Gobblet

When he was in JK, our eldest son was labeled a “genius.”  The fact that his teacher prefaced her opinion on his smarts with the phrase, “He’s just like my son,” meant that we could safely ignore this particular label.  We patted ourselves on the back for being such grounded and sensible parents, for not taking this hyperbole seriously, and we filed her observation under “narcissistic,” and did a little happy dance when she retired.

Our youngest, however, is, in our expert opinion, a genius.  We base this diagnosis entirely on the fact that he can predict, up to six moves ahead, whether he will win or lose a Connect 4 game.  Neither my husband nor I have a particular aptitude for spatial logic, so, when we see it in the youngest of the fruit of our loins, we can only deduce that it’s genius because we did not teach it to him.  The fact that, at the ripe old age of 5, he’s probably played the requisite 10,000 hours of Connect 4 on the computer to pass the Malcolm Gladwell test of expertise, may have something to do with his uncanny powers of prediction, but, because I cannot beat him at a game of Connect 4, I’m sticking with the whole genius thing.

gobblet_gamerOf course, being able to quickly predict the outcome of a game rather takes the interest out of it, so it wasn’t long before he was looking for the next thing.  His JK teacher (lovely lady, no signs of narcissism) found it in the form of Gobblet, a game of strategy very much like Connect 4, but much more unpredictable.  Now, she did not tell us that he’s a genius, but she did say, “He’s hooked.  He’s very good, but it’s all he wants to do.  It’s a bit of an obsession, actually.”

In other words, he’s a genius, right?  I made a mental note to get a game for the home front so that we could nurture this incredible talent.

So, I was delighted when, quite by coincidence (really), Blue Orange, the makers of Gobblet, sent 4 Mothers a sample game.  Hurrah!  We could have the game of obsession genius at home!

All silliness aside, since it has come into our house two weeks ago, Gobblet has been in use daily.  All three of the boys, aged 5-12, enjoy challenging each other to a game, and it is a remarkably even game for all of them.  It is very much like Connect 4, but complicating the task of lining up four pieces in a row is the fact that the pieces nest inside one another, and you can “gobble” an opponent’s smaller pieces.  One game can take as little time as 30 seconds if you are not paying attention, or it can go on for ages as you manoeuver pieces around the board.  I have loved having it at home, not least because of my fondness for games that encourage kids to think ahead, to think before they act, but because of the boys’ obvious pleasure playing the game.

If you are on the lookout for a new board game for your home, I can recommend this one highly.

Mother’s Day Best of the ‘Net

Here is an interview sure to bring on tears.  Myra and her mother, who is intellectually disabled, interviewing each other for NPR’s Story Corps.  Have a hanky ready.

This is darkly hilarious: After Happily Ever After, a take on what happens to Disney Princesses after the end.  It ain’t pretty.

And this, this might make you pee your pants.  It might also give you nightmares: Creepy Things My Kid Said.

Last, but not least, check out our new media page, a list of where the 4 Mothers are published and quoted.

Enjoy!  And have a very happy Mother’s Day.

Stickers, Post-its and Me

When I was a schoolgirl in Liberia, Haiti, and Saudi Arabia, stickers were in short supply.   This created in me a tendency to covet and hoard the things, and I’m afraid it’s a tendency that, at the ripe old age of 42, I have not outgrown.  I buy oodles of the things “for my children,” who often don’t even give them a second glance.  Star Wars, Lego, knights and Harry Potter stickers are all over the place, still in their original states.  You’d think I’d be able to bin the things, or at least pass them on to kids who will enjoy them, but I have a hard time parting with them.

And, I’ll be honest with you here, one of the reasons that I buy the Sandra Boynton Family Calendar even after switching to a digital family calendar is that you get, not one, but two sheets of stickers to play with.  Dancing rhinos!  Happy chickens!!  Grinning pigs!!!

Having identified this sticker-deprived trauma from my youth, and my continuing tendency to hoard them, I am now ready to identify the root causes of my Post-It addiction.  I could open my own Staples store with the pile of Post-Its I have accumulated.  Am I ready to stop?  To end the Post-It addiction?  The hell I am.  There are spring colours available.

PM-KC1_PKG_RGB_DImagine my delight when Post-it sent us samples from their latest line: Post-it Mobile.  Just when I thought the Post-it world could get no better than spring hues, they go and make them easy to carry around!  We divvied up the loot: Carol swears by the pen/highlighter/flourescent flag combo, Beth-Anne swooned over the Attach and Go Dispenser, and my kids finally showed their genetic material in the love of sticky things department when they fought over the Attach and Go Dispenser with a clip to attach to a backpack.  I’m telling you, blood was nearly spilled.

