Kids v.s Grown-ups

This week my boys celebrated their eleventh and ninth birthdays! Another year older, another year wiser; it was on his ninth birthday my younger son asked the question, “Mom? What’s the difference between a kid and a grown-up?”

It was here that I stopped, briskly scanned my brain for the appropriate answer, only to decide, “I don’t know if there is a real difference between kids and grown-ups” was the best I had.

This answer was followed by, “No, when you’re a grown-up you can do whatever you want”, “when I grow up I’m staying up late all the time”,  “grown-ups have lots of money Mom”, “grown-ups don’t have to do chores”, and so on.

This let me to sit down and really think about what being a “grown-up” and being a “kid” had in common.  Sure some of the differences are unavoidable, like age, bearing children, being able to vote, etc.  But what exactly makes being a grown-up that different from being a kid?

 Kid – Mom or Dad decides when you go to bed.

Grown – up – while you can “go to bed” when you feel like it, ultimately we still

            have bedtime dictated to us. If you’re kids wake at 6am, your day will go

            down hill if you’re functioning on four hours sleep.

Kid – some, little or no money

Grown-up – some, little or no money. It can be argued that our kids with their saved

            allowances and birthday money are ultimately richer than their parents.

            From mortgages, lines of credit, student loans and car payments – a grown-

            ups bank account is happiest if we make it back in the black   -

“You have no money do ya buddy? Well, Mommy and Daddy have less than no

 money. So you’re doing alright!”

Kid – Parents are constantly telling kids to clean your room, unload the dishwasher,

            take out the occasional load of trash, put your dirty clothes in the hamper.

Grown-up – Frankly, I would take a “kid version” of chores any day.  Grown-ups

            have chores, they’ve just exponentially multiplied. Long gone are the days of

            simply, unloading a dishwasher, or getting the worn clothes in a hamper. In

            addition to that, we shovel snow, mow the lawn, collect - wash - and put

            away laundry, sanitize toilets, cook food, sweep floors, wash floors….and on and on. 

            Long gone are the days of being responsible for a 9X10 bedroom, we have a house to take care of.

            “But no one tells you do to that Mom! You’re always telling us to do stuff.”

            “On the contrary, if the laundry isn’t done you ask Mommy, ‘Why aren’t my

 jeans clean?’, If Mommy doesn’t get the driveway shoveled Papa is going to

 tell Mommy ‘You should get that done. It’s a sin to make the kids trudge

              through the snow’” – So buddy, between you kids and Nanny and

              Poppies, grown-ups still have people telling them what, when and how to do

             things!

Kid – only gets allowance

Grown-up – bi-weekly paycheques are allowance for grown-up. And, we actually

            have to do something to earn it

Kid –  kids have school time, quiet time, nap time, snack time, TV time, play time.

Grown-up – work time, pick up the kids time, little to no quiet time, leftovers for

            snack time, TV time (if you can stay awake long enough) and depending on

            your version of play time (if you’re a grown-up with kids),that too can be

            short-lived or non-existent.

            “You know, Drew, the quiet time Mommy gets? It’s sneaking in to the

            bathroom, running a cold shower, sitting on the toilet and savoring the

            white noise.”

            “What’s white noise?”

            “It’s the only sound I know that can drown out you little people. Until you

            realize where I am and you start banging on the door. That’s when the white

            noise ends”

                and as for grown-up “play time”? Grab is while you can people. Before long

 you’ll be installing two locks on your bedroom door; you’ll realize your kids

                are ninjas and can appear out of no where, catching you in the act

So there it is little man kids and grown-ups aren’t really that different after all. Both dream to the future, remember the past, and with any luck we thrive in a world of Neverland; with big people and little people all just enjoying the ride!

Happy New Year Diary

Dear Diary, 

Well here we are, two weeks into 2012 with Christmas and New Year's but a distant memory.  It's now back to alarm clocks and early morning scraping of windshields! With the last of the pine needles hopefully swept, the rubbermaid bins back in storage, one snow day and a Friday the 13th under our belts, we head into the new year full throttle.

