Ohforpitysakes...

The Shaw guy came over yesterday to set up our new digital phone, cable and internet lines (obvs, we've switched from Telus). I'd known he would be coming over and so had the boys do a clean-up of the downstairs while I did upstairs.

So the guy arrives, I see him get out of his van and the first thing I notice is wow, hubba hubba, he's got a set of shoulders and arms on him! So I do the natural woman-thing, run to the mirror to make sure the hair and face are okay. He comes in, we introduce ourselves and he gets right to work. Most of what he had to do was downstairs, fixing up the lines and whatnot, and so it was just natural that the kids and I hung out down there to watch him. I'm sure those guys hate that, being stared at and having people ask them hundreds of questions, but it was kind of cool what he was doing and the kids were in awe. Ardan said to him, "Wow, it must be hard to be a cable guy!" and Gunnar, because I had just told him about the movie Cable Guy and Jim Carrey's role in it, goes "Cay-bulll guyyyyyy" (like from the movie). The Shaw guy and I looked at him and burst out laughing, so Gunn thought he was the king-shit after that, haha. The guy kept up a steady chatter with me and the kids, commenting on my little 'musicians' (the drum set, keyboard and guitar) and he was in shock to hear I had a fourth kid (who was upstairs sleeping), haha.

So whatever, an hour had gone by, he's still working at it and then Tyler comes home early from work. It was funny but I was like 'Doh!' because now I'd have to really hide the fact that I was ogling this guy's upper body. Then I felt guilty for thinking like that (not guilty about the ogling though, hey, I can look!) and so I fussed and fawned over Hubs for a bit and then made the introductions. Ty and the cable guy got along like long-lost buddies, talking about fishing and camping and whatever. I was feeling very superfluous but no way was I going back upstairs.

Anyway, two hours had now gone by and the guy finished up with his work. He came upstairs to check that the internet was working and the three of us adults watched a bit of the Michael Jackson Memorial show on tv (the guys traded a few MJ jokes while I shook my head). We said our goodbyes and thank-yous, and then he was gone.

And then I happened to walk past the mirror in the hallway and noticed that the middle button on my shirt was undone, had in fact been undone almost the entire time! So my gaping shirt had been open in what probably looked like a blatant come-on or something, my bra totally showing and obvious, and there I had been, hanging out down there the entire time ogling his chest!!! And I can't believe that neither the kids or Hubs noticed, and told me!

**GROAN!!**

ACK! Omg! *cough*gag*

We took the kids out for a bike ride last night, right before the big storm hit. We went all the way down the road to the far-away playground, let the kids run wild at the park while we sat and watched, then made the long trek back home up the hill. As I was coasting down the hill towards home (letting my limp-noodle legs take a rest after lugging the carrier up that damn hill), I had my mouth open, taking deep breaths from the exertion.

All of a sudden, a friggin' bug flew right in my mouth and landed on the back of my throat! I immediately brought the bike to a screeching halt and made a flying jump into the ditch before I'd even fully stopped. At that point, I wasn't even thinking about poor Ryder in the carrier behind me; all I could think of was the bug stuck in the back of my throat, wiggling around and trying to flap its wings.

So there I was, in the ditch, bent over, dry heaving and choking and gagging. Hubs and the kids had stopped to see what the commotion was about (Lena's bike had come to a sudden stop when she rammed right into the back of the carrier, oops! Sorry, Lena!). They were all laughing hilariously at me as I gagged and coughed and puked the bug out.

And to add insult to injury, we weren't even close to home. So I had to haul my gasping body back onto the bike and lug the carrier back all that way. I was dying to take a full lungful of breath, but what with my sinus situation I couldn't breathe fully through my nose, and since I'd just learned the hard way I couldn't breathe through my open mouth, I had to heave and strain for a breath with my lips pursed open the tiniest bit.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot, definitely felt like one.

Learning to let go

There are certain moments that parenting books don't prepare you for.

When you're a child, resentfully bucking under parental restraints, you think to yourself "I'm never going to be like this with my own kids!"

But when you're the parent confronted with similar situations, suddenly you GET IT. You realize what your own parents went through, the struggle between wanting to protect your child and keep them glued to your side, and learning to let go so your child can gain independence and self-confidence. There's such a fine line between the two that its so much easier for your own peace of mind to think to yourself, "My child just isn't ready yet, maybe when he's a bit older." Of course, this usually results in a power struggle between parent and child, the build-up of feelings of resentment and injustice on the child's part, and the parental guilt of knowing you need to let go and just trust but feeling unable to just yet.

