Cards, puzzle pieces, or anything that has lots of bits to it make for great mock-up confetti. Kids are attracted to the many pieces of games that they can toss all over the room, like they are showering the bride and groom on their way out of the church, or creating their own rain storm. But then comes the clean up. Followed by the stand off with Mom. The outright refusal to clean up the mess. It would be way better if it were Lucky Charms that had just fallen out of the rainbow covered sky. But it's not. You make the mess, you clean it up, kid.

When my older brother was 4, he played 52 Pick Up with my Mom. He took a deck of cards and threw them all over the royal blue and green carpeted kitchen floor. She asked him to pick up the cards. He replied with a firm NO, hiked his shorts to his boobs, crossed his bony arms, and stared at her. She said, "You pick up those cards right now." He didn't budge. She sent him to his toyless, TVless, musicless, room to sit and stare at his spotted chocolate brown carpeted walls. She went up every 15 minutes or so to ask if he was ready to pick up the cards. He repeatedly answered NO. This went through snack time and continued well past lunch. Finally, 4 HOURS LATER, she opened his door and asked again, "Are you ready to clean up your mess?" to which he reluctantly moaned, Yes. And he tidied up every last card.

Mom won. But not without a solid battle of wills.

We had something similar happen today with Spark Plug. The babysitter was here. I entered the scene at the right time.

EvieG had just finished tidying her 100 piece puzzle of a Beagle puppy. Spark Plug came along and before they knew it, 100 pieces were strewn all over the living room. The babysitter asked her to pick up, and like my brother, she stood her ground with an outright refusal. Spark Plug was sent up to her room, which has books and stuffed animals, and closed the door until she was ready to clean up the mess.

Enter DDM.

I went upstairs and asked if she was ready to clean up. She hummed and hawed and begrudgingly accepted the task. She dragged her feet downstairs apologizing to EvieG and the babysitter. She gave them both a hug. She willingly gave EvieG a hug, but was kind of miffed with the babysitter and at first refused to approach her. Until after repeated demands from me, she moved in for the I'll-stare-at-the-floor-and-lightly-brush-your-legs-but-that's-as-much-hug-and-mumbling-of-a-sorry-as-you-will-ever-get-from-me. Ever.

She started picking up the pieces, but when she was left alone to finish the task, she broke down again. This was her way of saying, sure I can clean it up, but I need a little help here. This is a lot of stuff. I went in and handed her the pieces to put in the box for a minute, and then the babysitter did the same thing. Once she got some help, she went to it.

Spark Plug is a strong-willed child. She behaves in a particular way, even if she knows it is not in her best interest. She does this all the time. She is challenging and free-spirited. And she does it all with a twinkle in her eye. She knows what she wants and goes after it. She is independent and wants to do everything herself. She listens to everything and doesn't miss a thing. She is spunky.

I love all of this about her. Even though it can sometimes drive me crazy, I hope that we can let her grow to be who she is meant to be while nurturing her character as best we can. Every day is an adventure with Spark Plug. You wake up in the morning wondering what flavour she is going to be that day.

Like an ice cream shop, every flavour is delicious. And she is most definitely scrumptious.

All's I'm sayin's all.

PS Have a great Labour Day weekend! I will be back Tuesday with more posts from the world of DDM.

PPS Check out our giveaway below! Come out for a night of fun!

Labels: Spark Plug

Dress Down Moms do not need an excuse to drink wine. It is nice to get out for a few hours to have some down time. So that is what we are going to do!

Stargazers on the Thames is a fab local restaurant. You can check out their web site by clicking their banner at the top of the home page.

On Thursday, September 18, we are going to host a night of fun and taste some new wines from the Colio Winery called Girls Night Out. We will have some appetizers to go with it. So 4 slugs of wine and 4 appetizers for $29.95. A good deal for a some fun and chatter. The good times will run from 6:00 to 8:00.

We are going to give away one free ticket. The name will be picked at random. If you are interested, go to the Contact Us page and submit your name and e-mail address. If you are coming anyway, reserve your spot using the same process. You can also call the restaurant directly at 519.351.9351.

We will e-mail and announce the winner on Monday, September, 15.

Come out and hang out for a couple hours!

Good luck!

Labels: Announcements, Contests

When the phone rings or a visitor comes over, a switch is turned on automatically in children. It's like the spontaneous combustion of constant nattering, sputtering, and clinging, combined with increased decibel levels. It is rare that moms can have a quiet, decent, uninterrupted conversation when kids are around. In fact, I will argue that it is almost impossible.

When is the last time you spoke either on the phone, or directly to a mom who had a kid in her presence, without at least one interruption? Never? Probably.

Ring, ring...

DDM: Hello?

Mom: Oh, hey! How's it going?

DDM: Pretty good. You?

Mom: We're ok. What are you and the kids up to this week?

DDM: Ummmm, not much- Hey! Hands to yourself!

Mom: I'm sorry?

DDM: Oh, sorry. The Destroyer is not liking Spark Plug taking her toy. Anyway, did you ask me something? Oh, what are we up to, right. We are pretty clear.

Mom: Ok, do you wanna get together- will you get off of her please- like one morning this week?

DDM: You got a battle going on over there?

Mom: Yep, they are tackling each other- did you hear what I said?

DDM: Yes, I did.

Mom: Oh, not you-sorry, I'm talking to my kids.

DDM: No worries. Why don't you just come over on Tuesday and we will chat while the kids play- HEY! That's enough!!

Mom: Ok, I'll let you go so you can deal with the kids. See you then. Can't wait.....sigh.

DDM: Me too. Oh, yep, better let you go. The Destroyer is on the table again eating the paint. Bye!

Mom: Bye!

This is a typical scenario for me. Conversations are full of the constant buzzing of kids, shuffling around, removing things from mouths, removing kids from high surfaces, and all while trying to concentrate on what is being said. It is annoying for all parties, no question.

It is the times when I am on the phone that the Wee Ladies like to squeal loudly more often. They come and crawl on me or tug at my pants while staring up at me with the pick-me-up-now-or-I-will-really-let-it-all-hang-out look. And so I scuffle throughout the conversations. Scuffle from room to room. I move myself to a quieter place, and they follow me. I have even tried going into the bathroom, but they just come in behind me and start flushing the toilet.

They also pester more when I am on the phone. They will whine and ask me to get things or do things for them. This is when jaw gridlock and the hand gestures break out. It doesn't matter how many times I say, "Don't interrupt me while I am on the phone," they never fail to fail on this policy.

Sometimes I become an airport runway guide. Like the people who get the plane safely to the gate with their light sabers and ear muffs, I wave my arms frantically as I attempt to guide the children away from me. I motion with flexed biceps, gritted teeth, and bulging eyes, Go that way! Yes, get out! Leave this area now! Evacuate immediately! OR ELSE! And then if they don't respond to the arm gestures and the don't-mess-with-me-look, I pull out the index finger. I shove my index finger in their face and purse my lips, while holding the bulging eyes firmly in place. This means, Just one friggin' minute! JUST ONE!

At least we have portable phones now. Back in the days when the phones were attached to the cord, our moms were confined. They did not have the luxury of mobility. They could not relocate. So what did they do? They swatted. Like a pissed off cat. We would interrupt their phone conversations and we would be bouncing around yelling at the top of our lungs. But if we came into the vicinity of the angry mother trying to carry on a conversation with the banker, or the local representative at Consumer's Distributing, we would often fall prey to the swat. We were either slightly brushed by with the swipe of a few finger tips, or we would fall victim to the Grab and Squeeze. We would look at their pursed lips, flaring nostrils, and whiter-than-usual eyes, as we were pushed into the general direction of the couch. This Grab and Squeeze turned into the Squeeze and Shove towards the living room Lazy Boy with salmon and teal squares, where we then proceeded to sit quietly for a few moments only to get up and keep doing what we were doing. Diverted for a second? Yes. But were we stopped completely? No. And when the conversation was over....to the fringes we were sent!

