Author Archives: Carol

I Have More Long Arms and a Poem to Go With It

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2012_02 - various 139I have only the answers of my recently turned 7 year old for this questionnaire, because I forgot to ask my four year old before he went to bed.  But I hope the 7 year old answers will be enough.

I enjoy doing these questionnaires with my boys, but confess this is the first one where my son broke into song (and even one poem) after answering almost every question.  I have marked these in italics.

Sources of this odd behaviour:

1.  He goes to a musical drama class.

2.  His school is in the midst of performing their annual rendition of A Midsummer’s Night Dream.  (Note:  today he didn’t want to perform in the play after school (one of several shows), and I didn’t make him.  We’ve been very busy, he had his first soccer practice anyway, his brothers would not have wanted to watch, and I was tired.  (Mama Police, do your worst, but I’m fine with it.)

3.  Me, of course.   I routinely make up “songs” for fun and communication, and I try to rhyme.  Even my husband occasionally joins in.  When he and I were preparing for a school meeting about our son, my husband said:  ”Sure he’s weird.  We’re weird.”

You’ve had the sage and loving answers from Nathalie’s and Beth-Anne’s sons.  It’s time for something different now.

*************

What is the most important thing about being a brother?

The most important thing about being a brother is that I like helping my brothers do stuff because I love them.  In a certain way.

[Sam had a song and sang it, but I did not type it as he sang.  It was about a boy with brothers and a mom and dad who lived in Canada.]  

What is the hardest thing about being a brother?

The hardest things about being a brother is I get into fights with my younger brother N, and R can sometimes cry and that’s why I have a song:

I have a brother sweet and soft

But they can be naughty

My little brother wails out loud – wah!

Then my other brother who is 4

He takes stuff that’s mine

And I don’t like that plus I get into fights with him!

What is the best thing about being a brother?

The best thing about being a brother is that I can help my two brothers and there’s a song that goes with it.

If you please to be a big brother

Or a big sister

And you love to be a hero when they hurt themselves

Just as you can be

Just a spoonful of sugar

That’s what they love doing

Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!

What’s the best thing your brother(s) taught you?

The best thing my brother taught me is that you can use scribbling as good drawings.  And there is a song that goes with it:

If you are two or four

You can be so helpful

But you can also if you like this

The best thing that my brother taught is that scribbling can be good drawings.

There was eight little humbirds singing and then there was  a baby

And then there was another one and then there was another one together with the mom and dad

And then another one came born on [birthdate of baby brother], the second one was born on [birthdate of other brother] and the first one was born on [his own birthdate].  But then they grew bigger and bigger and bigger. 

How are you like your brother(s)?

I’m similar to them because I have the same eye colour and we have brown skin.

How are you different?

I have shorter hair than all of them and I’m taller and I’m bigger and I have more long arms.  I also have a poem that goes with it.

I have a poem I like to share

Long ago but not too fair

There was a big man do not fair

He was a very jolly man you could see

Plus you could see what he

There is a very big –

I’m not alike with my brothers, I do declare,

Theseus …

What is the most annoying thing about your brother(s)?

The annoyingest thing is that they take my stuff and be weird and cry.  Like this:  Wah!  Wah!

What is the worst trouble your brother(s) got into?

He got me into trouble where I lied to him.

What is your favourite thing to do with your brother(s)?

My favourite thing to do is play gagaball.

What is one of your favourite memories of your brother(s)?

My favourite memory is when my brother was born.

Why It Takes So Long

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045I often wonder why it takes so long.  Why can’t I make that telephone call, or pay that bill, or sweep up that mess?  Like almost all other mothers I know (and no doubt the people around them), I wonder about this.

I’ve been busier than usual lately, throwing a lot of heart and soul into a fundraising effort to create an outdoor classroom for my kids’ school (thank you so much for the support yesterday – we raised 15% of our goal in less than 24 hours, and due to an internal delay, we haven’t even promoted it within the school yet!  The campaign runs for 40 days, if you want to check back in).

It means things are backed up here.  No less than all of the speaking members in my family asked me if there are any clothes to wear?  (They’ll be directed to a hill (unfolded clean laundry) and a mountain (dirty laundry) downstairs in the laundry area.)  I also haven’t been cooking much, and because we don’t buy much prepared food, not cooking is a problem because it leads to not eating.

So this morning I thought I would make yogurt.  Halfway through the process I decided to jot down notes, in a research mode, to record how it went.  Here they are:

- Look for pot to boil the milk.

