, I had to literally drag him out, kicking and screaming, and haul him into his coat and boots and shove him out the door. Now, I'm not a child psychologist, but I'm pretty sure that having your mother forcibly evict you from your home is damaging in some way. And it earned me another point towards the title.

And... last, but certainly not least, I think my kids ate pizza three times that week... And one of those times was following a meal of grilled cheese sandwiches. No veggies. Nary a one. Yes, clinched it! The winner! (Thank you, thank you...)


Yep, not my most stellar performance. The good news is that I get a second chance to be the Good Mother that I want to be (and third, and fourth, and...). And I console myself somewhat by saying that my kids will know that mummies --and daddies-- are human, just like kids are.

6MA342SRUCCG

Realistic Sewing Project: Shorten Drapes

Ah, my bedroom drapes. I remember when I first put them up how pleased I was that they were a bit long and therefore "pooled" on the floor, just like in the homes in the design magazines.

Why I will never have silk drapes, so long as there are cats

Apparently none of these homes has cats.


A few years later the crib came to rest in our room. This required placing our bed against the window wall. Now my pooling drapes were subject to the ignominy of being tied into a knot so that they wouldn't lie, resplendent-like, across my partner's face as he slept.


The bigger issue for me was that in their knotted state the drapes wouldn't close. And while I like to think of myself as a sharing kind of person, the neighbours started to drop subtle hints that they weren't enjoying the view.


In shortening the drapes, I figured, both the issues of appearance and length would be addressed. On the night that I chose to undertake this task, my pre-schooler was sick with a virus and planted in my bed with a video, and my under-one was protesting his being dumped in his highchair to watch mummy in action. (Our two toddlers were on their way home from the grandparents'.)

Baby helping mummy with the measuring tape

Knowing that my sewing session was under threat of interruption at any second, I quickly measured the new length with my measuring tape while holding the drape with both hands and marked it with a pin. No time for laying it out on the sewing board! I folded the panel in half lengthwise, grabbed the scissors and, with a prayer heavenward, cut what I hoped was a reasonably straight line.



Having already committed several cardinal sins against the art of sewing, I jumped recklessly to the foot peddle and began stitching, making the fold and turning under the hem as the needle punctured the fabric. By this time, the baby was mewling at a constant rate, and the four-year-old calling at 30 second intervals for me to come upstairs. I felt the pressure of a sprinter dashing to the finish line with moaning, squealing ghouls nipping at my heels.

Big fold of fabric? No problem, it's on the back side!

In my mad haste, the otherwise-forgiving loose-weave fabric did not lie flat as it went through the machine. By the time I got close to the end, the hem was sufficiently askew that there was significantly more length left for the top layer than for the bottom. I was faced with the choice of either ripping out the seam I had just made and trying again, or "absorbing" the excess and artificially forcing the top and bottom to end evenly. As I'm sure you've already deduced, I chose option 2, wadded up the extra length and sewed right over it.  

The task finally completed, I yelled towards the second floor to just wait I'm almost done, and picked up my bawling tot. The second panel would have to wait for another golden opportunity.

The finished product, back in place. Not too bad, eh?

Reforming a Type-A Gal: The Zen of Lowered Expectations

I tend to be an "all or nothing" kind of gal. If I'm going to do something new, make a change in my life or take on a responsibility I like to give it my best. And before kids, if life got bumpy I could still make it all happen by knuckling down to a task, burning the midnight oil or "just doing it."


But since having kids, I find that all my "git 'er done" energy is fully spent by midday in solving major juice crises or mediating toy sharing between belligerent parties. 


So how's a type-A, formerly-relentless super-achiever supposed to adapt to a life full of never-finished to-do lists, half-completed projects and habitually below-par personal hygiene? The answer for me has boiled down to one thing: Lowered Expectations.

The detritus of life... it always seems to land in my dining room.

Indeed, "Lowered Expectations" has become my mantra. I need it when I'm trying to get a few critical things done and everything goes wrong, no one cooperates, and I see the minutes ticking by. Angry outburst threatens!


That's when Lowered Expectations prompts me to ask, "What if task X doesn't get done right now? What are the real non-negotiables?" Even more importantly, "What state do I want my family and myself to be in at the end of this? Frazzled, harried and stressed? Or calm, confident and open?"


Over the past four years, I have found that calm, confident and open is the more desirable state for pretty much any context (a party, errand running, etc.). When I practice this, I enjoy the time with my kids, and they enjoy me (wouldn't you choose zen-mama over the angry she-beast?).


The trade-off for calm, confident and open is that I have to accept the realities of Lowered Expectations. I have to accept welcoming guests into a very messy and often not-too-clean home. I often let my to-do list languish so that I can have positive interactions with my kids. And I have to hold my head high when I venture out in public with no make-up on and somewhat unfashionable or unflattering attire.


Do I make good choices every time? No. Do I still sometimes yell at my kids? Yes (and with great passion too, I might add). But I find that the more I use my mantra of Lowered Expectations, the more natural it becomes, and then the more I use it... And then I find that I'm acting more like the mother I want to be for my kids....


