Category Archives: Observed

I Swear These Answers Were Not Planted

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OK, so first off, please don’t call CAS.  The boys do actually know that they cannot commit GBH with hockey sticks.  Secondly, I swear I did not plant the flattering answers.  They boys sucked up all on their own.  Thirdly, though I asked them these questions independently, when I told them that I was asking them because May 24 is Brother’s Day, they all asked, “Will we get presents?”

Littlest G (5)

What is the most important thing about being a brother?

Being nice.

What is the hardest thing about being a brother?

Being really nice.

What is the best thing about being a brother?

Playing with my brothers.

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

Big G taught me how to play hockey, and R taught me how to play soccer.

How are you like your brother(s)?

We all love to play hockey.

How are you different?

I’m smaller and I have curly hair.

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

When they interrupt me.

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

The worst trouble I got into was when I hit R with a hockey stick.

What is the best advice your brother(s) gave you?

R taught me how to be James Bond, and G taught me how to do a snap shot.

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

Play hockey.

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

Playing Memory.

What advice would you give to someone who is about to become a brother?

Don’t be mean, don’t annoy your brother, don’t shout.  If they do something you don’t like, say “stop” three times, then get a teacher or a grown up.  Have fun.  Play with him a lot, take care of him, and give him lots of toys and stuff.

285R (nearly 8)

What is the most important thing about being a brother?

Having fun.

What is the hardest thing about being a brother?

Not arguing.

What is the best thing about being a brother?

Having family time with my brothers.

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

Big G taught me how to play hockey when I was 3.

How are you like your brother(s)?

We all like to play hockey, baseball and soccer.  We are all boys.

How are you different?

Big G thinks he’s the best, but Mom and Dad are the best.  Actually, Mom you are the best when we are snuggled up reading together, and Dad’s the best when we are playing at the park.

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

Ugh!  When they keep doing the same thing over and over and over again.

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

Big G broke a window with a tennis ball, and Little G snuck candy into bed.

What is the best advice your brother(s) gave you?

Big G taught me how to raise the puck.

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

Play hockey, soccer and baseball.

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

Playing on the beach at the cottage and splashing in the water and digging in the mud and pretending to be characters from a game.

What advice would you give to someone who is about to become a brother?

Be kind, let him do what he wants sometimes, give him lots of hugs.

Big G (nearly 12)

What is the most important thing about being a brother?

Helping your little brothers.

What is the hardest thing about being a brother?

When they don’t respect me.

What is the best thing about being a brother?

Your little brothers look up to you and look to you as a role model and even though they don’t always show it, they respect you.

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

That being an older brother is harder than it looks.

How are you like your brother(s)?

We are all ticklish.  We all share the same amazing mother and father.

How are you different?

I am so much more awesome.  (See R’s response above!)

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

When they take my stuff and get into my space.

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

When R and I played with matches.

What is the best advice your brother(s) gave you?

I dunno.

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

Play hockey.

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

When G was born and R was the first to hold him, I remember the look of pride on R’s face.

What advice would you give to someone who is about to become a brother?

Make your decisions wisely; your brothers look up to you.

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.

Not Noticing

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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?

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

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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.

Chess Moves

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I read this wonderful article about chess ages ago, and it has stuck with me.  When things stick with me, I like to write about them, tease out what has gotten under my skin in good or bad ways.  In this case, it’s all good, and I want to share.  The article is about how chess has transformed the students in a Brooklyn school, and how it has given so many of them the sweet taste of success.  The school, a middle school, won United States Chess Federation’s national high school championship, beating top-ranked high schools.

I should start by saying that I cannot play chess.  I actually have no interest in learning.  (Oddly, I do covet all manner of themed chess sets, but that’s a love of the visual and of the stories that the themed sets represent.)  My five year old regularly beats me at checkers, so I don’t think my chances are very good if I take up chess.  My brain simply does not do well with spatial logic, and I lack the particular brand of patience required for strategic planning.  But I did grow up with there being a deep love of chess in our household.  I associate it most profoundly with my father’s few relaxed hours, with my father challenging family friends or my brother to a game on lazy Sunday afternoons, the enforced hush around them in reverence to their concentration.  We moved from country to country every few years, but one constant was my father’s cream-coloured wooden box with his chess pieces, a box that was, frustratingly, just slightly too big to fit into his briefcase no matter how hard he tried.  I can hear the pieces now, rattlling around as he carries them to the board.