Last week was Gunnar's grade five field trip, they were all going on a bike trip on the Red Deer bike paths. The parents were to drop off the bikes in the morning and obviously, pick them up at the end of the day. I had a discussion with Gunnar the night before, he was begging for me and Hubs to let him ride his bike home after school. Its a fair distance, all the way across town, but he's used to going on long bike trips with our family and we knew he could do it in less than half an hour. We knew that, rationally, but how do you convince your overprotective parental instincts that this is one of those moments to let go?

I showed up at the end of the school day to pick up both boys, fully intending to take Gunnar home with me (I hadn't given him a firm answer on the subject). He biked over to my vehicle with his best friend, also on a bike, and we chit-chatted for a bit (the school bell hadn't rung yet so they were just killing time). And Gunnar put the question to me, again, but this time in front of his friend. I KNOW how important it is to 'save face' in front of your friends at that age. I know that I have raised a boy with a good head on his shoulders, and that I can trust him to be safe and responsible. I also know that the world out there is not necessarily a safe place for lone children.

I must have had an agonized, indecisive look on my face because Gunnar said to me in all seriousness, "Mom, you know I'll obey the rules of the road, I'll come straight home. You can trust me."

And so... I let go.

It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make as a parent, and as I drove home all sorts of worst-case scenarios ran through my mind. But my boy arrived home safe and on time, full of feelings of self-pride and accomplishment, and I knew I'd made the right decision. It was a small step for him on his own path of self-discovery and independence, one of the first of many, I know. But it was a step for me as well, a painful and shaky step, towards that ultimate final step of watching my grown child go out into the world and create his own separate life.

To think I have to go through this over and over again with not just one child, but four!

Too much of a good thing

You'd think I would have learned my lesson.

After using my new Pedi-Expert that first time and realizing how addicting it is to keep searching for newer, pinker layers of skin under all the dead stuff, eventually I had to force myself to put the tool away, unless I wanted to be walking around on pinkened bloody stumps.

The second time I used it, again I went overboard, this time on the callus on the side of my big toe. About half an hour after I used it, I noticed that my toe was really hurting. And here when I looked, there was a big crack right in that spot! Obviously, there is a reason calluses form on certain spots, to protect the skin underneath. And so with no callus there, the tender skin split.

The third time I used it, this morning, I did exactly what my mother had just warned me the previous day not to do. You see, after reading my post she went out and bought one, too. And she also went overboard and scraped every last bit of dead skin off, leaving her feet beautiful and pink, to be sure, but also extremely tender and sore! So she had cautioned me last night during our visit, and showed me the one area on her heel where blood had rushed to the surface.

And so this morning, when I was scraping away happily, I made sure to check every once in a while that I wasn't going crazy with it. And I really thought I wasn't! My feet looked and felt awesome, so smooth and pink and fresh. Until I had my bath... and walked around the house for a bit doing chores... and noticed that my one heel was hurting. Took a look and... Oh no! The exact same area as her owie, the exact same look to the injury, like blood just under the surface of the skin.

So now I am hobbling around just like she was yesterday. Like mother, like daughter, I guess, right? So let this be a warning to all you other Pedi-Expert users out there -- DON'T OVERDO IT. Take it easy on your poor callused feet. Else end up a cautionary tale like us hobbling fools, lol.

Don't mind me, I'm just having a mental breakdown...

I love my life, my kids, and Hubs. I DO. Really. But sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode, and on my gravestone will be written, 'She was a good girl, but sometimes she went a little mental.'

It was Father's Day night, we'd just returned from camping and finished eating supper, and I was getting Ryder ready for bed. As I went to place him in the crib to get him changed into his jammies (makes it easier if he's confined and can't constantly run away from me), he started to gag. I had literally like one second warning, just enough time to tip his upper body toward the bedding (so much easier to clean up when all you have to do is gather up the blankets, take note), and he let it loose. Only, I had angled his body in such a way that not only did the puke spray his entire bed, but all the bars of the crib, the wall behind the crib, AND...*drum roll*... my Ed Hardy purse. Which had just happened to be on the floor beside the crib (I use it as a diaper bag).

Now, if you know me you know that that purse is my most prized possession, I take it everywhere and love to act smug when people comment on it. What can I say, I'm a wannabe fashionista.

At this point, my brain was already smokin-hot with disgust and rage, so I wasn't thinking too clearly. If I'd had a working braincell, I would have placed Ryder in the soaked crib to finish his puking episode. But I wasn't thinking. And I put him down on his green shag area rug. Which he promptly covered in more puke.

