Voices

When your kids are sick, it's like they're yo-yos.  One second they are curled up under a blanket watching a moving and not moving a muscle, the next, they're running up and down the halls playing Power Rangers with their little brother.

Sometimes you just have to listen to that little (or sometimes loud and overbearing) Mommy voice that says "nope, not quite right".

Last Tuesday, Brayden went to the dentist for a filling (yes, it makes you feel like a crap parent when they have to get them, but that's another post for another time).  My husband brought him while I was at work.

By the time I came home, B's lower lip was gargantuan.  I'm talking Bubba Blue from Forest Gump big...nope, not even sure that covers it.  More like Mike Wazowski after a battle with the glowing urchins in Monsters University.


Please don't sue me, this picture and all associated characters are the property of Disney Pixar.  I'm just trying to prove a point.

 

Ok so maybe that's a slight exaggeration...but only a slight one.  Apparently Brayden had chewed on his lip when it was numb and it ballooned.  It got so large it actually split a bit. 

 

The next day, he didn't want to go to school, but being a responsible mother who doesn't let her child get away with not going to school just because someone might ask them why their lip is fat, I sent him...with a note to his teacher that if he couldn't handle the day, to give me a call and I'd come get him.  So she did, around noon.  Apparently he got extremely quiet and just went and lay down.   

 

Thankfully I work for a very understanding company where I can take my computer home to work when things like this happen.    The following day, I sent B back to class, still fat lipped and miserable, but hey, no slackin' right?  No sooner had I sat at my desk when the school called for me to come and get him again.  Now my work is understanding...but I can't ask them to be THAT understanding.  Enter awesome grandparents to the rescue.  B spent the day resting at their house and thankfully finally ate something (he hadn't eaten in almost 2 days at this point).  

 

Friday rolls around.  Andrew decides he needs one more day at home just to make sure (lip still swollen, not much eaten as it was REALLY sore).  Sigh, Brayden insisted he needed just one more day...ok fine.  BUT, my condition was Brayden see a doctor to make sure it wasn't infected.  B spent the day "resting" (aka running and playing like a crazy man with his little brother) and never went to the doc as clearly, he was feeling better!  (Enter relieved Mommy.)  Except I wasn't really.  Nope, something just wasn't right.

 

Friday night Andrew leaves for work and as is always the case, the kid goes down for the count.  Shivering, moaning, crying, fevered...just another fun Friday night in our house.  His mouth looked horrible, he wasn't eating, he had a high fever (can't tell you how high as when I went to use our thermometer, I discovered it was in pieces...of course...2 days later it had come down slightly and based on a friendly neighbour's tympanic thermometer, read 102).

 

Off to the doc we went.  Two different meds, both 3 times a day and 3 school days back under our belt and the kid's finally smiling again!  Sometimes, you really do just have to listen to the Mommy voice telling you when something isn't right.  And sometimes, SOME times, you just have to listen to the damn kid.

When The World Stops Turning

Tonight as we drove home from a day spent with my parents, Madison looked out of the window and said "Mommy, look at the sky!"  Little did she know, I'd been admiring it the entire time.

You see, there was a difference in the sky tonight. 

Watching the sun set has always been one of my favourite things to do.  I love seeing the sun paint the sky with infinite colour combinations.  I can get lost in it...and just as it fades away, I'm enveloped in a sea of stars shining in all of their brilliance.

But tonight, there was a difference.

For tonight, the sun did not fill the sky with its radiance.  Instead, the sun focussed all of its energy into a stream of light so wondrous that even my almost 8 year old daughter stopped and took notice.  A perfect path, leading from Earth to the Heavens.  And indeed, today it was.

Today, the world stopped turning for so many people in my life.  Today, an angel gained his wings.  Although, even as I type this, I can hear his incredible laugh for referring to him as such. 

Today, the world dimmed as the heavens shone just a little more brightly.

And tomorrow, my world will start turning again, but I know it's going to take a lot longer for others.  But, eventually, albeit slowly, it will turn again.

And yes, this is supposed to be a blog about being a mother of 3 and wife to 1, but give me a fuckin break, this is what you get, when the world stops turning.

 

 

 

Pass the Bucket

We do our best to teach our kids to share.  But some things, I wish they'd just keep to their damn selves. 

Late Saturday evening, my 5 year old looked kind of miserable.  We were all cozied up in Mommy and Daddy's bed watching some cartoon (probably Big Big Friend...oh man that Golias cracks Andrew up to no end!  To be clear...Andrew is my husband, not the 5 year old.).  Anyway, we were all cozied up when I hear a small voice say "I puked".  So obviously I reply with "You did?  When?"...then lean over and realize that he meant he had JUST puked...on MY side of the bed!!  (Side whine, why is it always on MY side of the bed???)

The poor guy didn't even make it to the bathroom (a mere 15 feet away) when it happened again, on the carpet...a mere 2 feet from the TILE in the bathroom...sigh.

He spent the rest of the night on repeat, slightly recovered by morning, then went down again.  Monday, Brayden was feeling a bit better stomach wise, but his bowels decided they wanted nothing to do with him either.  I can't begin to tell you the joys of that one.  I'll spare you the gory details, suffice it to say his super awesome Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles underwear only comes in packs of 7 and I was handing him number 7...

I felt so bad for him...until the breaking hours of Tuesday morning...when Mommy, who was sleeping in his spot in his bed while he slept along side Daddy in my spot in mine, woke repeatedly, shivering and uncomfortable.  For a reason I'm not totally sure of, I decided I needed to get up and go to the washroom...and I had better bring my hair elastic (which I methodically employed on the long walk down the hall).  And good thing I did, because I, the Mommy who NEVER gets the flu...I mean EVER, spent some quality time paying homage to the porcelain gods and watching the sun rise.  It was a spiritual experience, like Linda Blair in the Exorcist spiritual, only she wore it better.