-  Reach for the right pot and see blackened inch of food burnt on its base.  Remember that the night before, I tried to make a bean soup for my son’s school lunch and for general eating, but was working on the fundraising campaign and forgot about it until the burnt smell reached me upstairs.

- Try to scrape burnt food out of the pot.  Am unsuccessful.  Attract my four-year old, who tries to help.  Leave him working on pot to check computer upstairs about how to clean pot with vinegar and baking soda.

- Come back downstairs to find husband scolding son because bits of burnt residue was falling out of the pot and on floor.  Advocate (a.k.a. argue with husband)  on behalf of son.

- Put one cup of water plus one cup of vinegar in pot.  Place on stove to boil as instructed by recipe.

- Return to idea of making yogurt.  Look for another pot.  Find all pots in use.

- Decide on next best pot candidate, which is full of the oatmeal I made for breakfast.  Search for re-usable container to store oatmeal, but none in  cupboard or sink.

- Open the dishwasher to look for container.  See that dishwasher was not run the night before.  Notice food debris on door and bottom of dishwasher.  Remember that dishwasher repairman warned us such debris would burn out dishwasher engine again if we didn’t properly scrape.  Regret silently that husband does not properly scrape dishes.  Clear out food debris from dishwasher while baby toddles to cupboard under sink to get dishwashing detergent.  Negotiate with him to put it back.

- Recall that I am trying to make yogurt.  Look for pot, see that it is still full of oatmeal.  Resume search for re-usable container.  Look again in cupboard and sink where there are still no containers.

- Open fridge to find possible container candidate in fridge.  Find one containing miso noodle soup and transfer it to bowl.  Wash container.

- Hear screams from porch where child is playing UNO with his dad.  Provide comfort and guidance.

- Re-enter house, where baby is urgently calling for bowl of miso soup.  Lift him into high chair, and feed him all of the soup.

- Check burnt pot which has been simmering on the stove.  Remove from stove.  Scrape burnt food easily off of bottom, without even adding baking soda as directed by recipe.   Delight in my domestic prowess, and show pot to son.  Look at me!

- Remember that I am trying to make yogurt.

My notes end there.  But when I recall the day, a few facts stand out, like after my husband left for work mid-morning, I was on my own for almost 12 hours with one to three children in tow, plus the baby inexplicably (and painfully) did not take a proper nap.  I fell asleep putting the kids to sleep, and when I woke up, I cleaned up the kitchen and living areas (passably, not well).  The laundry is still in two heaps in the basement, the only difference that the mountain of dirty clothes would be bigger if had I the time or energy to pick up the dirty clothes on the floor.  Combined with my notes from the morning, it does give insight into why it takes so long, no?

Also:  I feel victorious to tell you that at 11:50pm, when all was quiet, I did make the yogurt.  We’ll have it for breakfast.

Where the Concrete Ends

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010I’ve mentioned before that my kids go to an alternative public school.  It’s called Equinox, and offers a holistic education with an emphasis on environmental stewardship.  It’s a pioneering school, and established the first public outdoor kindergarten program in Canada.  It’s new and imperfect, but I love. this. school.

One huge imperfection is that our groundbreaking kindergarten is in desperate need of some literal groundbreaking.  The outdoor classroom space that we have been given is a concrete jungle.  The teachers have done an amazing job in spite of the concrete, but with a full-day kindergarten program coming to Equinox in less than four months, the barren space is even more inadequate than before.

Knowing this, a group of parents have galvanized themselves into a veritable force of advocacy!  The Equinox Outdoor Kindergarten committee is launching an ambitious fundraising campaign this morning on indiegogo, an international crowdfunding website.  The way it works:  we spread the word about the campaign, and then donors contribute in return for great perks!  Our goal is to raise a small but meaningful portion of the project to get started and to demonstrate to potential funders that we have significant support for the project within our school community and beyond. Then we’ll be able to leverage the money the cover the full cost of the outdoor kindergarten – much better than the best dollar matching program anywhere!

Preparing the campaign has required tremendous effort from so many people and can only be described as a labour of love.  Hundreds and hundreds of volunteer hours have already gone into it (we have an amazing video to tell you about it!), and we are just starting!  The completed outdoor classroom may not be ready in time for many of the committee member’s children to enjoy, and our scriptwriter has no personal connection to kindergarten at all – but we all worked on the campaign anyway.  What we all share is the belief that environmental education needs to be put on the map for the future of all children, and an outdoor kindergarten is a beautiful inroad to that goal.

We finally have a real chance to make it happen, and with full-day kindergarten around the corner, we need to act now!  Please help if you can – the sooner we have the funds, the sooner we can create a true outdoor classroom and promote environmental education for everyone.