We can discipline successfully through mime. It does work. And discipline is always directly linked to mom's phone conversations and visits in some form or another. We can communicate through many facial expressions and gestures. I would love to have a portrait artist come in and capture my face at the height of one of my bull-like-gesturing-moments.

I have a friend who was in the throes of miming discipline when all of a sudden she shouted at the kind Sears representative on the other end of the line. The Sears lady said calmly, "I am sorry ma'am, but I do not like, or need to be shouted at." To which my friend replied, "I am sooo sorry! I am trying to get my kids to cooperate with me by leaving me alone so I can talk to you, and they just are not listening." I bet the freak flag fully flew after that conversation was over.

Kids love our attention. They need it and they crave it. So when our attention is diverted for a few minutes, they have to let us know that are not having any of it. And they react. And then we react. Big time. They are the ones who lose. You'd think they would figure it out. But they don't. And so we continue to discipline through mime while always coming up with new moves and signals, and they continue to suffer our wrath.

It won't be long until they are the ones having the conversations and we are the ones shouting in the background! "Hey! It's supper! I am not asking again! Did you hear me? Can you get down here, please? I asked nicely!" To which we will get the door opening, the rolling eyes, and the finger in our face. Only it's not the index finger.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: Battle, DDM, EvieG, Spark Plug, The Destroyer

I had my interview this morning with a great writer who is doing an article about mom bloggers for Reader's Digest.ca. I think it went pretty well, from what I can recall.

I went to Hubby's office to do the interview in a quiet space. I had to be able to concentrate a little bit. Spark Plug and The Destroyer have had their cranky pants on since waking up on the wrong side of the bed today, so I couldn't risk having the screams and shouts in the background, even if that means it would have been more authentic.

I was feeling good about it. I sat in the office waiting and then promptly at 9:30, his phone rang. I love it when people are on time, even though most days I am a few steps behind the clock. Today I stepped back into life before kids for a brief moment. In my previous life, before kids, I was on time for everything, even early. Like the punctual Swiss train system, I was where I said I would be at a specific time. Always. And I was on time today.

We had pleasant greetings and then there was the expected, "Let me just turn on the tape recorder here." I knew this was coming. It's all part of interviewing. But like any situation where every word is absorbed and is going to be used in some capacity, the nerves switch on. And then the rest is all a haze.

I babbled, and talked, and answered questions, and even asked some questions. I recall vaguely what I said, but I think I did some rambling. I started sweating and my mouth got dry and pasty. My heart picked it up a notch. I was on the record. I think I conveyed what I wanted to, but it's all a bit foggy right now. At least I got a bit of workout with the increased heart rate, rapid speech, and perspiration. And I love that it was all done while I was idle.

We spoke for about 20 minutes and had what I feel like was a decent discussion on mom blogging. She told me it will likely take a couple of months until it is released, so I will keep everyone posted.

What an opportunity! And I thank my interviewer for that. I also thank the readers for their support. With your input and comments, the site is way more colourful and interesting.

Today's experience was kind of like going for a job interview. You have no idea what you will be asked, you go through the conversation, and then you leave wondering how it all went. And when someone asks you, "So, how did the interview go?" you reply with a little uncertainty, "I think it was ok, and I hope I made sense. I guess we'll see!"

So we shall see. We shall see how this Dress Down Mom is portrayed and what she has to say about the world of mom blogging.

I can't wait to see what I had to say!

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: DDM, Fun

Living with three Wee Ladies is life on a thrill ride. All the time. Who needs roller coasters when you've got three built right in?

There are five very strong personalities under one roof. When we are trying to discipline or set the rules, the Wee Ladies sometimes resist in protest. They don't always like what the United Front has to say. And so sometimes the strong personalities come at each other like disgruntled rams, but instead of the smacking and locking of the horns, a battle erupts in an attempt to win the last word.

The need for the last word is like a dog marking its territory. The desire to be heard and recognized, acknowledged and respected. And even at 5, 2, and 1, the Wee Ladies will strike back like a venomous snake with wanting the last word, even if it isn't a last 'word' per se. It could be a grunt, and squeal, a scream, a stomp of the foot, or clenching of the fists.

I am in control, but as we stare down one another in silence, all of a sudden the fist clenches and I get a squeal shouted at me. It happens in mere milliseconds too. I don't think I am always going to get lashed at. I am like the prey and the Wee Ladies like the predator. They lead me to believe that they will back down, run away, and leave me alone. When in reality, the unassuming facade changes colour and direction as I am confronted with the last word.

How often do they win the battle of the last word? Sometimes they do. We pick our battles. I will turn my back, walk away, and ignore. There are times when the Wee Ladies need to let it all hang out. We all need to vent and rant every now and then. By all means, go nuts. There are other times when I will not back down. I will get the last word. Even if it means displacing them to a crib, step, or playpen, so they can reaffirm their commitment to this house and their siblings. And their Mom.

I have size on my side.

Where does this desire for the last word stem from? I have to say that strong personalities exist on both sides of the family. My dad was strong and ran his own business. He had the last word all the time. My Mom has her views and opinions on things as well. My brothers are both really out for the last word, and in my typical middle child way, I am often a mediator. Which ultimately gives me the last word as I combine views and perspectives to bring everyone together. Like how I pulled that one together?

Hubby's side is hilarious when it comes to the last word. I love watching them sit around in discussion. It starts out okay, but the winds and words pick up until they are at hurricane gale force levels. The words start flailing about like rag dolls being thrown down the stairs, until finally the words have lost all meaning and the discussion makes no sense. Because it is all about getting the last word, even if it means that the point was left behind in the last town.

Hubby and I have had some good last word matches ourselves. It is like the hand pile game. I put my hand on yours, yours on mine, and so on, until one of us finally throws in the towel and gives up. Our discussions will often end with, "So who gets the last word this time?" I will say, "Is it me this week? Well then, I know you are, but what am I?"

We have realized that we will win some and lose some with the Wee Ladies. Spark Plug stands proud and firm all the time in search for the last word. She usually shouts, "NO!" a million times a day. Sometimes after the NO! is a giggle telling me that she knows it's all about the last word. With EvieG it is most often, "But why?" or "How come?" even after a decision has been made. The Destroyer just grunts at me and flexes her thigh muscles.

Unlike Jack and Victor from The Young and the Restless, we don't have any contracts dictating who gets the last word in the scene. We just have to go with the flow and accept the fact that we will win some and lose some. We are not always right and we have to consider other people's feelings, views, and perspectives.

But it feels damn good to get the last word, doesn't it?

All's I'm sayin's all.

PS Tomorrow morning I have my interview with Readers Digest.ca!! I will keep you posted!

Labels: Battle, DDM, EvieG, Family, Hubby, Spark Plug, The Destroyer

It has been a whirlwind of a day. And I can say for once, that I actually got something decent accomplished. This really doesn't happen very often with the Wee Ladies running around. I find it hard enough keeping up with basic things like laundry and meal preparation. Today was one of those days where it seemed like it was never ending and it was non-stop all at the same time. I for sure lost a couple pounds.

Our best babysitter came over this morning to mind The Destroyer and Spark Plug. EvieG had a sleepover at Grandma's and Grandpa's last night. I have to say, that as much as I missed her, it was good for Spark Plug to get some decent shut eye. And she even slept in.