And I selflessly let them nearly spill it.  I let it go.  There should definitely be some kind of parenting award for that.  Even better than that, when the youngest and I were in the coffee shop for our weekly-pre-library treat, we saw a university student use up her last Post-it flag as she was studying for her finals.  Oh, I thought, I have a cure for that!  Not to brag or anything, but I think I made her day (and very probably improved her exam mark) when I handed over a pristine stack of Post-it Flags.  Her smile lit up the room.

The world is just better with Post-its.

Not Noticing

When I was 17, a friend asked me why I did not speak English with the same accent as my Dad.  Accents had been a fraught issue for me growing up because my mother was from England, and she wanted her children to speak with English accents, but I went to both international British and American schools and would imitate the “local” language when I started at a new school.  I didn’t so much speak English growing up as I spoke many versions of English.  Most of the time, these versions were in succession as we moved from one country to another, but at one point, I spoke American English at school and English English for my mother’s sake at home.  My father’s accent I had never thought twice about: it was North American English, and after 7th Grade, so was mine.  Permanently.  At home and at school.“I do speak like my father,” I said.

“No you don’t.  He has a French accent.”

What?!?!  As soon as my friend pointed it out, I heard it, but until that moment I had never noticed that my father spoke English with a French accent.  (He’s from Quebec.)

Here’s another example: until I was in my 30s I had never noticed the effect that asparagus has on–well, how to put this delicately?—on the smell of one’s urine.  A friend made an off-hand comment about asparagus pee, and I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

“You know.  The funny smell of your pee after you eat asparagus?”

Blank stare.

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have the same effect on you,” she mumbled, and it wasn’t clear if she thought that I was weird or if she thought she had a problem with her pee.

Of course, now, I am hyper-aware of the precise and very distinctive smell of asparagus pee.  How could I never have noticed it?

And now, I am having things I have not noticed about my children pointed out to me by friends.  A friend was imitating my youngest, and she said, in a really animated voice, “Guess what?  And then, guess what??”  He does, in fact, pepper his every utterance with those words, building up the drama every time he speaks, but I had not noticed it until she called attention to it.  And it is cute!

A more optimistic person might take this as an example of a lovely gift to have been given: a new awareness of a new dimension of cute in one’s baby.  But all I can think is, “What the hell else am I missing??”

Has this happened to you?  A sudden realization of something that has been staring you in the face?

Ignite the Spark for a Child in Need this Mother’s Day

I love good fundraising campaigns.  I especially love when those campaigns match your donation dollar for dollar.  That’s one powerful incentive to give.

In honour of Mother’s Day, The Children’s Aid Foundation and the Ignite the Spark are fundraising for a campaign to bring extracurricular activities to children in need.  The wonderful thing about this programme is that they commit to a minimum three-year enrolment so that the children have a good, solid chunk of time in which to explore their chosen activities.  It is a guarantee of continuity in lives that often lack that most basic ingredient.  If you make a donation before May 12, your dollars will be matched.  Have a good weekend, all.

Books to Make a Mother Laugh

Has the crazy advertising started in your neck of the woods?  Mother’s Day is coming.  If you are looking for some suggestions for humourous gifts for the mothers in your lives, or a Mother’s Day treat for yourself, here is a handful of books that made me laugh.

Shitty Mom: The Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us

by Laurie Kilmartin, Karen Moline, Alicia Ybarbo & Mary Ann Zoellner

New York: Abrams, 2012.

A hilarious stand-up routine of a book written by 4 mothers!  (A different four!)  Three of the four mothers who wrote this book also write for television (the fourth writes books), and it shows in the timing of their humour.  Better yet, they can say stuff here that you can’t say on tv, and this is a wildly inappropriate parenting ”guide.”  Included are chapters on how to send a sick kid to daycare, how to avoid having a child who will want to do team sports (read, make you drive them to said sports), and how to keep texting and sipping your latte while other mothers parent your children on the playground.  Totally tongue in cheek, it also hits many of the parenting sore spots and makes you smile wryly at the mess you are in.  This was a Valentine’s Day gift from my beloved, and it was a perfect antidote to the shelf full of advice books that take themselves too seriously.

hockeyYou Might be a Crazy Dedicated Hockey Mom If…

Jason Howell

Toronto: Magenta, 2012.

Another Valentine’s gift from my husband, one that accurately portrays that species of hockey mom who, while she does not scream advice from the bleachers, is nevertheless capable of deafening other spectators with her cheers.  Not that I know anyone like that.  (There’s one in blue, for dads, too.)