Tuesday, I quite literally couldn't get out of bed.  My 5 year old still felt like garbage, but wasn't hogging the bathroom any longer, my 2 year old couldn't hit a toilet if he tried, sadly he "didn't try" at least 6 times.  My husband, who was also starting to feel like crap, had to deal with it all as I truly couldn't get up.  I was almost incoherent for the entire day and night.  The man cleaned, chased, comforted, fed...then cleaned again and still came in to check on me a number of times, never once hesitating, complaining or taking a break. 

Today, we kept B home from school as his tummy was sore this morning (though he likely would have been ok, but who wants to put a teacher through that??).  The 2 year old?  He's a frickin' tank!  He pukes and just keeps on running.  Nothing could stop my little beast.

So now that we are finally all on the mend...wait...cue daughter running down the hall causing Mommy to do a full on sprint up the stairs at 12:30am, quite literally in the middle of my writing this post..."I just had to go to the washroom Mommy"...praise the good Lord...I tucked my little angel back into bed and turn out the big light so she can watch her nightlight change colours until she drifts back to dreamland and as I'm walking out..."Mommy, my tummy hurts...a lot"...

Pass the bucket and break out the Resolve.  Mommy's in for a good one.

People always tell me "I don't know how you do it".  3 kids, a home daycare, a custom cake business, husband, 3 pets...don't know how you do it. 

Truth is, I don't know either. 

And some days I don't "do it".  Some days I take a little longer in the washroom simply because the door is locked and I can.  Two year old kicking down the door or not, leave Mommy alone, she and the Frozen Free Fall game are having a moment.  Even if it's in the loo.

So you want to know the secret?  So do I.  There really isn't one.  Maybe that's the secret.  That we are all moms, just doing what we do to try to raise our kids in a way that won't break the bank with hours billed with a psychiatrist, even with health insurance.
Between trying to keep my daughter's heart from breaking, my daycare kids from breaking our house and my sons' spirits true to who they are, there really isn't much left for much else.  But you just keep going.  You have to, you're Mommy.
You're the maker of lunches, the creator of endless Hallowe'en costumes, an event planner and co-ordinator, doctor, nurse, warrior, moulder of innocent minds, monster vanquisher, spider relocator and the accountant that somehow figures out how to find room in the budget for gymnastics, soccer, Brownies and every other thing that crosses your kids' minds.

Oh wait...budget...crap, maybe that's where I went wrong.  I don't have one of those.  But I digress.

The point is, no-one knows how Moms do it, including Moms.  You look at "that" Mom you know...the one who's got it all together, the one you envy and hate all at the same time...and honey, you have no clue.  She's just as bat-shit crazy as you are.

This Mom is lucky, as are many others I know.  I've got an amazing Dad helping me on this journey.  And I have no idea where it's leading us, but I do know that...

...wait, Olaf's calling.  Apparently I've got a new set of lives...I've gotta hit the loo.

Comebacks...not the smartass kind

I've been seeing it more and more lately.  "Celebrities" from the good old days (namely my early high school days) popping up in random television commercials.  Making a comeback via ridiculous spots promoting law agencies, website registration companies...really people?  You ain't no Betty White and you ain't never gonna be!  She's had more comebacks (if you can ever really say that she was gone) than I have freckles!  (I'm Irish Canadian and my parents rarely slipped, slapped or slopped when I was a kid...I don't tan, my freckles unite.) 

Is that all they want to be known for?  Being one of America's most loved Dads (even though he is Canadian), or the martial arts phenom who can hover between 2 tables in the split position while eating a bowl of cereal?  If that's what makes them feel alive, well then who am I to judge really right? 

I guess my point is that, save for very few of us, nobody knew who they were going to turn out to be 20 years ago.  I thought I was going to be married by 25, have 2 kids, have a clean house and money in the bank.  None of that is true now (well I DO have 2 kids...plus one) and does it really matter?  Who cares if my life didn't go according to "plan"?  The best plan I ever made was to throw that one out the window.  I have an amazing family (who I'll admit some days I want to throw out the window...not literally people, but down your cell phones), a lovely home filled with chipped Ikea furniture and have no clue what I do for a living anymore. 

I have always said that regrets are stupid in the sense that every decision I have made in life has led me to where I am now, good or bad.  Let go of who you were then and embrace who you are now, whether it's Mike Seaver's dad or the mom at the bus stop who wears the same jeans every day, never quite has her make up on yet and eats breakfast as her home daycare kids are walking up the drive.

I don't want to make a come back.  The girl I was in high school can stay there, she didn't really have all that much fun anyway.  I always had friends but never felt like I fit in.  I went to parties but hated sitting there watching everyone else just let loose and have a good time while I sat there wondering when it was time to head home.  So ya, she can stay there, but I'll take with me the amazing people I knew there and still know today.  None of us are where we thought we would be really, but we've grown into some pretty incredible people (I won't say grown ups because I'm not sure we are yet). 

In the words of another (and WAY hotter) LL, "Don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years..."  I think it's just taken me a little time to see it. 

That Was A Close One

Ok, so Mommy got herself a little present for once and picked up the new iPhone 5 just before Christmas.  I'm loving it.

Still exploring some of the many things I can do with it, but don't regret it a bit.  Now, I finally "turned on" Siri the other day at home and showed my 6 year old daughter what you can do with it.  She was in awe and practically begged me to use it.

Sure, fine, no problem.  Just push the little microphone and ask it what ever question you'd like the answer to.

"Ok, can I try now?".  So, I hand over the phone and wait to see what her little mind is wondering...

"Where do babies come from?"  Holy BALLS WHAT??  Lord help me.  My husband and I quite literally froze, staring at the iPhone dreading what was going to come from Siri.

"Ok, here you go..."  Siri says..."From their mothers."  Praise Jesus, that's an answer I can handle.  Breathe Mama, you're all good.  "How do they get there?" Maddie adds.  This is where I made a superhero style lunge for the phone...Siri, don't make me hurt you..."Would you like me to look it up on the web?".  No thanks Siri, we're good.

Phew, that was close.  Yes, one day I will have to have the full on conversation with her, but not now, not when she's 6.  There are already far too many things that make my kids grow up too quickly, this is NOT going to be one of them, at least not yet.