So instead of getting groceries this morning, I went for a 3 mile run. Yep. I have decided that I am going to train for the Toronto Half Marathon in October. I did it last year and would like to keep the tradition going. The best part about that weekend is that Madonna is performing in Toronto. Wouldn't that be fun? Run a half marathon, get a massage, and then go see Madge? I want to make that happen.

I went to pick up EvieG and took her downtown to try on her flowergirl dress for my brother's wedding, which is October 4th. I informed her of what we were doing, but my Mom must have filled her in because she knew exactly where we were going. When she laid eyes on her 'wedding dress,' they became saucers. She was gobsmacked. We put it on and she spent about 10 minutes dancing in front of the mirrors. All of the ladies in the shop were watching and giggling. She was very dramatic as she envisioned herself at the ball, dancing with the Prince. She was singing under her breath and prancing about like she was surrounded by flora and fauna and all of her woodland friends.

So now it is all about the wedding all the time. "Mom, how much longer to the wedding?" and "Is it time for the wedding yet?" and "I've been waiting and waiting and waiting, but the wedding is not coming!" All of this on the ride home from the bridal shop. She was very heartbroken that she couldn't wear the dress out of the store today. But I explained that we have to make it fit just right for her and we can go and try it on again this Friday at 5:45. She was cool with that.

We went looking for shoes, but were unsuccessful. We will save that for another day.

After lunch I went into the horrid, mountain of a mess that is the state of our garage. It is a state of squalor all on its own because of the Great Flood of 2008 and Restoration Hardcore has yet to complete the reconstruction of our basement. Hubby and I decided that we were going to eliminate a lot of 'stuff'. We want to cut down on the crap. We want to reduce the number of Rubbermaid containers by a good third. Which meant parting with the baby clothes.

Most of the clothes from Newborn to 12 months are now history. I went through all of the bins, got rid of the stained pieces, returned some outfits to friends, kept the really special pieces for the Wee Ladies, and gave the rest away. I thought I could have made some money by selling it, or having a garage sale, but the amount you actually come out with in the end isn't worth the headache of pricing, selling some, and being left with most of it. And so I donated it all to the local Women's Center. I figure it would be put to good use this way.

I was having a bit of a hard time as I was sorting it. My womb cried and ached a little. And for an split instant- maybe a couple of split instants, I missed having a baby. But then reality hit hard- really hard, square in the jaw. No way, no how. Not going to happen. EVER. AGAIN. I was driving it to the shelter with a pang of separation anxiety; already missing the days of babies. I was mourning this stage of life with the van filled-to-the-top-and-spilling-over-to-the-front-seat with plastic bags. And it wasn't even gone yet. But after I dropped it off, I felt good. I felt I did the right thing. A good deed done for others who need help. I left without second guessing what I had just done. We are moving on.

We can move in our garage again. And on either side of the pile of junk too! We have garage aisles now. We have many full Rubbermaid containers still, but we now have many empty ones after today's clearance-returns not accepted.

I couldn't believe I did it. I finally let go. I decided that was it. No one I know is having baby girls right now and we need to downsize our stuff. So off it went. Last week we put an end to the bottles. This is another sign that the baby days are gone forever. I do miss it, but things are becoming more action packed every day with the Wee Ladies.

To almost end the day, I had an email from a writer with Readers Digest.ca. She wrote requesting an interview with me for an article she is writing about mom bloggers. HOW COOL IS THAT? I have never been interviewed before for something fun like this. Job interviews don't count. Oh, I was interviewed on the Kingston Cable Channel about a play I was in back in 1996. Oh, and Auntie Lisa and I were interviewed by some Brits while we sat on a beach surrounded by naked people, while fully clothed in the South of France back in 1998. They told me I was too pasty; that I needed to undress because I needed a tan. They were probably perverts looking to get some action. From the fully clothed Canadian tourists. Not the many naked people sitting around us. Scoff....

I can't wait to tell you all about the interview. It is on Wednesday.

Booty Bootcamp ended the day. Followed by this blog and a cup of tea.

After all the excitement today, I should most definitely be down a couple pounds. I will step on the scale tomorrow morning, only to realize that I have not lost any weight, but am simply 'retaining water'.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: Announcements, Chores, DDM, EvieG

I have changed servers and so this has put a slight glitch in the timing of yesterday's post on some computers. And today, I lost my digital phone and computer signal for a while. It is all back up and running, but while I was waiting EvieG and I worked with some fresh produce.

I went to the local market this morning. I love fresh, local produce, particularly when it is in season. I bought some fresh honeydew melon, broccoli, corn, tomatoes, and believe it or not, the season's first apples from a town about 40 minutes from here. Oh, and peaches too. All of this comes from around our area and if I can, we stick as close to the 100 Mile Diet. I buy local meat and eggs as well. The best part about the local produce, other than it is good for you, is that it cost me $15.

EvieG helped me put the other Wee Ladies down for their naps by fetching soothers and blankies. And then we tidied up the squalor that was the playroom. We then went to the sink and I taught her how to properly wash fruits and veggies. I showed her how to run the fruit or veggies under cold water while rubbing off the grime. She kept interrupting me and saying, "I can do it, I can do it." I guess she is a quick study.

All the while I am looking around on the counter and the floor and notice all these little pieces of broccoli. I asked, "What is all this broccoli doing all over the place?" She looked at me and smiled, "I ate it." I said, "You ate it?" And she replied, "Yes, I like eating trees." I laughed. I told her I would cut it up and put it in a bowl so she could help herself anytime she wanted a snack. I gave her permission to go in the fridge for broccoli.

I was trying not to fall over from shock. This is a kid who does not prefer anything green. But wow! She likes raw broccoli. She eats it cooked, but it is not her favourite. I better break out the raw cauliflower next!

We got everything washed and cut. And now it is ready for her to help herself. I love that she will eat the raw fruits and veggies. She eats baby carrots raw, but nothing else, well, except for broccoli. She will eat fruit like crazy.

The other 2 Wee Ladies enjoy raw fruit. Not so much the veggies yet. I will often walk by the fruit bowl only to find a bite out of a peach or an apple. It's like a little mouse has gotten in there for a wee snack. Spark Plug loves apples and eats the core and all. The Destroyer is just getting started.

So what's on tonight's menu?

Pizza at Grandma's. From a local pizza restaurant. At least we are keeping it local and not putting a McCain's Deep Dish in the oven.

All's I'm sayin's all.

PS Have a fun weekend and my apologies if there were glitches at all on your computer with the server change.

Labels: DDM, EvieG, Responsibility

Our Wee Ladies love to colour and paint. They love crafts too. Anything to do with markers, paint, and crayons is guaranteed to be a big hit. But what happens is that we often find that we have a pile up of drawings and paintings. And in the mind of a child, they are all masterpieces. They are all worthy of hanging to display the raw artistic talent for all to witness. If there is any slight gesture towards a garbage pail, look out for a freak show. What do we do with all of these pictures? And how do we avoid the path of destruction that goes along with it?

Everywhere we turn there are piles of pictures. Some completely coloured and some partially coloured. Some only have a few scribbles or strokes on them, but by golly, don't even think about tossing them. Along with the piles of pictures, there are piles of colouring tools. Like Cheerios, markers, crayons, paint brushes, and even water colour pencils are lying around everywhere. And it is not because they are purposely tossed around. The Destroyer comes along in her true Tasmanian Devil fashion, bulldozing over everything and leaving a wake of destruction. There are lids everywhere. There are spots of marker on the stairs and on the carpet. I have even found scribbles on the walls. Oh, and on the oven. Spark Plug likes to remove the marker lids and use them as nails. She will run in and show me five beautiful multi-coloured nails.