For me, hockey schedules run wild with the added challenge of planning birthday parties for my two little men.  Each year I remind myself that we weren’t the best in the baby planning department as our boys birthdays are four days apart.  Parties aside, what does one buy for a gift so close after Christmas. Well, this year, it’s a special treat!

Noah’s hockey team is traveling to Montreal in February and i’m taking both boys on yet another traveling adventure.  It just so has it that very weekend the Montreal Canadian are playing the New Jersey devils. With some strategic online searching, an informative friend and an awesome Customer Service person, I now have three NHL tickets to that very game! Woohoo! The boys are going to die!

Eleven and nine! My little men.  Once tiny little peanuts and now pretty cool little men, my buddies.  Yet, not too old yet to stop giving their Mom a warm hug and a smooch every now and then.  My little Miss, well, tonight I went to school for the first Parent Meeting for Kinderstart. Phew, that was wild.  The last of the little peepers heading off to school.  Now, if you ask her, she under no circumstances will be taking any part in school.  She informed me today that homework was “inappropriate” and that she didn’t want any.  I guess for her, school consists of the lobby where we collect her brother’s on a daily basis and the homework they do at home.  I can see how she wouldn’t want to partake, still, “You’re going Sister”!

On a positive note, since the Holidays have subsided my shorty term memory seems to have improved to a degree.  Now while shopping my car remains in the parking lot where it was originally parked, my lists are now a simple index card and not a letter-sized sheet, and the disgruntled shoppers who once filled the stores have migrated back home for the Winter.  The brain has been given the chance to breathe and the results are great! Mama actually feels normal again.

So Diary, today being Friday the 13th doesn’t bother me one bit. A day of superstitions and bad luck? I think not! Most days feel like a Friday the 13th. If we’re not slipping on dog pee, peeling glued on Gracie artwork off the walls, kicking back base-boards hoping that single nail will hold on just a little longer...we’re mopping snow off the stairs, scratching nail polish off the couch, picking up Puppy teeth off the floor, dodging mini-stick balls and on the occasional day, taking up flooring and bleaching walls after a water leak from the air exchanger.  Bad luck? No.  This Diary, on Friday the 13th or any other day...it’s just our life! It’s not unlucky, it’s perfectly mine.

Happy New Year Diary! I got a hunch it’s gonna be a good one! Yeehaw!

The Sport of Shopping

Well people we’ve almost made it. Five sleeps until Christmas Eve, the home stretch is here.  It’s time to double check our lists and take on the final scurry of gift shopping.   The stores once decorated with tinsel and shelves lined with decorations now bare bits and pieces of broken décor, squished chocolates, torn tissue paper, and empty Tim Horton’s cups. Ahh, the joys of the holidays.

If you really think about, Christmas shopping should be considered a professional sport.  Like all well trained athletes, shoppers to undergo a rigorous training process in order to efficiently and successful conquer the holiday shopping season.

Athletes eat well and load on carbohydrates; they exercise and build stamina, and most importantly must train their mind.  They possess the will power, the drive and the sheer will to succeed.  Think about it.  The Christmas shopper requires the exact same motivation and conviction.

First you identify who requires a gift and what you’re going to purchase for them. Second, always dress appropriately; layered breathable clothing that can easily be removed in the event of a hot flash or sudden spike in blood pressure.  Third, time and plan your route. Early morning shopping, and a transit route that allows you to follow the flow of traffic, avoiding all left turns; go with the flow here people! Then, finally hydration; always have water on your person.  Staying hydrated will keep you lucid while making your way through bewildered crowds and dangerous parking lots.  Stay on your toes.

The holiday shopper, like a well-trained athlete, is a fine-tuned, well oiled machine! From now until Saturday they will face challenges that test their will power, their perseverance, and the backbone of their mental stability.  Prepare well my friends, as the joys of Christmas bring smiles to children, so to can a finished Christmas shopping to champion shopper.

I leave you with a little poem, and the warmest of Holiday wishes.  Til Saturday!

“Six days before Christmas and all through the city, shoppers hustled and bustled with very little pity.  They grunted and growled as they scurried about, bearing nothing but sarcasm and a grumpy old pout.