She still thinks boys are silly (which they are) and that her boyfriend is our best friend's husband.  Can't blame her really, he's a musician and he's got an accent.

Just know Siri, I got my EYE ON YOU!

6, Five, 4, Three, Two, 1.

Some days I don't believe it.  I have a 6, a 4 and a 1 year old. 

How did that happen?  Well, o.k. I know HOW it happened and have had to semi-explain it to the six year old...which was a really awkward night time conversation that somehow involved talk of an apple, a tree, dirt and sunshine...don't ask.  And of COURSE it happened on a night when Daddy was working nights.  Yep, I get all the good ones.

But back to the point.  I am a mother of 3 young kids and some days still can't believe that these amazing, intelligent, hilarious, inquisitive, irritating and gorgeous creatures are something that I have anything to do with.  Well, alright the intelligent and gorgeous I believe, the rest they get from their Dad.

I am completely in love with my children and would squish them and cover them with kisses all day, in a very healthy, non psychiatrist visit inducing sort of of way.  Having to witness Mommy rock it out to Just Dance 4 on the Wii...well that may be their breaking point. 

There aren't many I know these days who are not already a parent (or thinking of becoming one), but to try to explain the feeling...it is like your heart is living outside of your body.  It doesn't belong to you anymore and it is somehow both more fragile and stronger than you ever thought it could be.

You feel their victories and their hardships more strongly than they do.  Maybe that's why there are so many crazed parents in the rinks or off stage...no wait, those are just some crazAY bitches.  Dance Moms anyone?  Good Lord I fear putting Maddie into a dance company because of them.  Mostly because I may end up going to prison should one get all up in mah bidness.  Watch yoself!

I want to protect Madison from the little punk who punches her in the arm in the school yard...repeatedly.  I want to teach her that she is amazing and although I would never teach her that hitting someone is an o.k. thing to go out and do, I have also told her that should someone, anyone, hit her or physically hurt her, after exhausting all other avenues (telling them off in a 6 year old sort of way), telling a teacher, removing herself from the situation...SLUG THAT SUCKER AND MAKE 'EM REMEMBER IT!  Damn right.  Sorry, but if I should one day get a call from the principal because Madison just decked a kid that has been tormenting her and her friends since the beginning of school, after repeatedly telling them to stop and the above mentioned solutions...Momma got your back baby girl!

Having said that, she has the kindest little heart and would never do it.  Just want her to understand that things like that are never o.k. and that I don't care WHO they are (Mommy or Daddy included), taking a hit, although fantastic on the soccer field, is not something she should ever have to put up with.  She needs to know that now, before she heads out into the real world, so hopefully she never has to learn how to truly take one...and cover it up.

Ya, I wasn't sure where this post was going when I started it to be quite honest, but there it is.  This one's for the girls I guess.  (Sorry Brayden and Ewan, Mommy will write another post later about teaching you to lean into it or roll them off your shoulder.)

It terrifies me to think about how different it is raising a girl.  You have to prepare them for so many more dangers out there.  Not just the obvious ones and stranger danger...you have to create a girl so confident, that nothing anyone can ever do will put a dent in her armour.  Including her so called friends.  We all went through it and I honestly have no idea how to protect Maddie from it, so suggestions are welcomed.  Girls are horrible to each other at certain ages and it leaves scars.  But, scars are testaments to battles fought and survived.  Some even come with some pretty fun stories.

But physical scars?  Put there at someone else's hand?  Lord help the man (or woman, I don't judge) who ever tries to do that to my girl.  I've seen it happen before.  I've stood on a doorstep praying that "he" didn't answer the door in fear of what I may do should I see his face.  Funny how violent this post is making me sound.  Anyone who truly knows me knows that my heart is made of mush (not white mush Andrea)...but when Mama Bull comes around, those horns are the least of your worries.

So ya, being a Mom to 3 amazing kids who are so incredibly different poses some challenges.  You want to treat them all equally, treat them all the same.  But how can you?  If they are so different, then your approach to how you raise them has to be too. 

And hey speaking of too...look what time it is.  Once again it is just after 2a.m. and I have to get up for work in a few hours.  (Slick segue...I AM in radio after all.)

So good night my loyal followers (all 6 of you).  Guess we'll figure this parenting thing out together. 

Word.

4

Looking back at 2012 through this blog and this is what I see. 4.  Four blog entries in the entire year of 2012.

Surely I must have had more than 4 thoughts in 12 months!?  Surely more than just that has happened in the life of a mother of 3 and wife of one.  And yes, I do realize that I am mixing the use of numerals and writing out the numbers here, but hey...that's how I roll.

So to catch you all up on the events of the last year in my life...I was home on maternity leave, spending every waking (and unconscious) moment with my 3 amazing children.  I started a side business as a Consultant doing direct marketing (I throw parties where I sell you shit, but it's good shit that helps families like mine live healthier, more flavourful lives and I love it).

I went back to playing soccer after a year off due to the "condition" of having a human draining the life force out of me whilst attached to my inner Mommy parts, went up for a header and came down with a gushing gash on my eyebrow and broken face (and just so you know, I slapped on a Band-Aid band-aid, drove myself home for a quick inspection by my paramedic hubby, then drove myself to the hospital out of town for stitches...because that's how this Soccer-Mommin', van driving (oh ya, got one of those too) Mutha does it).

I spent a summer watching my kids play soccer, bounce in their bouncer, learning to crawl, take their first dance lesson, earn their first medal, cutting the ends off countless freezies, setting up playdates and running out of propane for the barbeque at the most inopportune moments.

We drove (yes drove) the kids to Florida for an incredible family reunion filled with so many wonderful memories, Princess and Pirate makeovers, Haunted Houses, Wizards, overpriced souveniers, and sand in everyone's unmentionables (that I just mentioned) and we loved it.  But I will never do that again.  Wouldn't change a second of the trip, but will never repeat it.

Skip to the fall and I've got a full on grade oner, a kid who NEEDS to be in school but missed out by 15 days and a broken-toothed snuggly bear who has my whole world wrapped around that tiny little finger...you know, the one I'm constantly trying to pull out of random things like ears and noses and electrical sockets.