It is hard for EvieG to find a place to quietly colour or paint. She has to switch locations continuously in order to avoid her sisters coming in and trying to add their two cents to her pictures. This is also why we find a trail of colouring items throughout the house. She gets so annoyed when she is working really hard on a picture only to find herself interrupted while losing her markers at the same time. We are pretty much limited to painting during nap time.

And so the quarreling and whining begins. "Mom! They're taking my markers!" and "Mom! They're colouring on my page!" and "Mom! I don't want them around me! Is it nap time yet?" We try to figure out a solution which means taking her stuff to another place. And I give the others their own crayons and paper.

Trying to deal with the picture overload is like dealing with work that is sent home from school. What do you keep and what do you toss? There is often a reason to keep the many drawings and paintings. Like EvieG is planning a pretend party, or she wants to give it to someone she hasn't seen in a few months. And they pile up and are eventually forgotten about. I watch and wait. Then I eliminate.

My strategy so far has been to let the pictures hang around for a bit. Then after a few days, they inconspicuously disappear. EvieG is none the wiser. There have been drawings that have meant more to her which means I pile them out of the way for a while. Then if she doesn't miss them a few weeks later, they too will vanish without a trace.

I have learned never pitch pictures in front of her. Or work from school. This makes her blood pressure go up. She wants each piece treated with respect and love. And so sometimes we will compile the work and pick out a few extra special pieces to keep. This seems to keep her happy...and then a few weeks go by, and they miraculously have disintegrated into thin air. But she is already over it.

I tape up really special pictures. Our kitchen has been turned into a makeshift art gallery. There are pieces on the walls, the doors, and even on the fridge. She has taped up things herself too. Her bedroom door has a few drawings, our bedroom door, and even the sliding door to the backyard.

I love that the Wee Ladies like to be creative. I will always encourage that, even though it is beyond annoying to be constantly picking up dried out markers. No matter how many times I say, "Don't forget to put the lids back on," it somehow never seems to happen. And so EvieG is in charge of buying her own markers now. I just got tired of shelling out money for more markers. She has to learn to take care of the stuff. I will help out in the event I see the other Wee Ladies taking and losing the stuff. I do not hold her responsible for dead markers because of her sisters.

Our life is full of colour. And I love that our world is full of colour. The colourful pictures of the Wee Ladies, along with the colourful personalities and drama that comes with making beautiful art.

Even the ones the jury declines.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: Battle, DDM, EvieG, Spark Plug, The Destroyer

That's it. No more. The last real baby item is history. No more bottles. I finally caved. And I am struggling.

While EvieG and I were away last weekend, Hubby was home with Spark Plug and The Destroyer. He didn't give The Destroyer her bottle before bed. She ran around playing and had a snack. She ate a banana.

She is a banana freak. It is the first thing she asks for when she gets up. And at 16 months, she does ask for it. She will look up at me with her big, blue saucers and say, "Nana. Peece?" She even says please. So I peel one for her and hand half to her to munch on until I pull out the drinks and cereal.

If we start the day with an abundance of electrolytes, why not end it in the same way?

With the bottle, I would get her ready for bed. While the other 2 Wee Ladies were tucked into our bed, I would take The Destroyer into the nursery, cuddle her, and give her the nighttime bottle of milk. She would even let me hold the bottle. How nice is that? She would lay sprawling across my lap and play with her hair, or mine. She would look up at me as I sang to her. I would rock her back and forth. My last baby.

And so it was Hubby who cut her off of this loving routine. When we returned from our trip, Hubby told me that The Destroyer no longer has a bottle. My stomach did a few flips. I thought, am I ready yet? Do I really have to give this up? The others were all just over a year. I have hung on a few extra months.

I was kind of put out that I wasn't the one who cut her off. But it was for the best, I think. If I had been put in the position to eliminate the bottle, she would probably still be hanging off my lap at Suri Cruise's age.

We were both cut off at the same time. Bedtime rolled around the second night back. I was feeling as if I was going to have a relapse. I went to the fridge. Hubby was standing in the room. I put my hand on the fridge door handle and looked up at him. I asked, "Do I really not get a bottle?" He smirked at me and shrugged. He responded with, "She doesn't need it. Have you taken a look at that kid's thighs lately? She is definitely not starving." He was right.

So I went to the fruit bowl and broke a banana away from the bunch. I went upstairs bottleless. I made sure EvieG and Spark Plug were settled comfortably in our room and marched down the hall to the nursery with The Destroyer. I sat in the rocking chair and peeled the banana. I gave half to her and cuddled her like I always do. At first there was resistance. She wanted to get up and run around with the banana in hand. I pulled her back in for the cuddle, she laid back in my arms and ate as I sang to her.

It feels weird to let the last baby thing go. There will be no more babies-and yes, that is true, unless I am 1 in 2000 who falls victim to super human healing powers within the man bits. But I like our nightly rock and cuddle. It won't last forever. It is hard enough to get any cuddle from her right now. She has better places to be and better things to do most of the time. If I can draw it out as long as I can, I will. I figure it's not going to hurt anything. She is not going to be harmed or extra spoiled because of some cuddle time before lights out. We like it and it works for us.

And so we changed the routine slightly. No more bottles. No more baby paraphernalia. This is it. But I still have my baby.

And I am not letting her go that easily.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: Battle, DDM, The Destroyer

I should probably take stock out in General Mills because the sales the company generates through me probably keeps them in business. We are a Cheerios household. And we have been for a few years now. I never really went for the Gerber toddler snacks, or any other snacky food made to avoid choking. Who needs it really, when all you need are the multitude of Cheerios flavours?

I spend my money and my time with Cheerios. We have Cheerios for breakfast and for snacks. We count with them and put them with milk. They are especially great when they are soggy. I am a Cheerios expert myself. I even know the term used when the last four or five individual Cheerios cling together for survival in the bowl. It's called Cheerio-Magnetization. That's right. Even if you swirl your spoon around the milky pond when there are only a few left, they always gravitate towards each other. Try it sometime. You will know exactly what I am talking about.

While regular Cheerios are low in sugar, provide 8 essential vitamins and nutrients, are cholesterol and trans fat free, and have no artificial colours and flavours, they are beyond irritating to clean up. That's because they are so small and their round shape allows them to fall into all nooks, crannies, and a wide variety of crevices. Not to be totally confused with the hit song Land Down Under by Men Without Hats, I go for the Cheerios down under. While paying tribute to a classic song, when we break out the box, we better be sure to run and take cover.

It was a Cheerios disaster in the kitchen after breakfast this morning. The little donuts were stuck in the booster seat, all soft and gooey, wedged in between the side of the seat and the seat itself. I would have to take the seat completely apart to get them out, but like a ripened fruit, I figure I'll just let them harden and wait for them to fall out on their own. It's more efficient this way because they are sticky little suckers too! They were splattered all across the floor under, on, and around the perimeter of the table. I didn't think I would have to do a major cleaning job because the dog would take care of the mess. Our Wee Westie Basil came in from his morning trip outside, sniffed what you would think is a dog's dream, and continued walking. He refuses to eat Cheerios anymore. That's a bad sign, I reckon. I had no choice but to bring out the vacuum. I had to take off the head of the vacuum and use just the metal handle part to avoid the Cheerios from embedding themselves in the bristles.