Chess is one of the activites offered all through the year as an after-school activity at the boys’ school, and my eldest, who is in his last year of elementary, has been playing chess since Grade 1.  He loves it, and I love to see that his grandfather’s passion for the game has passed to him.  I love it even more when he beats my father, fair and square.  There are not many playing fields on which children and adults can meet on equal footing, but chess has proven to be one of them in our family.  The two kids who play (11 and 7) are capable of beating their father, grandfather, uncles and friends.  I love what that teaches them about the value of patience and persistence, about the chances of the little guy.

But it’s not just their performance on the board that makes me wax lyrical about the benefits of the game.  Indeed, if there is one thing the head chess coach wants to plant firmly in the minds of his young charges, it’s “Think before you act.”  There are limitless possibilities to the applicability of that wisdom, and I think I’ve uttered it more than a thousand times in my parenting life.  And that is why I lit up when I read this part of the article:

The walls [of the classroom] are plastered with chess tips that read like maxims for living life: “When you don’t know what to do next, improve your worst piece” reads one, written in felt-tip marker. “If you’re winning, play safe and keep the game clean and simple. If you are losing, take risks and complicate the game.”

When my eldest tried out for competitive hockey, the coach said, “I can tell that he is a chess player.  He’s always steps ahead of the play.”  What joy to hear that the maxims that the chess coaches were teaching him were translating to other areas of his life.  Chess does move in mysterious ways, its wonders to behold.

The Kid Dictionary by Eric Ruhalter

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The Kid Dictionary: Hilarious Words to Describe the Indescribable Things Kids Do

by Eric Ruhalter

Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2012.

I’m one of those people who loves to have the right word for the right occasion.  I’ll chop garlic with any old knife, and nevermind the garlic press.  The right tool for the right job, however, is a prize beyond rubies when it comes to language.

Imagine my delight when we were sent this book full of words made up for the job of parenting.  Right from the very first word (feelabuster: (v) to pat down your toddler before she leaves a play date at someone else’s house to make sure she isn’t stealing anything), Eric Ruhalter had me laughing out loud, gleeful not only at recognizing the scenarios that gave rise to the words he’s made up, but their wonderfully apt accuracy.

These are some of my favourites:

invisibooboo: (n) the site on a child’s body where you unnecessarily applied a bandage to appease him when he got hurt, even though no blood ever appeared

freak of nurture: (n) a child who, without any prompting, wants to eat well-balanced meals and avoid junk food, gets enough sleep and exercise, and realized the value of his education

hypocriticize: (v) to yell at your kids to keep their voices down

daduation: (n) the painful realization that you are quickly and irreversibly turning into your parents

adrenalad: (n) a child who will never ever under any circumstances admit that he is tired

harrask: (v) to persist in asking again and again for permission to do something in the hopes that the answer will change from no to yes

snoot: (v) to suck in rather than blow out when blowing your nose

wishjack: (v) to blow out the candles on another child’s birthday cake

whyarrehea: (n) an inquisitive toddler’s chain of questions rattled off in rapid-fire succession

Santastrophe: (n) a parent’s misconception that her baby will enjoy being handed to an enormous, white-haired, long-bearded bespectacled stranger in a blood-red fuzzy suit for a Christmas photo

scoozer: (n) a child who only has something to say when you’re on the phone or in the bathroom

This book would make a great shower gift or a Mother’s or Father’s Day gift.  The only downside to the book that I can see is that it does not include blank pages for readers to add their own neologisms.  One of ours is Tooty McFartypants to describe the more flatluent members of the family.

Do you have any?

Thanks to Sourcebooks for sending us a review copy.

Better the Devil You Know … Than Doing This!

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Eldest Child had a lot of fun completing this little quiz that I set for him. I’m guessing we speak in proverbs quite frequently, since Eldest Child knew most of these.