One month of the school year in and we hit the birthday parties.  Harry Potter for my now 6 year old (which was a huge success because Mama is da BOMB!) and jungle themed for my now toddling 1 year old.  Skip forward a few more days and we have Daphne, a spotted monster and a tiger roaming the hood begging for candy, the addition of another cat and we're into the holidays.

Back to the "real world" of working where I get to talk to grown ups every day (in physical form only...if you know anyone who works in radio it is abundantly clear that we never truly grow up mentally).  Oh and a whole OTHER level of Mommy Guilt...any working mom will know what I mean by that one.

So, as 2012 prepares to come to a close and we await the arrival of  a right jolly old elf who undoubtedly left out the items that the kids just "had" to have, inevitably leaving them whimpering over their mountains of house cluttering crap, I come full circle.  I'm about to hit "publish" on another blog penned after 2a.m., knowing that morning will come far too quickly for a non-coffee drinking Mommy of 3.  It's like I never left.

What Would Your Answer Be?

Earlier this evening I was sitting on my couch scouring Facebook while a cheesy chick flick played partially unnoticed in the background.  A friend of mine posted a link.  I clicked on said link and watched a short video about a woman from New Orleans who, with a simple gesture, created something so incredibly powerful.

By taking the side of an abandoned building in her neighbourhood and turning it into an oversized chalkboard, she, with a simple unfinished sentence, allowed the hopes and dreams of hundreds (and now millions) of people, find a safe place to land.  "Before I die I want to..."

Insert answer here.

Silly, intriguing, superficial, inspiring...whatever the answer, those letters etched in chalk on the wall of that abandoned building are someone's hopes and dreams for what they want their lives to be.

What would your answer be?  How would you complete that sentence if you could answer it with complete anonymity?  Go ahead...think about it...I'll wait...ok that's long enough.  I've got 3 kids, a load in the dryer and I've got to hit the loo before bed.

Now that you have committed to your answer inside your mind, stop being a chicken shit and commit to it on the outside.  Pick up the chalk.  

 
http://www.ted.com/talks/candy_chang_before_i_die_i_want_to.html?source=facebook#.UE1O_jIUC3N.facebook

Remember That Mommy Guilt Thing?

Remember that post I did oh so long ago talking about Mommy Guilt? Man, I don't think I truly knew what I meant back then.

Mommy guilt tripled is exhausting...and never ending.  Today alone, I heard Madison asking if anyone wanted to play with her.  Of course I did, but was it possible right then?  No.  She asked again.  Same answer.  She played by herself for a while, then played with her brother while Daddy and I tried in vain to prepare for our huge road trip that has been in the works for almost 2 years and has somehow snuck up on us.

Two hours later, I hear that goregous little girl of mine ask once again in a sad voice..."Doesn't anyone want to play with me?".  There goes what's left of my heart.  So, setting aside a (finally) smaller mountain of laundry and strapping Ewan into his highchair for a meal of zuccini seasoned with cinnamon, we had at it.  Disney princess figures were transformed into the many different characters of my incredibly creative daughter's newest obesession, Harry Potter.  Accents and all.

I always say that the laundry will still be there when the kids are sleeping, when the kids are at school, when they are cramping their little fingers playing Scooby Doo Wii.  Fur on the floor isn't going to kill anyone and the toilet will still flush if it hasn't been scrubbed since the last time we had company.

Yes, I say all of that, but living it is a very different beast.  I hate constantly having to ask my kids to hang on a second, or tell them I can't sit on the floor and re-enact every scene from Scooby Doo, Harry Potter or Cat in the Hat right now.  I have to clean the kitchen (which truly is my nemesis most days), sweep the floor, or chase down their now mobile little brother before he decides to give himself a pet water facial. 

I love every second that I get to spend with my 3 amazing children.  Even the ones where I want to squish their little heads together.  But (and there's always a but isn't there?), each one of them can make me feel like the worst Mom at times.  Madison has so many wonderful ideas, so many scenes running through that amazing little head that she needs to get out.  And I just don't always have the time or the energy to really let her share them.  Not where she is my only focus like she deserves to be.

Brayden, he is just a little cuddle bug when he's in the mood.  All he really wants is a quick game of Sponge Bob Memory Match (which he is a master of by the way), some chocolate milk and some face time - the actual face to face version, not the Apple kind. 

And Ewan, he just wants Mommy...all day, every day.  I can't even go pee without someone crying...sometimes that someone is me.

Nobody gets my full attention, Andrew included.  The house is never truly clean.  The cat, well he's just a bugger who secretly cuddles with me once everyone else has gone to bed, and the dog (you know, the one with the bullet in her back) looks longingly at all of the other dogs trotting by the house with their leashes in their humans' hands.

If I could split myself in 2 to get things done, I would.  Then again, one half of me would always miss out on something that way, so not really an improvement on the current situation.

And now of course, I'm ignoring even myself.  It's almost 2:30 in the morning and I have yet to go to bed, knowing full well that my 9 month old will be up with the roosters, full of broken toothed smiles and drool skin treatments that really should be bottled and sold.



 

So, what have you been up to?

Ok, so it's been a long while.  A really long while.  It's almost like when you reconnect with an old highschool friend and say "So, what have you been up to for the last 15 years?".  Obviously much has happened, but really, how do you explain it all?

There have been many times when I have wanted to write and share what it's like to be a mother of 3.  But really, my beloved MacBook went tets up (good Lord is that a whole other post and a half) and I can't make it through the next chapter of Harry Potter with Madison each night, let alone have energy left to post any of the few fleeting thoughts I have running through my brain.

Suffice it to say, there has been a lot going on.  Ewan is now 9 months old, Madison has completed kindergarten and looking forward to being a grade "one-r" in the Fall and Brayden has one game left in his inaugural season of soccer.  My dad suffered and survived a heart attack, I fractured my orbital bone and discovered that at some point in her 10 years, my beloved pooch was SHOT and the bullet remains lodged near, but not effecting, her spine.