So, there's one of my survival tactics. How about you? How do you negotiate that compromise between your parenting ideals and the pressure of, well, all that other stuff?

Lunar New Year Crafting

The Lunar New Year is only a few days away, and if you're like me, then you've just awakened to that fact and are looking for some kid-friendly activities. Or maybe it doesn't make a difference to you one way or another. We happen to live in a neighbourhood that includes a significant Chinese and Vietnamese contingent. In other words, there's lots of talk about the upcoming celebrations in my oldest's kindergarten class.


In fact, recently my little guy eagerly asked if we could do something to celebrate the Lunar New Year. I almost fell off my chair. A year ago, if I asked him if he'd like to celebrate some occasion, he'd look at me suspiciously and adamantly refuse all participation. (It didn't matter what the occasion was --it could've been a Thomas the Tank Engine circus-themed monster truck candy party-- he'd certainly say no.)


So, when he initiated a marking of the New Year, my mind immediately went to work trying to figure out how we could adopt some low-impact aspects. Some traditional activities I've opted to NOT do are lots of cooking and cleaning. Oh, I'm also choosing to not festoon the house with symbolic live plants. Or artificial ones for that matter. (I've shared what happens to Christmas trees here; it's basically the same for house plants.)

http://crafts.kaboose.com/lantern1.html

I did find, however, some idiot-proof construction paper Chinese lanterns on a crafting website. These are my kind of craft: at-hand materials, a minimum of steps, fully recyclable, and no essential preparation. I made two lanterns with three of my boys present in that late-morning time between peaceful play-time and lunch (you know, the period that starts around 10:30 a.m. and ends when the food reaches their stomachs?).


Now, before you react to my supposed ingenuity, organizational prowess and child-management skills, please note that it states "I" made two lanterns. Hmmmm. Yes. The picture becomes clearer: an infant screaming alternately in his high chair and in his play pen; a toddler defiantly wadding up construction paper and throwing crayons on the floor; and a four-and-a-half year-old waving a pair of safety scissors and whining, "Mawwwwmeeee, it's too haaaaard!" Ah, yes, another family-bonding moment realized thanks to the magic of creativity.


I can't decide if I'm excited or horrified-but-in-denial about our plans to shop for and make nian gao (rice cakes) tomorrow...

Ludachristmas

Last week we took down our Christmas tree and packed away the ornaments and Christmas books. In the weeks before Christmas, I always find the prospect of the tree a bit daunting. It seems to loom up like a lot of work. I think that's why when I read about people having multiple(!) trees and dozens of boxes of decorations, I just can't fathom it.


Of course, my perplexity is most likely rooted in the fact that a Christmas tree in our house is not so much thing of beauty to be admired, as it is a obstacle to be surmounted and an adversary to be subdued. 


Every year, no fewer than seven beings (four boys, two cats and a dog) delight in debasing our dear tree. It starts out innocently enough with the young'uns rearranging the ornaments within their reach on the branches. (Imagine needles dropping to the floor.) 


Then it progresses to them including the tree as a prop in their games --it's a road! a train station! a dinosaur lair! (More needles...)


The activity reaches fever pitch when, inevitably, the games take a violent turn. Multiple vehicle pile-ups, raging battles among all sorts of creatures and good ol' frenzied chases do a number on our tannenbaum. Quite denuded now, and with ornaments from the lower third of the tree largely rolling around on the floor, our tree is looking a bit the worse for wear. (Did I mention that this is within three days of our putting the tree up?)

One of the many ornaments I will be discovering as they periodically make their way out from under furniture.

But the Christmas tree has still more abuse to endure. The cats --not surprisingly, really-- like to climb among the branches and swat off the ornaments into the waiting jaws of the dog. She, in turn, chews anything she can get her paws or mouth on. And if the cats are not providing adequate supply, she'll help herself when the humans are out.


So, by the time we take down the tree, most of its needles are on the floor, a good portion of the ornaments are under the couch from where I will retrieve them for the next 11 months and the tree has a decided tilt towards the centre of the room.


Why, oh why, would I want one of these shedding, hazardous, make-work things? Yet, when the moment comes to say goodbye, I always feel a bit sad to see it go! (I've decided it's either unresolved issues from my childhood or masochism...)


That said,  I do have a radical plan I'm contemplating for next year. My partner's not on side yet. But that's another instalment. 


How about you? What lunacy does Christmas bring to your home?

Full disclosure

Are you looking for a blog that will inspire you as a parent? Make you gasp in amazement at the author's competency and organization? Stir you to embark on fantastical projects? Well, you won't be finding any of that here. 


But if you're looking to share a laugh with a friend, swap survival tactics and generally feel affirmed that, yes, you're doing fine, then you're in the right place.


In the spirit of full disclosure, let me admit to a reality that I know many parents share: I feel lucky if I get to shower on a given day. Many days I don't. And I am only somewhat ashamed to say that today is the second day for my underwear and socks (partly because of the aforementioned shower issue and partly because I was pretty sure that I didn't have anything clean to replace them with). And my hair is --as my partner puts it-- "special."


But, my kids are clean, nutritious food made it to the table and we spent some good time together as a family. So, to sum up: it was a good day! (They aren't all, are they?)