Donate now and help us spread the word!  The kindergarteners and I thank you with all our hearts!

Seeds Do Grow

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Look, look!  These are my tomato starts!  Aren’t they magnificent?

They’d be a lot more magnificent if it were April 9 instead of May 9.  I got my seeds nice and early this year, and was all excited to plant them nice and early too.  But I was too early, so I needed to wait a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks arrived, but by then the pace of life had shifted, so it wasn’t quite as easy to plant as I’d hoped.  Also the grow lights downstairs weren’t where they were supposed to be, and I’d have to look for them.

I did have some pressing things to do, but neither of these things would have been obstacles if I’d made the planting a priority.  I just didn’t.  I think it was easier to do the things I’m a bit more confident about than planting.  It’s not natural to me yet – I’ve only been planting, a little here and there, for a couple of years.  I’m still a newbie.  Sometimes I even feel a little suspicious of the seeds.  They require some work to plant, and how do I really know they’re going to grow?

I thought about this a week or so ago when I realized how late I was in starting my seedlings.  Lush, big ones are available everywhere now, and we may well have to buy some this year.  I decided to plant my own anyway, lateness and all:  kale, chard, basil, coriander, and cucumber.  I wanted to practice planting, to get more comfortable, to get my hands, as they say, dirty.

But also I wanted to practice a little humility, and try to do something even when I’m not very good at it or when my efforts aren’t going to be so successful.  It’s something I want to learn to do more now that I have kids.  If I’m going to nudge my boys to try new things, which often feel uncomfortable at first (and I do sometimes so nudge), then I want to be able to do the same myself.  (Within reason.)

I may not get tomatoes until August.  But I am discovering that seeds really do grow.

Love in an Envelope: Letter Writing for Kids

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040Before I write this post, I have to tell you that I am biased about it, because there are few things I like more than getting a handwritten letter in the mail.  I’m sure this pleasure if a rarity for most people these days, and I count myself very lucky that I can remember the last time I received such a gift, which was about two years ago.

In this age of ten-second tweets and texts, the slow intention of a physical note can be a real gem, and I was plain excited when my six year old finished drawing a picture and then asked to mail it to his cousin.  I tried not to drop what I was doing to pull out an envelope.

My son is still working on his handwriting, and addressing the envelope – right down to making the letters small enough to fit – was work for him.   But he kept at it and finished the task.  I was delighted when he looked up, and asked to do more.

In the end, he drew four pictures and messages specifically for his cousins and a friend.  He addressed four envelopes, stamped them, and was the one who dropped them in the post box.

A few days later, I got two emails from my siblings, both saying how they and their kids were touched by the letters.  My sister-in-law said my brother brought the letters out at then end of a tiring and busy day, and it brought smiles to everyone.  We got a lunch invitation out of it from my sister.  Both families said the envelopes were kept, as that’s where so much of the effort of a burgeoning writer was found.

From this, I’ve determined that letter writing (or even mostly envelope writing, as the case was with us) is a wonderful way for children not just to practice their writing skills, but also to warm the hearts of the people around them.  Maybe the slowness of making those painstakingly printed letters somehow slows something down in the reader.  Whatever it is, something about it seems to feel good.  

My son’s birthday is around the corner, and topping the gift list from me is a homemade letter writing kit.  It will be a simple affair – a box with a lid, envelopes of different sizes, notepaper, writing utensils, and stamps – but the box will be infused with the special wish that lots of letters and love will flow out of it.

 

On Crushes and Birthing and Sex

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I still remember the first time I saw my oldest son experience a crush.  He was three, and we were looking into preschools.  On one school visit, we joined a group of preschoolers at the park.  My son didn’t know anyone, but cautiously ventured forth onto a seesaw opposite another boy.  A pretty little blond girl came up to me.  She told me her name was Shine, and when I said that was a beautiful name, she said thank you.  Then she walked shyly up to my son, and sat behind him on the seesaw.  I watched as her arms gently encircled him at the waist.

When my son realized what was happening, he looked up at me with a surprised flush of pleasure, which he promptly tried to hide.  The kids may have been three, but that moment they shared on that seesaw was genuine, and I felt lucky to see it.

Now my son has a real friendship with a girl in his grade 1 class, a girl so lovely and grounded, that I can’t help but hope he will stay close by her side, and always be attracted to people like that.  And though this is very little and very early evidence to go on, I like to look at it with hope that I will continue to have more excitement than fear about my son growing up into relationships, huge chunks of which I will know nothing about.