This past year has been trying, amazing, exhausting, inspiring and many other "ings" I'm just too tired to think of at the moment.

Now that I have a stand-in computer (so not my Macky, but functioning so I will be content...for now), I will be posting more regularly.  Hold back your shouts of glee, I need a nap.

Let's Try This Again

Ok, I'll admit it...when I sat down to write my last blog entry, I fell asleep.  Hence the short post with a somewhat abrupt ending.  I could have gone back to it once I woke from my restless slumber on the now 8 year old Ikea couch, but I decided that I should try to sneak upstairs, get in my flannels and try to get some real sleep (you know, all 23 minutes of it) before our newest addition decided he needed me....NOW MOTHER!

So let's try this again.  The last weeks of my pregnancy went quickly and fairly smoothly.  I finished work a few days before Madison's 5th birthday (which was celebrated with her, surrounded by a gaggle of girls and a couple of boys from school, doing gymnastics to their little hearts' content).  I was SUPPOSED to have 2 weeks at home with my kids to enjoy some time with them before Wayne made his debut.   True to family offspring fashion, little Wayne decided he needed to one up his sister and brother and make an early appearance.

My wish was that I made it past Madison's birthday so that she could have her birthday all to herself.  Granted.  Just barely.  Baby brother (aka Ewan) was born in the wee hours of October 29th.  Here's his story...

Thursday I had yet another check up with the doctor, who promptly informed me that he could have sworn I would have been at the hospital and home with my boy days earlier...wrong!  That was at 38 weeks.  He had informed me early in the pregnancy that I was not going to be "allowed" to get to 40 weeks due to my history of rapid fire deliveries.  So, in order to avoid a repeat performance of my husband having to deliver my son and save us the expense of a new mattress (again), Dr. H. told me to head to the L&D ward on Saturday morning.  He wasn't going to book me for an induction as there was a good chance I would get bumped down the list as I AM a machine after all.  Basically, he told me to just head in there and tell them I was having contractions, tell them my previous delivery story and there was no chance they would let me go home after that.  Sneaky, but truthful.

In the end, all of that was irrelevant as I had my 1st contraction just after 11pm Friday night.  I sort of ignored it, but kept it in mind as I went up to take a nice long bath before heading to bed...except I never got there.  At 1am I woke Andrew up and told him to call his parents.  We needed to head to the hospital.  "WHA?? Are you serious?".  I can understand his confusion as he'd only just gone to bed about an hour earlier thinking everything was fine and we'd head to the hospital at our leisure in the morning.  Kids always have a way of messing with your well laid plans.

So, we called his folks who live 25 minutes away at about 1:20.  Our neighbour had said they would brave the long walk across the lawn if we needed anyone to get to the house immediately to stay with the kids until the grandparents arrived...yeah...except it was Hallowe'en weekend and they were out at at party.  Awesome.  If they weren't such amazing people and wonderful neighbours, I might try to keep the guilt going on that one. ;)  

We also could have called our dear friend and former cruise ship singing roomie Andrea, but by the time she would have arrived the in-laws would likely have been there anyway.  So, we waited it out...and out...and...well, in their defense, they thought someone was going to be at the house for the kids while we left for the hospital should we have a middle of the night thing happen.   I think Andrew was more worried than I was.  Oddly, I was fine...in full on labour, but somehow totally fine.  Talking through contractions (even though I fully remember that the stage I was at meant imminent delivery).  

We broke all land speed records...of course should Andrew's employers be reading this or any local police...followed all posted limits to the tee and not going through a single red light (in truth, the only one we really hit was the ONLY light we have in our town...and of course it had to be red)...and got to the hospital in an amazing 20 minutes.

Moving on...we arrive at the hospital at 2:20am, get through the door we were told was going to be locked and begin to make our way through the lobby (I'm sure there is a fancier name for it that the hospital uses like atrium), when we are stopped by what I can only assume is a security guard.

"Hi folks.  You going to work?".  Yes Captain Obvious, my husband, our ridiculously oversized traveler's backpack, my enormous belleh and I are heading up to work...in the WOMEN'S HEALTH building, which is basically only used for LABOUR AND DELIVERY.  My shift starts at 3a.m.

After very nicely stating (while still in full stride) we were heading up to L&D, he yells at us saying "Hey, get back here...you're not in labour!!".  I'm sorry WHAT???  Did you seriously just tell me that I'm not in labour?  I'm sorry to tell you Honey, but Hollywood has played up the whole woman crawling on floor clutching belly while performing primal scream therapy routine a little too much.  Because I was walking upright and smiled, apparently my son WASN'T trying to rip his way out of my lady parts.  Sorry, my mistake.  Thank you so much for clearing that up for me.

In my usual full of class fashion that makes my Momma so very proud, I offered a "Screw You" and kept on walking...upright and smiling.  We were followed up to L&D by some woman in another elevator, were checked in and had a triage room in a matter of seconds.  At that point I believe I was at 4 or 5 cm.  After a short stay there, we were given a delivery room (quite nice actually...huge, with a couch for Andrew to crash on and a view of the city).  Doctor arrives on his bicycle shortly after, letting us know that for any other patient he would have told the nurses to just keep calling him with updates, but I'm special.  Oh, I should also mention here that moments before he entered our room we heard another woman performing that primal scream ritual I just mentioned with a gusto.  Man, somebody get that woman some drugs!  Our nurse tried to ignore it, I laughed and the doc came in smiling saying that he was glad that wasn't me.


My water was broken and with a whoosh and a "whoa, can we get some more towels over here...man, that was a lot of water" from the doctor, all dignity was gone.  He waited around a bit, I wasn't able to talk through contractions anymore at that point.  Andrew asked if I wanted an epidural or a piece of wood to bite down on as I was close to shattering my left hand with my right with each uteral surge, I said not yet.  

To cut this insanely long post short, I asked to be checked a short while later, the doc came back in the room, slapped on a glove, took a quick peek and said "GET ME ANOTHER GLOVE!!!".  In 2 or so pushes, Ewan was born at 4:22a.m. weighing in at a miniscule 6lbs 11oz (almost 2 full pounds smaller than his brother and sister).