The Kid Dictionary

by Eric Ruhalter

A hilarious dictionary of words made up by the author in order to fill the void of parenting situations that call for a precise word.  One from of one of our readers who left a comment on my earlier review of the book: sneezoning: (n) what is added when your child sneezes on his or her food.  See my earlier review here.

The Birds and the Bees and the Bulls

When he was a young lad, my husband was in the car with his dad on a long drive.  They drove past a field in which a bull and a cow were getting it on.  Then the uncomfortable silence in the car began.  My husband sank lower and lower in his seat as his dad kept looking over, taking a breath, clearing his throat, and then not speaking.  Finally, his dad said, “Do you know what those animals were doing?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good.”

And there ended the sex talk.

We’d like our boys to be somewhat more fully apprised of the facts about the birds and the bees (and the bulls).  We’d also like never to have those long stretches of uncomfortable silences.  We want them to feel like they can ask or say anything, and so, from a very early age we’ve just given everything a proper name and kept the doors of communication open.  No question is ever rebuffed.  I never used this advice when it came to sleep training, but in terms of sex, I firmly believe that you should “Begin as you mean to go on.”

normalA penis is a penis because when you are 13, do don’t want to call that part of your body a “pee-pee” anymore and you need a word that is and has always been comfortable.  Erections are normal and natural, and are to be enjoyed in private.  We always asked permission before washing their private bits in the bath, and they know that permission must always be asked for and granted.

From day 1, we have always referred to the boys’ future partners as him or her.  I never want there to be an awkward coming out moment for any of them, or for them to ever feel like their love for a man would be anything to reveal to us.  We’ve never assumed those partnerships would be marriages, necessarily, and Family comes in all shapes and sizes.

They know the difference between a tummy and a uterus.  They know the difference between procreation and recreational sex.

I’ve even begun a discussion about the exploitative nature of most pornography with my eldest.  It was theoretical, but I figure I’m laying some ground work.  File it under media studies.

Two books on our bookshelves have helped when the boys have anatomical questions.  Boys and Girls and Body Science by Meg Hickling is good for younger children who are curious about where babies come from.  I find it a bit earnest, but it gets the job done by presenting all the information as good science. body

It’s Perfectly Normal is another classic, and I like it for the variety of body shapes it depicts.  The illustrations are all cartoon-like, but frank.  I think there is probably something more up to date out there, but I have not felt the need to go looking.  (Suggestions welcome, though.)

Really, the books are only starting points for quick questions or long discussions.  These days, we get a lot of questions about the definition of slang words.  They ask, I answer.  (When I can.  Sometimes I need to look things up.  Sometimes those things surprise me.)

Blissful Ignorance about Ear Wax: 10 Things I Miss about Life Before Kids

10.  Run of the mill self-doubt (as opposed to the sometimes paralyzing second-guessing that can come with the parenting life.)

9.  Travelling with one piece of carry-on luggage.

8.  Not feeding people three, four, five times a day.

7.  Leaving the house without snacks.   Or battles over emptying bladders.

6.  Not thinking about other people’s bladders.

5.  Not monitoring other people’s ear wax and fingernails.

4.  Getting through an entire day week month without raising my voice.

3.  Getting through an entire week month year without hearing rap music.

2.  Getting through an entire month year lifetime without wiping another person’s bottom.

1.  Doing laundry just once a week.

HBO’s Girls: A and B

hbo-girls-soundtrack-400x400I know I am very late to the party, but I’ve had a marathon session of HBO’s Girls this weekend.  (All of Season 1.)  This means that (a) I married the right man ’cause he watched it with me, or (b) we need to get out more.  (We also watched the Habs game.)

Oddly enough, watching it made me feel maternal, and not in a good way.  I keep asking, “Who raised these kids?”  The fact that I’m watching myself watch it as a parent confirms (a) that I have crossed the great divide from youth to middle age, and (b) that the show’s narcissism is contagious.

I think I got so powerfully sucked into the show because (a) I have an addictive personality, and (b) because I am still trying to figure out how I am supposed to respond to it.  The writing is brilliant, but is it horror or comedy?  I find the girls’ narcissism truly hilarious, but it’s a really uncomfortable kind of appreciation because I’m not at all sure where the line between comedic exaggeration and reality lies.  I mean, I recognize some of these girls.  They were my students.  I promise, when they were my students, I did try to get through to them that they were not the centre of the universe and all, but, holy shit, they’ve multiplied.

Last, and not at all least, I am very worried that (a) girls who watch Girls will think that it’s reality and that the girls on Girls are true to life and not satirical representations of the special snowflake child, or (b) the joke’s on me and the girls who watch Girls are enjoying watching themselves while I watch myself watch them.