Somewhere from here to there, my husband and I are supposed to help him understand his body, other people’s bodies, and their possible connection.  So far this has been fairly easy.  We have always used the correct anatomical language for our bodies, and the boys know about respecting the privacy of these special bits, on both themselves and on others.  They know that if they jump knee first on to my chest that it will hurt my breasts.  In an interesting turn of events, my four year old recently suggested that I not say “penis” in a certain context, but “privates”:  somehow deemed the latter term more appropriate.

My two older boys know how babies are made, in terms very similar to those Beth-Anne described yesterday (babies come from an egg in a mommy’s body that a daddy helps to grow).  But they also know because they’ve learned through real experience.  I’ve shown them the scar on my lower abdomen from which my oldest son was born by an emergency operation.  They also know that babies are usually born through vaginas, and that my younger two boys were born this way.

My older boys were there when the midwife listened to the baby heartbeat in my belly, and listened to it to.  They climbed the stairs and into the master bed to say hello to their baby brother a couple of minutes after he was born at home.  The midwife showed them the stretchy placenta, and my oldest, then five, helped to cut the umbilical cord.  They saw a lot more of birthing than most children (and many adults) do, not because I was trying to push their sex education along, but because that was what was happening in our lives then.

But in other ways, I haven’t felt yet felt the need to explain that much more about sex itself.  I don’t think I’m avoiding it, it’s more that it isn’t a real curiosity yet.  My oldest loves telling me about how the girls chase him and the other boys at recess, but I’m not sure he really knows why he loves it.  I’ve asked him if he knows why the girls are chasing him, and never seems to answer me because it doesn’t seem to matter.  Pry as I might, he just seems happy to find the chase thrilling, whether or not he knows exactly why.

That’s the stage we’re at now; I’m sure it will shift soon enough.  As with every other aspect of parenting, I’m trying to keep my eyes and ears open to my children to know when it’s time to take the next step.  I’m pretty sure they will let me know.

Talking About Sex With Our Kids

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stork“Look Chloe, we have a new book called The Birds and the Bees!”

“Uh, Junior, remember when Mommy and I got mad when you came into the bedroom without knocking first thing in the morning yesterday?”

“Genevieve, please pay attention to the diagram.  As I said, this is the urethra.”

“You ever heard of a stork?”

Talking about sex with our kids.  How (and when) on earth is it done?  Stay tuned this week while 4Mothers reveal what we do.  And please give your advice freely on this one.

10 Things I Miss About Life Before Kids (Or Maybe Nine)

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10.  My breasts.  Victoria Secret would never have come knocking, but I liked them.

9.  Jumping on trampolines.  Okay, I never did that much of this, but I miss taking for granted that my internal machinery could handle this.  I tried joining my son on a trampoline after having two kids, and it was not. a. good. idea.

8.  Saying “Sure, I’d love to go for a drink after work.”  The unbridled freedom of it.

7.  Actually drinking said drink.  I’m on a self-imposed abstinence from alcohol while pregnant and nursing, which means I have been bone dry for five years.  Want to come over and watch me crawl under the table after my first two post-children glasses of wine?

6.  The invisible protective layer that Nathalie once commented about.  The one that made it possible to listen to the news and country songs with a dry eye.

5.  Sleep, and being the boss over my sleep, even if I got too little.  Almost too obvious to mention, but too mammoth not to.

4.  Not being a primary role model to anyone.  Related:  being able to swear without essentially offering a “how to” tutorial to little ears.

3.  Seeing half an hour as 30 minutes, rather than as a significant opportunity.

2.  Looking at random children, without feeling somehow invested in each one.

1.  Not so very much, if I am honest.  Life before kids wasn’t such a cakewalk as I recall, it just had other challenges.  And being a mother (provided I am not on my knees begging for mercy) is the best gig in town.

10 Things We Miss About Life Before Kids

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Self-explanatory, isn’t it, that title?  This theme has been peppering the blogosphere lately, and we thought we’d join the online party.

At 4Mothers, we write pretty much all the time about our kids.  This week, we thought we’d write about ourselves before our kids (although perversely, how we can’t even do this without the whole discussion being  informed by our post-children selves…).

What do you miss about your fancy-free non-parent self?  Tell us this week as you hear us tell you.

4Mothers is also delighted to announce that this month’s guest writer is Corinne Simonyi, a Toronto mother of two young children.  Corinne has years of experience writing for many of Toronto’s foremost publications including Neighbour From Hell! that was published in 2Life magazine.