I find the little rascals everywhere throughout the house. In the play room/office, in the cutlery drawer, in the sink, under the cushions on the couch, under other pieces of furniture, on the floor upstairs and in my bed. That's right. Like the Princess and the Pea, I am the Dress Down Mom and the Cheerio. I have woken out of a dead sleep only to find myself lying on a Cheerio. I go down under to remove the covers to brush them from the bottom of the bed because my feet keep running into them. I have located them in various places in the van, in my cleavage, and I have even found them in my purse. I guess the Zip-Loc must have accidentally opened at some point. I am waiting for the day when my ear drums explode from the piercing cries of one of the Wee Ladies after they have lodged some wholesome goodness up their nostrils.

And so you ask, why do you let your kids wander around eating Cheerios? Well, they have a snack here and there. No big deal. They watch TV in our bed before lights out and eat their Cheerios and bananas. Sure a few get dumped here and there and it is annoying, but I cannot force a one year old and two year old to sit down properly at the table once they've entered the Overtired Zone.

They are a perfect snack for us. Although some might argue they are too high in sodium, I like to think they are an okay choice. I only buy the regular, Multi-Grain, and sometimes the Apple flavour. At least it is some variety.

Will we ever get past our Cheerios obsession? Probably not. I have been eating them my whole life. I remember hiding behind the chair with the box in our living room when I was five on a Saturday morning, avoiding my family and Saturday morning cartoons. That is a serious addiction. Missing The Smurfs for cereal.

Maybe Jerry Seinfeld and I should get together and chat about our favourite cereals. Over a bowl of cereal.

All's I"m sayin's all.

Labels: DDM, Family, Fun

I have a spring in my step today. I have a big smile on my face, new freckles, and no bags under my eyes. I just came back from having the best weekend I have had in a long time up north with EvieG and very dear friends.

I have known this family for 20 years. Auntie Susie has lived in the UK for the past decade. She is home once a year, sometimes twice. And during her annual trip to Canada, we make sure we have a visit. We went to high school and some of university together. I spent Christmas with them and their extended family in England in 1993. Susie and I skied every winter for years and in 1991 we experienced a very challenging white water canoe trip in the Northwest Territories together. We share a love of the outdoors, among lots of other things, but when we get together, it is like we just saw each other yesterday. We pick up where we left off. She is a true and valued friend.

Her family is like a second family to me. My father passed away in 1996 of a massive heart attack and her family have always treated my like another daughter. Her dad is like a second dad to me. We also have lots in common and can chat about anything. They welcomed us with open arms and I felt like I was home.
We were well taken care of. Auntie Susie and her family were amazingly hospitable, as they always are. We ate well, drank well, and rested very well. We had ample time to catch up. They adored having EvieG there and got a kick out of her running around the property picking flowers, singing, and watching the wildlife.

I realized a few things about EvieG while we were away together. I realized that she is a great traveler. She keeps herself amused in the car. And she doesn't complain- at all. It was a 4 hour drive and on the way there we didn't stop once. She is like a camel. I asked her if she needed the bathroom, or a snack, to which she continually replied, no. She wanted to get there. When we did arrive she was so happy exploring. She was in her element.

On the way up, we talked about what it means to be a good house guest. We talked about abiding by the rules of the family. We talked about eating what you are given and how to behave if there is something you don't care for. We discussed bedtime routines. We went over using proper manners. I made sure she was clear that she acknowledge those who speak to her by asking and answering questions.

She is 5 so I wasn't sure how much of our conversation she absorbed. I was blown away. She was a wonderful house guest. She was well mannered and considerate. I was beaming I was so proud. She went to bed without a fuss. I did go to check on her only to see through the crack of the door that the curtains were open. When I peeked in, I saw her leaning on the window sill looking at the birds and chipmunks. I smiled and turned away in silence. I realized that she was very comfortable and her behaviour reflected that.

I also realized the importance of having one on one time. We have gone places before together, but for some reason this was different. We weren't on-the-go in the city. We were in a warm and spectacular setting. We reconnected away from the rest of the family. We bonded and shared a special time together. We played together and focused on each other. It was a trip we will both cherish.

It is easy to spend time with our kids. But this was real time. And it was quality time. She felt extra special. She really responded to this getaway and has been super even since we have been back home. It was much needed time away for us both and we got along on a level we never have before.

I am going to make more of a conscious effort to have these times where we can go and be together. I think we need that. I think she needs to have that mommy time too. I will also try to find time for the other Wee Ladies one on one too. I know that Spark Plug responds really well to having some alone time also. The Destroyer is so busy, I don't even think she really cares at this point.

And for me, well I feel rejuvenated. I feel more myself. We were able to hike, swim, and explore. We took time to breathe and we slowed the pace down. Because we could. And for that I thank Auntie Susie and her family. I thank them for taking care of us.

It is so important to make sure we don't become disconnected with ourselves and our families. And that is what I was feeling. I was feeling like I was going through the motions everyday, but not to the level I should be. I was tired. I needed a quiet getaway without 3 Wee Ladies running circles around me. I needed out of the house. I needed to let myself unwind.

We were away last week in the north, but it was not relaxing in the least. There was a constant buzzing of action. And you know that you only have a week to get in as much as you can, so it is hard to to take it down and unwind.

This trip reinforces what I truly believe. If a mom cannot get what she needs and if she cannot be good to herself by allowing herself time to breathe, then everyone becomes strained. We were all becoming strained. Because I was strained.

This is all it took for me to regroup. I needed to be taken care of for a little bit. Taken care of in a way that allowed me to pull it together. To rest, to relax, and to focus completely on who and what was around me. Time to devote to EvieG. This will keep me going for a long while.

Until I feel I am becoming strained again. And I know that I have a place to go to decompress.

It was all I needed. I feel so much better.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: DDM, EvieG, Family

I do not have time to post a proper blog today. I am taking EvieG away for the weekend to visit a dear friend of mine, Auntie Susie, who is home from the UK. Eve is so fortunate to have such forces in her life with the many aunties. Susie and I went to high school together and have known one another for 2 decades. We are staying with her family. We are going to be busy hiking, swimming, and playing.

I will be back on Monday with a fresh post.

Have a fun weekend and thanks for reading!

All's I'm sayin's all.

As a Dress Down Mom, I am uber casual all the time. I don't have an extensive wardrobe by any stretch. I dress comfortably and appropriately because really, who is around to notice and care? It's just the kids and I, and my friends, who for the most part are fellow Dress Down Moms. I don't worry about my hair and make up. I don't give a crap about my Palmolively unmanicured nails either. I don't go out enough to justify getting gussied up. I should also note that I feel good about myself most of the time. I do have days where I want to go and have a complete makeover, clothing included. Everyone likes to look good, but for me it is just not a priority. I wouldn't say no if someone handed me a 5 day getaway to a makeover spa though. And so when you get a compliment out of the blue, it gives you a little unexpected boost. I got a compliment today, or so I thought. From EvieG.

As the Wee Ladies were eating their cereal I was catching up on celebrity smut. EvieG came in the room just as I was reading a story about the rumour that Madonna is wanting to adopt another child. As she stood beside me and checked out the picture on the screen she asked, "Is that you in the picture, Mom?"
I was all like, "What? You think that is me?" And she replied smiling with, "Yes! You have the same hair and the same glasses!" And I thought, my child thinks I look like Madonna! I said, "No, honey, that's not me." She just said, "Oh." And then just to double check, I asked again, "So you really think she looks like me?" And EvieG said, "Yes, I do!"

Is it the unbrushed hair? The similar dyed blond? The glasses? I bet hers are not from her H&M
line. Mine are Winners specials. I know for sure it wasn't the red Kabbalah bracelet that did it. Or the really expensive Ed Hardy t-shirt either.