Youngest Child refused to give any answers, proving that you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

A rose by any other name would  smell as sweet

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link

A fool and his money are divided

A good man is wise

A leopard can’t change its spots

A penny saved is a penny earned

A picture is worth perfection

A poor workman always blames the plan

A problem shared is a problem solved

A rolling stone gathers dust

A thing of beauty is beautiful

A watched pot never gets dirty

A woman’s place is home.

All good things come to an end

All that glitters is valuable

All you need is love

An ounce of prevention is worth everything

Ask a silly question and you’ll get a silly answer

You’ve made your bed, today

Beauty is only an illusion

Behind every great man is a great weakness

Better the devil you know than  than doing this

Boys will be awesome!

Don’t bite the hand that talks

Don’t count your chickens before they are cooped

Don’t cut off your nose  because it hurts!

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket

Don’t put the cart in the middle of the aisle

Don’t teach your Grandma to dance

Don’t throw the baby in the garbage!

Every cloud has a dark side and a light side

Everything comes to him who wishes

He who laughs last, laughs first!

Family Rules

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I’ve been on a bit of an organizing and (re) decoration kick lately, in anticipation of the upcoming holidays and the possibility that someone I’m not related to might visit my house. We live in a typical east-end semi detached house: not huge, but with long hallways just begging to be covered in photos or art.  I’ve been perusing my local Home Sense on a regular basis, looking for cheap and cheerful prints. One trend that I’ve spotted, which I’m sure is just about played out, is those “Family Rules” prints that seem to be everywhere. You’ve probably seen them too: usually printed subway roll style, they list those rules that every family has whether they declare them on canvas or not. Here’s one from the Etsy store Chestnut and Lime:

Cute, right? The best part of these, of course, is that when someone’s not being patient, grateful or forgiving (for example), your kids can just point to the sign and say “Mom, you have to forgive us! It’s the rules!” and there won’t be a darn thing you can do about it.

I keep thinking, though, that I really would need one that outlines OUR rules. I mean, my kids know all about sharing (that’s why they went to daycare) and doing their best (about which I reminded Second Child about eight times between 4:33 pm and 4: 57 pm yesterday). I need a sign that repeats the most frequently repeated rules in our house:

Dirty dishes go in the dishwasher

You don’t need it, you want it. There’s a difference.

The sour gummies belong to Mom

Flush the toilet. PLEASE!

Soap and water are good things. Especially when you use them on your hands (see rule #4)

Socks do NOT live in the Living Room.

Yes, you can always have more broccoli

Snuggling is not optional

And the most important rule?

Love each other. That’s all that matters.

Tiger Mother Redux

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It’s been a long time since the hoopla and media frenzy about this book.  Do you remember it?  I swore I would not read Amy Chua’s memoir about raising her kids in a traditionally Chinese way (no playdates, no grades acceptable less than A, hours of music lessons, pressure cooker life) because it felt like one of those stunt kind of memoirs (I’m looking at you, The Year of Living Biblically.)  It just felt all too headline-hungry.

But then, a few months ago it was the pick for my book club, and I had to read it.  Book club is just more fun when you have read the book.

What stays with me is an observation one of the other women in our group made: Amy Chua did not get a job at Princeton on the first try because she could not pass the conversation-at-dinner test.  Part of every tenure-track academic job interview is eating several meals with various members of the faculty.  You have to be able to converse with them.  She could not.  She admits herself that her style of hyper-perfectionism left her with no charm and no imagination, no ability to converse because it wasn’t about just giving the right answer.

Again and again, I come back to this thought as I parent my three boys.  It’s been on my mind a lot in the last week, as the boys head back to school.  Yes, I want them to do well in school, make great grades and know things.  But I also want to make sure that knowledge has a purpose more than for its own sake.  Knowing things should take you places beyond a row of As.

A Public Service Announcement Worth Reading

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My family and my brother-in-law’s family live in the same downtown Toronto neighbourhood.  Last week, he drove down his street one morning to wait to turn onto one of Toronto’s main streets.  At the corner, he saw a temporary traffic sign, the kind that is mounted on a trailer and uses small lights to spell out simple messages. It was there to advise that that area of the main street was closed due to construction.

However, the traffic sign had been hacked overnight.  It read:

Zombie Attack
Show Boobs