Everyone was happy and healthy and Mommy was pleasantly surprised that she A) didn't need a single stitch and B) the gluten free hospital food wasn't shyte like I thought it would be.

I'll save all of my other anecdotes for future posts, mostly because the kid has been wedged into his swing for 3 hours now and my left hand is cramping from holding in the decrepit power cord to my laptop.  

Good night, fair readers, until we meet again.  Hopefully not in a short few hours. 

It's Been A While

Wow, it really has been a while.  But I'm using the old "I've got a good excuse" excuse.  Since we last were together, I have turned 35, celebrated Turkey day (in OCTOBER, the way it should be haha), watched my amazing daughter turn 5, dressed the kids up for Hallowe'en, remembered with great admiration the incredible sacrifices made by so many, received a late night phone call letting me know our 2 car family is now down to 1, watched an entire stage of JK/SK kids wiggle their little butts, pop up like icicles...and oh ya, somewhere in there I became a mother of THREE!

 

It's All About Percentages

Chances of being RH negative?  15%.
Chances of having Celiac Disease?  1 in 133.
Chances of having a son needing hypospadias repair?  Varies from 1 in 150 to 1 in 300.
Chances of a fetus developing Choroid Plexus Cysts?  1 to 2%.

It's all about percentages.  And I have all of the above.  Being RH negative is quite literally a pain in the ass, but easily dealt with with 2 shots per pregnancy.  No side effects, no worries.  Just making sure your body doesn't reject your new little bundle for having a "positive" baby daddy.

Having Celiacs can also be a literal pain in the ass...or gut, or stomach, etc.  An annoying and very sneaky disease, but easily managed with a gluten free diet for the rest of your life.  I don't complain about having it.  So I can't eat an entire basket of warm bread served while I wait for my meal at the Keg.  So what?  I don't have to endure chemo or dialysis.  This won't kill me...just put me at higher risk for things that could later on.


Hypospadias repair was by far the worst I've had to endure with my son.  Again, not a life threatening condition and at the end of it all, I got to take my son home healthy and...well after months of recovery, happy.  I don't ever want to have to watch nurses wheel my son through oversized hospital doors in a metal crib while he rests on all fours, crying and reaching for me ever again.  


Little Wayne Gretzky?  He's no exception.  He's decided to develop a cyst on his little brain that I'll find out next week if it's disappeared as it should have by now.  Again, nothing to really worry about...it's basically an air bubble that appears, then goes away on it's own before 30 weeks gestation...normally.  And even if it doesn't, it doesn't really mean much of anything.  Generally people have no side effects from being born with one.  However, as you might have noticed, if there's a relatively small percentage of the population to have something, apparently I'm on it like pig on sh!t.


Again, I'm really not complaining about things.  I have it easy.  My kids are happy and healthy and so are my husband and I.  We know how incredibly lucky we are every day.  And, the possibility of this little cyst remaining in my developing little man's brain allowed me to see him when I've never seen either of my other 2.  All squished in, folded up and hiding his face from the camera.

So, here I sit.  32 weeks in with anywhere between 7 and 9 left to go.  100% excited to meet Wayne Gretzky and watch his big brother and sister fawn over him, love him, wake him up from the only nap he's taken all day and trying to mail him to a far off place to get back to their version of normal again.

I Gotta Go Peeeeee

So my 2.5 year old son has been potty trained for quite some time now.  The occasional accident seeps in here and there, but for the most part, this kid has been a Pull-Up free, Spiderman/Buzz Lightyear/Lightening McQueen big boy underwear phenomenon.  

He made it almost too easy.  He wanted to use the potty just like his big sister...actually, he was far better at it than she was.  Even over night was going tremendously well.  Never wet his bed, wearing big boy underwear for 2 months all night with no issues...until a few nights ago.  Total regression (IN MY DAMN BED) on that one.  Oh well, sheets can be cleaned, mattresses decontaminated and Pull-Ups reapplied while sleeping.  He asks each night now why he needs to wear them, but thankfully doesn't seem to be worried about it.

His game?  EVERY time we set foot in the grocery store, he says he's got to go peeeeee.  We kneel down to his level and have a heart to heart..."Do you really have to pee, or do you just want to go upstairs?".  He swears he really needs to go.  We, of course know better...but, when you're potty training a kid, you've got to listen when they say they need to go right?  

So, thankfully today it was BEFORE I loaded up the cart and stood in line waiting to pay for the groceries (which is the usual case).  Up we went, big sister in tow.  She used the potty with great success.  He however, sat there goofing around and whining that it wouldn't come out.  I try to reason with him.  Tell him that it's now or never, I'm NOT coming back up those stairs.  I suggest trying the potty next door as it's a bit lower to the ground.  Fine...next door we go.  Nope, same devlish grin on his face.  He says he just can't go and will wait until we get home.  Ugh.

Fine, a-shopping we will go.  Cart full, groceries paid for and packed up in the dreaded 5 cent plastic bags as I hadn't really planned on going shopping on the way home.  Head back outside, find the car just where we left it, struggle to get 2 children out of the shopping cart (quite comical to watch a 7 month pregnant belleh deal with that I'm sure)...then wedge the 5 over sized scandalous plastic bags filled with gluten free pizza crusts, various fruits and cotton candy ice cream, into random spots between, behind and inside of the collapsed Joovy Caboose in the trunk.

Leave the parking lot..."Mommyyyyyy, I have to peeeeeee" comes from directly behind the driver's seat and with a quick glance in the mirror, I can see 2 little legs wiggling.  Ugh number 2.  I can see that he really does have to go, but really?  What's a mother to do?  Pull over to the non-existent shoulder on the road and let him pee on the grass?  Nope.  I visualize my drive home and what's on the road ahead.  

Never thought I'd say this, but today, Taco Bell and KFC were my friends.  Phew crisis averted...ice cream softened, but I'd take that over having to disassemble a car seat for a good old Friday night wash n' dry any day.