This little compliment gave me a little bit of an ego boost. Even Dress Down Moms can look like humanitarian celebrities. And it's not like I tried intentionally to look like Madonna either. Sure I am a huge fan, but this is not what I was doing when I got blond highlights and bought the glasses.

Even though this ego boost came from a 5 year old, it doesn't matter. I just felt good that the comparison was made to Madonna! And not some random chick at the grocery store or on the street. I know it is not a picture of Madge done up for the red carpet, but it is her in the perceived real. I'll take it. Gladly.

So thanks to EvieG for making my day. For making me feel like I'm not a frumpy mess. For making feel like I could be walking around having my picture snapped in the real without worrying that I don't look up to snuff.

And so I did. I had my DDM paparazzi picture taken today. I am carrying my bottle of water, keys, and cell phone. Just like they do on Robertson Boulevard. I didn't call the pappies though. Hubby took it.
I realize that one should not aim to establish confidence based on celebrities. But hey, if your 5 year old is going to for a split second think you are Madonna, then that is an ego boost not worth knocking.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: DDM

The process of the first pregnancy+ first labour+ first delivery+ first baby= a mother of a freak out. I remember the time before EvieG was born and my anxiety level as it soared by the day. I was nervous about this life altering experience. I was panicked about how on earth I was going to adjust to having this little human invade our life. And I heard many crazy things along the way that sent my anxiety to a whole other level. That level I am sure was probably a trip to McDonald's for a McChicken Combo. I spoke to Auntie Missy this morning and she is about to give birth any second. And she is waiting. And she is anxious.

I remember the things people would tell me and things I would read. Just reading about the whole birthing process is enough to send anyone into panic mode.

Today Auntie Missy told me about her routine doctor's appointment. No big deal. All is well. But then it is the on-the-way-out, off-the-cuff comment of, "You better start counting the kicks." And I ask why was this person so inclined to off-handedly relay this comment? To instill the fear of complication in the poor girl? I mean COME ON! Who does that? And so she stands there thinking, "Man, I haven't really been counting kicks. I feel them all the time along with the rolling and punches. Why do I need to count kicks?" Especially in the couple of days before the birth, when the baby slows down as they get themselves ready to make their grand entrance into the world. Now is not the time to tell a soon-to-be-mom who is trying to cope with all that is to come, that they should be counting kicks. And there are numbers to go with this whole counting thing. Like you should aim to feel 10 kicks every 2 hours or something. I don't remember the specifics, but I do remember hearing this stat myself and I recall my own concern over this. If the baby is moving every now and then, and the mom is feeling ok, I'd say all is probably well.

Why do people do this? Why do people give new moms these look-fors? These boundaries to live by? Don't they realize that a hormonal pregnant woman takes these things and blows them up exponentially? Where does common sense fit in to all of this?

When our babies were born, I did not breastfeed. And in the hospital there was a chart on the back of the bathroom door showing the size of a newborn's stomach along with it's growth. In the early days, the size is equal to that of an almond. And they drove it home that it was absolutely necessary to have that kid consuming 2 ounces (60 mL) of formula by the time we set foot out the door. It never happened. I was happy to get between 15 and 30 mL in them.

The pressure we feel to abide by these rules makes for nervous parents. We are already a ball of nerves in this stage of life. To me it makes no sense to push the old, 'You have to do this and have to do that', onto expecting and new moms. It makes me angry because I remember feeling the pressure. I also remember realizing that it's okay. As long as we do our best to meet the needs of our child and create a healthy and loving environment, then that's all that matters.

I realize that they have to have some standards in place to help those who may be clueless. But for the most part, I think it is fair to say that generally speaking, people are going to raise relatively healthy kids and they know their bodies and themselves well enough to realize when things are sailing smoothly or when they may run into difficulty.

I felt badly for Auntie Missy as she called to ask about the kicking thing. And unfortunately, this is not the only time she will question and panic about the well-being of her newborn.

From here on in, jumpy nerves and panic and anxiety become an integral part of the daily emotions parents feel. It is inevitable. Good thing she went out and bought a state-of-the-art ear thermometer because there's nothing like the panic one experiences when the baby gets a temperature. I still check every 2 seconds when one of the Wee Ladies gets a fever.

I sometimes wish people would just take it down a notch when it comes to the nitty-gritty of babies. It is so easy to fall into the hype-trap. There is hype about everything. Hype about breastfeeding, hype about kicks, hype about bowel movements, hype about feeding solids, hype about SIDS, hype, hype, hype.

A little common sense is all that is required.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: Responsibility

I started a Booty Bootcamp last night. It is a 6 week program that runs two nights a week, rain or shine, around the corner at a local park. I, along with all the other crazy people who want to exercise until they can breathe no more, am told to run and jump and squat and lunge to the point where my booty will look like the female version of Michelangelo's David. Picture perfect, sculpted, round- until the Timbit strike is over. I am doing this with some girlfriends and last night we all got down and did push ups until we were told to stop. I am curious to see what kind of changes this will bring to my over-muffined physique.

As we were in the middle of lunging-and-holding-for-four-more-counts, our booty bootcamp drill sergeant, who is unlike what you see on TV, shouted, "Your body is a weapon!" I snorted out loud and people stared at me. I was in front of her and she looked at me and giggled. I thought to myself, "Ya, a weapon. That's me. I think of myself standing next to Chuck Norris, but not in his CBS Walker, Texas Ranger days. I would be his side kick as he pummeled the bad guys and saved the world, like he did in the 1981 film An Eye for An Eye. My body is a weapon. Scoff...
Our uber-pleasant drill sergeant was just being nice to win us over in the first class. I am sure she will start barking orders at us by the fourth class. She can't be that nice. She is petite, buff, cheery, spry, and laid back in a way that is not too laid back because she still has the power to get our butts in gear. She just does it all nice and sweet like. For example, she will say, "Do you want to do eight more squats? No? Well, that's too bad, cause you're doing them!" I was sure we were going to get, "Do you want sugar with that, hon?" So lovely, our drill sergeant.

She is very big on telling us to listen to our bodies. "Slow down if you need to. Take a break if you are too tired. Come back when you are ready. Listen to your heart rate." But she still has the knack for motivating you to keep going. She seems genuinely concerned for our well being, but I am watching her. Watching until she gets mean, like the drill sergeants on TV. I am waiting for her to pull out the old, 'You mess with the bull, you get the horns', all Breakfast Club styles.

We are doing a Step-Up Challenge. Every class we will be doing 2 minutes of stepping up and down on the picnic table benches. We have to keep count and we recorded our first attempt and then will record our final number on the last day. She wants to see improvement! She also recorded our hip-to-waist ratio, BMI, and weight. This adds a little pressure because you don't want to pay for this 6 week session and not see any improvement in your fitness level. So in order not to look like a complete Timbit addict, I will work. I will work to beat my first Step-Up attempt. I will see results. I don't want the sugary drill sergeant to think I am a slacker if I don't produce.

There are 20 people in the class. Lots of people who want their butts kicked. People who want to get a kick start or take their current fitness regimen to another level. That's what I want. I want to give my body the shock it needs to shed the last remaining baby weight. It seems that everyone is on the same page. But there is always one. The one who stands in the back and makes snide remarks about how tortured they feel, how tired they are, how reluctant they are to push it. There is always one who thinks they are being funny by complaining, but really they just come across as being annoying. You feel like turning around and saying, "Do you want a good ass kicking? Cause I can give it to you if you don't shut up!"