I lost it.

Stripped the kid down to bare skin, gathered up all the nasty bedding and clothes and threw them in the hamper, then used like a hundred babywipes to wash him down. Put a clean diaper on him and foisted him off on the boys, so I could concentrate on wiping down the crib, walls, and area rug. I wasn't even going to let myself think about my purse at that point.

I realized after a few seconds that the mess was simply too much, too chunky, to use a dampened cloth. So I filled an icecream bucket with warm water and started scrubbing. At some point I noticed that my shirt was wet, but what I thought was puke spray was actually tears. I hadn't even noticed that I was sobbing my eyes out. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and turned to look, and saw Gunnar standing at the bedroom door, staring at me with obvious concern. He must've heard the insane wailing and wanted to see if I was okay. I couldn't even talk to reassure him that no, I wasn't in the midst of a mental breakdown (which would have been a lie), all I could do was weakly gesture to my purse. He got it.

And so during the half hour it took to wipe everything down, I just let myself cry it out. I was muttering, I was cursing, I was outright screaming at one point (probably when I realized that no amount of picking and scrubbing was going to get the chunks out of the shag area rug). I knew I was acting completely insane but I didn't care. It was so unfair! Why did this have to happen to me? Why did Hubs get to sit out in the livingroom and not even extend an offer of help? Just because it was Father's Day? Why should he be so special? Why was I cursed to have a child with such a sensitive gag reflex? Did he have to puke on every single bar of the crib, when they are impossible to clean without dismantling the entire thing and hosing it down? And for the love of God, why did he have to get my Ed Hardy purse?!!?

By the time I finished, with the cleaning AND the crying, I was in that hiccuping phase of crying and all I wanted to do was just go to bed for the rest of my life. But, being a FREAKING MOM, oh no, I had to remake the bed, get the little brat in his jammies, frantically spray the room and carpet with Febreze, make the brat's bottle and put him to bed, THEN and only then could I let myself think about my purse.

I was dreading to even look at it. How bad was the damage? I'd only seen the puke on one side of it, but what if it was entirely covered? What if the puke got inside the purse? What if it was all in the zipper and buckles?

My relief at seeing the actual damage was overwhelming. It wasn't that bad at all!! None got inside, and the zipper was safe. Still, there was enough on it that I had to spray it down with the shower nozzle at full-blast. Took a while (I had to obsessively go over every inch of the material), but it actually looked brand new when I was finished. I hung it up to dry.

Then I went into the livingroom and because misery loves company, and I was a miserable bitch just then, I let Hubs have it. In that super-sweet voice most men have learned to fear, I said "Thank you sooo much for all the help in there, I really appreciate it. It meant so much to me that you cared about my mental state and came to see if I was alright and needed some help." Of course, he blustered and got defensive, typical man. But I'd said my piece so I just let it drop and went to my room to read and chain smoke and chill myself out.

But I got my revenge an hour later when Hubs went out to unload the bikes from the trailer and all the other gear that was in there. Because we'd driven home in the rain on gravel roads, everything was covered in grimy sandy dirt, including the motorhome. Rather than go to the carwash to clean it all (and end up spending like a hundred bucks) he washed it himself with our little pressure washer. It was raining outside, and between that and the backspray from the pressure washer, he was soaked in seconds. He was out there for over an hour. And did I offer to help? NO.

What goes around, comes around, baby.

Advice for the Unaware Parent

Put yourself in the shoes of a parent -- your sweet, innocent baby is born and you are filled with overwhelming love for this child; as the first year goes by and each milestone is met with joy and pride, you are convinced there has never been a more smart, amazing, wonderful child as yours; then you enter the toddler years and even though your child starts displaying some questionable behaviour, you know that your little angel is still perfect and wonderful.

Then you find yourself in a situation that requires a certain amount of decorum and respectful behaviour, and you start to wonder whether your sweet toddler can handle it. Of course, a toddler is what it is, and therefore a certain amount of leniency must be given by both the parents and the other people attending this solemn event. But if that event is a FUNERAL, well...

So heed this advice, all you parents of toddlers, and maybe you can avoid going through what I went through today...