By the time we get home and I get everything and everyone unloaded, I hear those cursed words again.  Seriously dude???  I have a 15" human practicing ancient martial arts on my bladder 24/7 and YOU have to pee?  Again?  Sure did.  Like a trucker.

A Little Miracle

So today, my best friend gave birth to a beautiful, healthy and only a couple of weeks early, baby boy.  Wee little Charlie has put his Mommy through the ringer (and his Daddy too), but he's here, he's healthy and he's 2 hours away from me.  Damn kid.

Were it not for work, 2 small and 1 large gorgeous faces to come home to, I'd be at that hospital right now stealing snuggle time from a very proud Daddy, exhausted Mommy and ridiculously excited big sister.  But, here I sit...itching to jump in the Yoda and head out there, gifts in tow.

Funny how when I talked to Charlie's Dad today, he kept asking me how I was doing...how my little one was treating me.  Dude, I'm fine!  I didn't just spew a watermelon out of places I wish I never knew about.  Then I realize...sh#t, I'm about to do that...again.

Ah, I can handle that.  I've done it twice before.  Once induced (Madison, true to character, took her sweet old time showing her face) and once at home, as a surprise urgent delivery, masterfully handled by my Paramedic husband (he may not be allowed to handle electricity, but that man can deliver my baby any day...just not November 8th because that is SO not happening again this time). 

My worries lie in what happens when "Wayne Gretzky" comes home.  The cat will be pissed...possibly quite literally the bastard, the dog will be defeated..."oh great, another one".  Madison will be a phenomenal help as she's already decided that she will be the one carrying her baby brother to his crib each night.  Sure, knock yourself out, babies bounce right?  Brayden...well, he'll have a love-hate relationship going on I think.  He's a sweet, sweet boy and will adore his baby brother, but will HATE that he will have to wait 2.2 seconds to get his chocolate milk now that I have to remember how to pour while balancing an infant in my arms.

As I do live in Canada, is 1 month too early for an infant to be pulled around by his siblings on a toboggan in white out conditions?  Thankfully we will be out of mosquito season by then so I don't have to worry about him being carried off by Deet-immune mutants...but then, there are the polar bears.  


For some odd reason, the thing that stays on my mind the most, is how on Earth I will manage to get 3 kids aged 5 and under to bed each night.  Short of duct taping them Red Green style to their beds, I guess I'll just have to figure that one out on the fly.

Now that I know little Charlie is here and he is safe, thanks to his amazing mother and father who endured I believe it was 8 weeks of bedrest and multiple trips to L&D...I swear that woman is a fighter far beyond anything X-tina could ever belt about...now that I know he's safe, little Wayne gets my full baby brain laden attention.  Just under 14 weeks to go...Jesus H Christ, do you have any idea how fast 14 weeks goes???  Well, 13 will fly by.  The final week will feel like a marathon at the end of the Lake Placid Ironman, right Kevin Conners?

Now I start trying to remember what babies need.  Crib?  Check.  Blankets?  Ridiculously checked.  Clothes?  Um...working on that one.  


We'll get there.  In 14 weeks, we'll be bringing home our own little miracle for the 3rd time.  Until then, I get to enjoy my time as a Mommy of 2 incredible little people who make me laugh, smile, melt and want to punch a brick wall every day.  Of course I don't...I don't think Tarion would cover that sort of damage.









 

22 Weeks and Counting

Alright, so I haven't been on here in a while.  Well 2 months, so a long while.  I've had a few other things on the go.  

To update you on the happenings of baby #3, it's been fairly calm really.  My monthly 60 second check up at the doctor is always normal.  Blood pressure is incredible, heartbeat is there and I'm called "a machine".  Same old same old.  And no, I'm not complaining about that.  I'm very aware that I am a lucky pregnant lady and yes...I know that most friends, although wonderful and so excited for us...secretly curse my name.  While I've had friends deliver preemies 8 weeks before the charts said they should and wind up in hospitals for weeks before coming home, my kids either hang out for an extra 10 days packin' on the pounds, or shove themselves out on their due date within minutes.

The age old question of "are you finding out the gender?" has been answered.  For the first time we decided to find out what we were having.  I didn't really want to know, but I decided that Madison would be dealing with enough with a new baby in the house that she didn't need to add the "shock" of it being a boy at the same time.  So, Madison decided that if we were having a girl, we would call her Hannah Montana until she was born.  Brayden didn't hesitate in naming a boy Wayne Gretzky.  Can't really argue with that one...he IS the Great One afterall.  Off to the ultrasound, bladder thoroughly filled and we left with a blue cookie.  Wayne Gretzky it is!!

So, here I sit, 22.5 weeks in and counting.  Tired, busy as all Hell, with a boy in my gut who randomly decides my sciatic nerve is his favourite play thing.  17.5 weeks to go!  Sh$t.  Are we seriously doing this again?  Hells yes and we're doing it balls out.

Something So Simple

Who would have thought that something so simple could bring such a huge smile to 4 faces today (well, 5 if you count the dog)?

Wellies, rubber boots, rain boots...whatever you call them...were the catalyst of joy on a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon.  Ignoring the 20 minute fight to get 2 small children ready to head out (including convincing/forcing them to wear sweaters under their raincoats, splash pants over their legs and their wellies instead of the fancy light up Spiderman running shoes that are the current favourite), then rainy days in our house RULE!

We decided to be good dog owners and bring along the pooch too.  If she could full-on smile, she most definitely did today.  

Trudging along behind a 2 year old in a bright yellow slicker, navy splash pants and yellow wellies, a 4 year old wearing a pink raincoat lined with apple patterned fabric, pink splash pants and pink princess adorned wellies, finding any and every giant puddle along the pathway through the park behind our house...priceless.

I was wearing my $12 Walmart special wellies too, so I joined right in.  Because it was pouring rain, no-one else was outdoors, so we let Suki run loose for a while in the park as well (don't tell the neighbours...though I'm sure many of them were staring at us through cracked blinds, shaking their heads in disbelief...we were crazy and we loved it).  Today, I was the best Mommy ever for about 20 minutes.  To see the absolute joy on the faces of my kids, by simply letting them run wild through countless puddles and splashing as much as they wanted...I would do that any day of the week.  Hell, I'd be willing to flood the backyard to see that again.  I think Andrew would too.  