I wonder how this will end? How many will feel like they've accomplished something? How many will feel like they just wasted their time and money? How will we celebrate our completion?

Maybe I should bring a big box of Timbits to the last class to say job-well-done. I wonder what everyone would have to say about that. Maybe I should bring sliced apples instead.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: DDM

Solve the problem. Show your work. Marked out of 10.

DDM went away to the north and spent a week with her family playing in the rugged bush. They swam and ate and swam and ate and ate some more. There was virtually nothing healthy that entered the body of DDM. The family is now on a Timbit strike. If DDM left her house weighing 137 lbs and returned weighing 142 lbs, how much weight did DDM put onto her ass? Don't forget to show your work.

142 lbs - 137 lbs = 5 lbs

DDM added 5 lbs to her ass. And probably some to her thighs. And her chin likely started bulging a little.

There you have it. 2 marks for every pound. 10 out of 10 on answering that one!!

We're back. We're alive and intact. We're tired. It's a good tired though. Chasing three Wee Ladies in the woods for a week should make anyone tired (although my ass would tell you otherwise). Especially when you have to follow them around making sure that they don't crack their heads on the concrete steps leading to the lake. I am glad we went and I know the Wee Ladies had a blast. But I need a vacation from our vacation.

We were on-the-go from the second we arrived until the second we left. The Wee Ladies ran around, picked wild blueberries, swam, fished, went for boat rides, tubed, and slept a little. Actually, when they went to sleep, they slept well. They got a little off schedule though.

My MIL came too, which was amazing because she helped out with the kids, meals, and laundry. She stayed in town with her Mom, Hubby's Grandma. We went into town every morning to fetch coffee for everyone. After a run around Grandma's, we went back to the cabin on the lake to play some more. And every morning around 10:30, the 2 younger Wee Ladies would fall asleep in the van. We would get back to the lake and let them sleep. In the van with the door open. That way they had their naps early and then could tough it out the rest of the day. More importantly, they were in bed at a normal, decent hour, so that Hubby and I could hang out, drink, swim, and watch the sunset. It was perfect timing.
There is something to be said about traveling with little kids. There is not much break for the adults. There is not much down time. Taking the kids out of their familiar lives and routines, throwing them in a car for 12 hours, and tossing them into a new place for several days is enough to get anyone out of sorts. They were wired, cranky, tired, and irritable off and on for the first couple of days until they got used to their new surroundings. And I may have been too. A little bit.

This is why I ask for a vacation from the vacation. Although it is time away and it is a fun time, I can't help but yearn for a trip where I can lay and sleep, read and relax. But even then, if I went on a relaxing trip, I would probably just miss the Wee Ladies too much and want to come home. I can miss them from my beach side lounge chair.

This year was the hardest for sure as far as following every move of the Wee Ladies. By next year, they will be able to follow directions and move more freely. It was an experience we will always remember and I am glad we got into the bush for a little while to breathe in the fresh air.

And now it is unpacking that I am dealing with. I left Hubby in Toronto yesterday (he's on business for three days) and my MIL unpacked the van while I got basic groceries. She left and I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Overtired, hungry children, dinner to get, crap to put away, laundry to do.....

It's almost easier to stay home. Almost.

All's I'm sayin's all.

Labels: DDM, EvieG, Family, Fun, Spark Plug, The Destroyer

First of all, just a little housekeeping business about the disappearing comments. Yes, there were comments here before. Some have vanished. I have all my people out looking for them but the truth is that I don’t know where they went or how or why. It figures that when DDM takes off for a week that this would happen. One thing is for sure – now she will never ask me to look after her kids while she’s away. If I did it, I am very sorry to those of you who have been inadvertently censored. Please don’t take it personally. Perhaps the comments have taken a vacation and will come home when they have had enough of wherever they have gone.

Speaking of vacations, I wanted to put my two cents’ worth in about traveling with kids. I have done a bit of traveling in the year since the twins were born and as I get more comfortable with packing up the family and going somewhere new, I am more and more confused as to why I was ever stressed out about going anywhere before they were born. It seems to me that traveling solo is about the easiest thing you could do, relatively speaking of course.

What is the worst thing that could happen when you travel alone? Barring the real tragedies, the usual stuff doesn’t seem so bad anymore. For example, the airline could lose your luggage and you wouldn’t have any clothes. Irritating? Yes, but not the end of the world. Not as bad as say, leaving behind your son’s favourite blanket. That would be apocalyptic. Let’s take carry on luggage. Forget your neck pillow? Now you’ll never get that 45 minutes of half-sleep. Forget diapers? That might call for an emergency landing. We are talking about a whole other level of disaster when we talk about traveling with kids.

This is why moms at the airport look so frazzled. We are mentally going through the list of things we might have forgotten, in order of priority. The crazy lady sitting next to you at the gate might not be mumbling about the Rapture, she is probably just wondering if she remembered to pack her 5 year old’s Dora the Explorer backpack.

Truth be told, most of the time we have gone anywhere it has been mostly without incident. We’ve been sick and had some tears (not all from the babies) but overwhelmingly we have had positive experiences. It’s just that the weeks of anxiety and preparation plus the physical exhaustion from the trip means that we usually need about a week after we get home to recover.

By the way, a week is generally how long it takes me to start unpacking. In fact, we are going to visit my family this weekend and I’m rolling over last week’s cottage luggage. I might wash the dirty clothes first but I’ll probably just end up bringing them with us and hope that Grandma does our laundry. You might judge me for that, and you probably should, but I guarantee that Grandma is going over her own list as we speak, mumbling to herself at the grocery store so that she doesn’t forget to buy the right kind of snack food for me. I guess some things will never change.

NWT

Labels: Guest Post

I am a relatively small person. I’m not quite like the old lady from Poltergeist, but small enough. I like small things. As a matter of fact, all of the cars that I have ever loved or coveted are small – if I could I would ride around in a vintage MGB. The thought of having a minivan makes me cringe, and not just because I fear the silent encroachment of the soccer mom persona, but because it just seems so, well, big.

So imagine how I felt when I discovered that I was going to have twins. All of a sudden everything in my life got really big. My car got upsized to an SUV. My belly got upsized to a large marine mammal that hung from the front of my shoulders. And most distressingly, my planned dream stroller changed from a cute little old-fashioned pram to a small military land vehicle. I’ve adapted to the SUV (though not the guilt over its gas consumption) and I only have a slightly squishy reminder of the marine mammal on my belly, but I have still not come to terms with the Giant Double Stroller.

I often look at moms out there with their adorable little single babies in their single baby strollers, slaloming in between pedestrians on the sidewalk and popping in and out of shops without a care in the world. I wistfully look at moms carrying their babies in their arms as they walk down the street and sigh. I will never be that woman. Instead, I am that woman: The one with the Giant Double Stroller. The one who forces you off the sidewalk and who blocks your way in the grocery store. You can’t avoid me and I can’t avoid you.

With my new largeness, I have become like a fighter pilot while I’m out on the streets. I am keenly aware of pedestrians approaching at all angles. I stop and start, swerve and deek, and smile apologetically as I thank those who step aside. Most are friendly, some are sympathetic and a few are cranky. None dares to challenge me, the leviathan of the sidewalk.

There are lots of advantages to smallness. There is always room for you on the bus or in the elevator. I have gone through my life rarely being in anybody’s way and I like that. What can I say? I’m Canadian. Now I am huge and intrusive. I am your fat, drunk aunt who blocks your way to the bathroom at family functions to tell you about her new career selling aromatherapy cat products. It sucks, but there is nothing I can do about it. I guess I’ll have to put off that MGB until I retire.