• Remember that one bottle is never enough, always have a spare one packed, in the event that your hungry child has already downed almost the entire bottle by the time you arrive at the funeral. Because said child will give no thought to the fact that the service has started and the entire room is filled with respectful silence, while he sucks desperately at the empty bottle and eventually starts to bang the empty bottle against the nearest hard object so as to obtain the maximum noise level that demonstrates his annoyance with you.
• Always make sure your adorable toddler has had his nap BEFORE the funeral starts, and not just a ten-minute catnap on the drive there. Because an irritable, hyper, over-tired toddler that continues to crawl all over you, and the person sitting next to you, while the family of the deceased are giving their eulogies, is just downright annoying and EMBARRASSING.
• When your precious toddler has finally pissed you and entire congregation off enough and you decide to take him and leave the room, give careful thought to your footwear of choice. If you are wearing heels, the loud click-clack of the heels slapping against the linoleum WILL cause the majority of the room to turn and look at you. So be prepared to put on your best I'm-so-sorry-what-can-I-say-he's-a-toddler face, and hightail it out of there as fast as you can.
• If you make the poor decision to take your rambunctious toddler into the bathroom, in the hope that he will be able to entertain himself in there without causing noise, please note that that decision WILL backfire on you. Not only will your child decide to entertain himself by playing in the toilet water, flushing every single toilet repeatedly, pull all the toilet paper and paper towels off the rolls, and scream with delight at each of these actions, the noise will reach a certain level that echoes throughout the bathroom and amplifies itself so that the entire building will ring out with the sounds of your child's innocent joy.
• If you make the poor decision to take your beautiful toddler into the hallway, thinking that nothing could be worse than the bathroom ordeal, you will be wrong. First of all, there is no other option for a hyper baby to expend his energy in a hallway than by running frantically back and forth from one end to another. And if you thought the sound of your heels slapping on the floor was loud, imagine what a tiny pair of sneakers can do.
• With those two options decidedly out, the only other realistic thing you can do, besides going back into the room, is to take your angelic toddler outside to let him play and use up all that energy. And this is why a seasoned parent would have packed another set of clothes just for play and not 'show' (meaning dressy clothes) and you could then change your child into those clothes and they could play in the dirt and rocks and dandelions till their hearts content without ruining their nice 'funeral clothes'. A dough-head parent, such as myself, would not think to change the child into those play clothes, and thus at the end of outside playtime your toddler will be covered in dust and grime and grass stains and dandelion fluff.
• When you've decided that its time to go back inside and get out of the boiling sun that has melted your makeup and flattened your hair into a sweaty, over-hairsprayed mess, make sure that you have actually given your wonderful toddler enough time to burn off all that energy. Because if you haven't, you are just putting yourself right back at square one when you finally sit your exhausted ass back in your seat.
• So by this time, the entire room is well aware of your predicament and the fact that you made an honest effort to spare them has now given them an appreciation of you, and they are less likely to get upset when your sweet toddler continues to act the brat. Also, enough time has gone by that the funeral is almost over and everyone is either starting to get antsy or they are so overcome by emotion that they are looking for an amusing diversion. And so when your toddler decides that it is the most hilarious thing ever to find a spare row of seats and step/crawl/hop over from seat to seat, going down the entire row back and forth, you will find that almost every face has a huge smile and twinkling eyes, and they now think that he is just the most adorable and cutest thing ever. Some will even interact with him, holding out their arms in a 'come-to-grandma' way, chuckling when he gives them the hairy eyeball and looks at their outstretched arms with wary suspicion. They will turn to each other and remark at what a "high-spirited" boy he is (which is a very nice roundabout way of saying 'hyper') and they will comment on his pinkened cheeks (note: bring sunscreen) and sparkling eyes.
• By the time the funeral has ended, your toddler's antics and the obvious hardships you've endured trying to deal with them, has endeared everyone to you and they feel like they've known you forever. (More of a case of 'been-there-done-that' and they can relate and sympathize.) Now starts the socializing part of the funeral, where relatives and old friends reconnect and chitchat. And every single person will make a point of bringing the conversation around to your toddler and what a patient parent you are. Of course, you know differently (after all, they didn't see that moment in the bathroom where your hand just wanted to spank that bum soooo bad), but never let them know that. They now think you are a candidate for sainthood, ESPECIALLY when they realize that the three other children in the row beside you are also yours. "FOUR CHILDREN! How do you do it?!?" (If you have even a drop of Simcoe blood, your tongue will just be itching to reply, "Whenever we can find a spare moment alone!" HAH!)
• And the last piece of advice that I can give you is this: do not hesitate for even one second to take advantage of the fact that your in-laws brought their kids as well, and simply pawn your amazing toddler off on them. If one of the kids happens to be over 16, BONUS!! Now you can let your toddler go off with the teen and know that you can just sit back and relax, have a cup of coffee or two, and let all that stress and hassle just roll off your shoulders directly onto the teen who is now chasing your rowdy toddler around the parking lot.