A walk in the rain.  Splashing to our heart's content.  Watching the family of geese teaching their babies how to swim in the pond behind our house.  Watching the dog run freely through the fields.  We all had so much fun doing something so simple.



 

Make That 1.5

Remember that post I did not too long ago?  The one about the babies surrounding me...old classmates, best friends, celebrities.  And how I was "happy" when I could send those adorable mini people back home to their Mommies...ya, well SCRAP THAT!!

My million dollar family is now worth a cool 1.5.  Baby #3 will make their debut sometime in early November.  We're happy, we're excited...we're exhausted.

Madison insists that this be a baby sister for her.  Brayden says it's a boy baby.  Madison, my stubborn little mini-me, INSISTS this be a baby sister.  We'll see who gets their way soon enough.

Oh and if ONE more person asks me if we were trying, I think I might turn all Mama Bear on their ass.

So, this summer, while many of you are quite literally working your asses off...I'll be getting nice and fat, eating my (gluten free) cake...and yours...and yours...

Why I Hate Mondays

A tough little broad.  That's my Maddie (sorry, Madison as she now prefers...she's 4...really?).  This is a little girl who's been a puker since day one.  Quite literally, my daughter has tossed her cookies more in her 4 short years than I have in 34.  It's gotten to the point where she's completely comfortable with it, moves on like almost nothing has happened until the next round.  So have I.  I've got catching vomit in my hands, closest waste bin and getting it out of sheets at 2a.m. down to a science.

However, when my daughter threw up 9 times between 7:45a.m. and 9:45a.m. on Monday morning, once including blood (sorry, gross I know, but as I said, I'm used to this) I was more than a little worried.  My little girl came stumbling out of her room in the morning, so dizzy she couldn't see straight, walking into walls and collapsing repeatedly in the 30 steps it took to make it to my room, where I sat watching in shock.  The first stumble I figured was just Madison getting up too quickly from her slumber.  The second I thought she was being a typical 4 year old goofing around saying "I'm dizzy Mommy".  That's when the vomiting began and didn't end.

After a quick call to her Dad (a Paramedic who was at work at the time) I decided to pack her into the car, Boo Bear and puke bucket in hand, and head to the Children's ER.  Thankfully, we have an incredible children's hospital and ER here.  

Madison lays with Boo Bear in my lap as we sit in the waiting room of the ER.

 

 

We waited a short while before being assigned a bed and getting assessed by the nurses, then a doctor shortly after.  After a white grape popsicle and a few sips of blue Gatorade, which promptly saw the light of day in reverse, they wanted to see her walking.  That didn't go very well.  Laying down, Madison was the picture of health.  Laughing, playing, smiling.  

Madison happily displaying the surgical glove balloon animal provided by Ollie, the resident clown of the children's ward.

Any sort of elevation of her head and she spiraled downward immediately.  She (to quote the doctor) "walked like a drunken sailor".  Her stomach rejecting absolutely everything, coupled with the intense dizziness when upright concerned her.  So, in went an IV.  Dear Lord I never, ever want to watch my child go through that again.

The absolute terror in her eyes, watching the nurses (who asked me before the procedure began if I was ok to stay with her or if I thought I might need to leave...seriously???  Who the HELL would LEAVE their 4 year old to suffer through that alone????) poke into her tiny vein...wait no, they missed it...wiggle, ah...got it.  That was horrible.  I swear that I almost saw the needle poke straight through the back of her hand.  But, it didn't and the nurses (2 of them) secured a line in and made a "bed" for her hand.

Tiny hand, lots of tape.  The little sticker said "You did it!".  I don't think that made her feel better about it.

She was on an IV drip for a couple of hours which helped, but didn't completely work.  After needing to get a urine sample (let me tell you how much fun that was) and her collapsing into my arms again, even after being re-hydrated, the doctor suggested (reluctantly) that we do a CAT scan to rule out any sign on brain injury or the like.  Oh, ok, sure.  No problem.  I'm sorry, WHAT???  My 4 year old, who was running around the Home Show dipping her fingers into the hot tubs on display, playing on the giant playground and jumping on the trampoline just the day before, has to be strapped onto a slab, moved into a giant rotating camera that is loud and fast and scary to any grown up.  Yep, sign her up.

She was amazing.  Scared at first, but sang songs with the nurse by her side (even corrected her on some of the lyrics) while I had to wait on the other side of the door that felt like it had to be 600 feet away (though it was only about 10).  I've never had one done, but my 4 year old is now a pro.  Something is wrong with that.  

Thankfully everything looked just fine.  Ok, I can breathe now.  Can we go?  Not quite.  Madison still hadn't eaten or walked normally and it was now about 4:30.  After the CAT scan, they filled her full of popsicles and had me do laps with her around the floor (IV pole in tow).  Diagnosis?  Possible inner ear infection which is a viral thing so there's nothing that can be done about it.

So, after a day filled with drama, laughter, terror, relief and an unheard of number of earned stickers for bravery, we were allowed to leave.  WE WERE ALLOWED TO LEAVE!!!  I can't say the same for other families nearby.  One had a son who's left lung was almost completely filled with fluid, another was a regular renal patient, yet another was an Amish boy of 3 who somehow came into contact with kerosene.  

We pulled into the driveway around 7:00p.m. to find my husband and 2 year old son waiting for us and waving.  Madison didn't know it as she'd finally fallen asleep (and stayed asleep until 7:30 the next morning).  It was so sweet to open the car door to see Brayden RIGHT at his big sister's side saying hi repeatedly and watching every move Daddy made while getting her out of the car and up to her bed.

(Did I mention that my son had such a major panic attack...a 2.5 hour attack...that his grandfather had to call my husband home from work so he would start to breathe in a regular pattern again?)

So, that was my Monday.  How was yours?

By the way, she was about 98% better by 3:00p.m. on Tuesday and back to school on Wednesday.  I've always said kids are like Tigger, they bounce.