NWT

Labels: Guest Post

Hi everyone. Nenny with Twins here again with another great post from Mamacita. I don't know any mother who can't relate to this post - I couldn't even get through reading it without shouting in solidarity. Perhaps some of you can shed some light on why total strangers feel compelled to share their wisdom with you. I'd love to hear it...

NWT

Out of the Mouths of Adults

Why, oh why do other people feel so compelled to give unsolicited criticism and advice? Why does this always happen when our Mommy energy and defences are at their lowest? And why can’t we think of snappy come backs at the right time?

It has happened to all of us…it is unavoidable. If you are having trouble conceiving everyone asks, “When are you going to have a baby?” When you are pregnant and feeling extra humongous, why are people so insensitive and tell you, “You look like you are about to pop!”? And the worst unsolicited advice always comes after the baby is born!

Before I continue I’d like to set some ground rules. This post is going to be an audience participation post. We all have stories…let’s share them! Also, I think venting against Mothers and Mother in Laws is forbidden…this time. Of course they are the source of the most unsolicited advice but I believe that since they have genuine love and concern for your kids, they get a free pass on giving advice…just for today.

A few years ago a friend of mine was flying home for a funeral with her 3 children. She wasn’t in the happiest state of mind and her youngest, a 2 year old tot, was especially busy. She had a baby harness for him...the cute kind that is a stuffed animal backpack with a leash coming from it. While waiting for a connecting flight, a woman told her that her baby looked like a tethered animal on a leash. The nerve!! My friend said nothing, smiled and walked away. My friend may have appeared poised but she was secretly praying that the cruel woman would sit in front of a seat kicking kid on her next flight!

I have a family friend who is a very polished and respectable lady. She was raised to mind her Ps & Qs and grew up to be a librarian. She told me a story recently that is having me see her in a whole new light! Decades ago she was in the grocery store with her toddler daughter and 8 months pregnant with her son. It was the winter and her daughter refused to keep her hat on. You all know what that is like! She was approached by a little old lady who said, “Dear, it is far too cold for your child to be going around without a hat on!” My friend sweetly replied, “F&%* you” and walked away!!

What causes people to approach strangers like this? Can’t some adults just hold their tongue? I know you all have stories so let’s share them and learn from them so we don’t become those little old ladies getting told off in the grocery store!

Labels: Guest Post

Hi there. It's Nenny With Twins here to fill in for the amazing DDM, which is a daunting task. I will do my best but please be gentle with me.

I'm a mom of two fourteen month old babies who are the centre of my universe. My very messy, poopy, loud universe. I'm sure many of you can relate.

Today we will hear from Mamacita - another twin mom - whom I have known for a very long time. I haven't met her twins but I have seen pictures and just for your visual reference, they are super-adorable. So is Mamacita. Enjoy and I will be back tomorrow.

NWT

When In Rome…or Mexico.

As a guest writer here at DDM.com, I thought I’d share with you how it has been for me, having and raising children out of the country. I have been living in Monterrey, Mexico for almost 3 years. I conceived, carried and gave birth to twin baby boys there last year. Since this site is so great for aliases, let’s call them Twin A & Twin A (we had a tough time picking names).
Put your assumptions aside because I don’t live in a hut on the beach. In my suburb, there are no Dress Down Moms. It is a very affluent city. The women don’t work, they all have nannies (more on that later) and wear their stilettos to the grocery store. I barely fit in with my track pants and flip flops. We are only 2 hours from the border of Texas so there is a lot of American influence. All the moms shop at Target and Pottery Barn and we’re all guilty of smuggling in decent diapers cross border.

Here are some of my stories. My experiences have been both good and bad, similar and different from other DDMs in Canada. But as my husband always says, these experiences are the spice of life. Some are mas picante than others!

My paediatrician is amazing. His English is better than my Spanish so we communicate just fine. He was with the boys in the delivery room and visited them 2x a day while they lived in NICU for a month. I have access to a free clinic but I prefer to pay $50 per kid, per visit. He is that good. I call his office in the morning and they always have openings that day. I have his cell phone number and am encouraged to call him. While the boys were in the NICU he would call me at home for daily updates if we didn’t see each other in person at the hospital. Once I called him on a Sunday and he left church to answer my questions. Seriously! I’m not advocating private health care because we are SO lucky in Canada to have the health system that we do but considering the medical attention my boys have needed thus far, I feel so fortunate to have access to private care. For example, a few months ago there were concerns about the size of Twin A’s head (everything is fine). Within a week we had an ultrasound, CAT scan, MRI and consults with 2 neurosurgeons. Within a week!!

Religion is huge and if I had a peso for every time someone stopped to bless the children or touch their heads to remove evil spirits (a superstition), I’d be able to buy a taco stand. Our germ-a-phobic society would freak out! When the boys were in NICU the nurses taped pray cards to their incubators, with no fear of being politically incorrect and offending us. How refreshing. When I asked the Dr. about the significance of the prayer cards (same lady on all of them) he said they are from a church 1.5 hours away where a woman saw a vision of Mary and now is a healer. He goes to this church frequently and recommended I go. He claims to have witnessed miracles there. This is our DOCTOR. A man of SCIENCE, trained in the USA, recommending that we go to this church to see a vision-seeing miracle healer. Damn straight we went. When in Rome!

The Mexican people are family obsessed. They go loco for children. Not once has anyone in Mexico made a negative comment about the fact that I have twin boys, compared to here, where I get looks of pity and sarcastic comments such as “lucky you”. I love having twin boys! My BF in TO has twin boys too and is experiencing the same harsh negativity. I told her to come to Mexico for a few days for an ego boost. You’d think with the Mexicans have such big families that kids would be less of a novelty but no, they shower love on children, even to strangers. That is a big difference between our cultures.

Nannies, Maids, Housekeepers, Muchachas, Senoras….call them what you will. They are cheap and plentiful in Mexico. I was too proud (stupid?) for years to hire one but once I was pregnant we got Minnie, then Nora, now Gloria. Gloria rocks. I pay her $32 a day and I way over pay her. But I want to keep her so that’s what I do. She comes 3x a week and does everything - dishes, laundry, cleaning, ironing, etc and looks after the boys for part of the day. When we are away she comes and pays our bills and waters our plants. She has a key to our house! I love Gloria. The Mexican Maid can be whatever you want her to be. I know people with live in maids. I know people who have a cleaning lady just one day a week. I see the maids in the grocery store, the Dr’s office and out walking the babies. The rich usually have 1 nanny per kid (yes! Per kid!), 1 nurse per newborn and 1 lady to clean the house. I only have Gloria but she is all I need. When in Rome!

I hope you enjoyed this little insight into my life south of the border. If any of you DDMs find a little extra cash in the piggy bank and time on your hands, you are always welcome to experience being a mamacita first hand. Mi casa es tu casa. Siempre. Adios amigos!!

Labels: Guest Post

I have been frantically running around today. We are washing, packing, organizing, freaking, bitching, laughing, and trying to keep the Wee Ladies under control. As we prepare to drive up north, I am one moody mom. I can say I am a borderline lunatic right now.

We are leaving at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning. At around 4:30 am to avoid long weekend traffic through Toronto. And we want to throw the Wee Ladies in the Guzzler so they can continue sleeping....ask me how that goes later. Then we will stop mid-morning for some serious running for a couple hours followed by the last stretch of the trip. We should arrive at the cabin around dinner time. It will be a long day, but we are so ready for a break.

EvieG packed her bag. Take a look at this....

Labels: Announcements, Chores, DDM, EvieG, Family