Store parking lots rang with the sounds of cheer, which were more like the rantings of too many beer!  “Watch your step”, “Look out”, “Hey Misses –Out of the way”, the drivers they hollered at those in the way.

The children smiled for pictures with Santa at the mall, as dainty little snowflakes gracefully did fall.  The dresses, the pigtails, the boys with argyle vests; gave warm fuzzy feelings to even the coldest chest.

The mother’s they shopped with their lists in hand, as husbands searched frantic for somewhere to stand. Then with a twinkle, without a sush or a word, the shopper’s perked their heads to the sound they heard.

A single voice ringing loud and clear, as it was joined by many from far and near. It was Handel’s Messiah, the voices did sing, Praising the lord, to our king of kings.

It was here that the smiles shone bright through crowd as harmonious “Hallelujahs!” chimed victorious and loud. Five glorious minutes the people did stop, with the beauty of Christmas warming their hearts.”

If you haven’t seen it yet, visit Handel's Messiah - Avalon Mall shoppers get a Holiday surprise!.  

It's said, we should take time to smell the flowers, so,maybe through busy of the season, it's taking the time to listen, remining of us what Christmas is truly all about.

Happy Holidays!

Mindless Mommy

It’s safe to say that the Christmas Season is upon us. While Mother Nature is giving us gale force winds and a balmy twelve degrees, with seasonally confused flies and mosquitoes, Christmas is no doubt in the air.  With Halloween now a distant memory, mini-lights, tinsel and glowing Christmas trees line the shelves reminding us “Santa” is coming before you know it.

The “Festive Special” and it’s Lindor chocolates, Starbucks and it’s Christmas cups, “Tax Free” events at the local malls…indeed, the Christmas season has arrived.  Last year at this time we were smothered in renovations that seem to have resulted in the misplacement of many of last year’s decorations.  Slowly but surely we’ve recovered those all familiar Rubbermaid bins labelled “Christmas”. The office, Mom and Dad’s, the attic; yes, those lovely bins were scattered around the city continually leaving me asking, “Where is the tree?”

Honestly, the last three weeks have been an utter blur. Between hockey, gymnastics, laundry, groceries and now Christmas shopping, I’d like to tell you that I’ve had a productive few weeks.  But that would depend on your definition of productive.  Shopping has begun,  electronic lists added to the cell phone,  a new Christmas tree purchased (since last year’s seems to have bit the dust), and still after all that my mind continues to be uncooperative. 

I’ve caught myself walking down the hall, stopping dead in my tracks and having absolutely no idea of what I was going to do.  At the grocery, I stopped and asked myself, “What am I doing here? Did I even plan on coming here today?, or simply on auto-pilot my mind and body propel me in the right direction in the hope I might clue in and remember what I’m supposed to do.

Just the other day, feeling spry and on top of my game, I went to Walmart (list in hand).  While I was there my husband calls and says he was there too. Happily we meet up and have ourselves a lovely little outing. We peruse the aisles, collect what’s needed and even run into some friends we haven’t seen in a long time.

We check out, make our way to the parking lot, while laughing and ultimately making dinner plans with our friends.  It’s here that my husband tells me he’s, “parked over here by these guys” and we go our separate ways. I head towards my car thinking that was a fun little morning outing together.  No sooner had I said the words to myself, did I stop dead in my tracks!

“Ugh? What the….I know I….sweet mother of….”, I  mumble out loud. My knuckles whiten on the kart handles as I shake my head.  “Where’s the bloody car?!!!!”.  I was so pleased with my parking spot when I first arrived.  Not too far away and just close enough to the kart corral, but now, that spot was taken with a maroon colored car that was NOT mine.  “That’s it I’m done!”, I growl to myself.  “I’ve lost it, I’ve officially lost it! I’ve lost the car. Did someone steal the car?”.  My mind is racing as I look around, wondering, is the car really lost? or did I even park here in the first place?

Then out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of my husband’s truck; lurched over next to it is a person, a man.  My man! Holding on to the side of his truck for dear life…laughing himself into hysterics! “What is going on here?!!”.  At this point Phil is doubled over he’s laughing so hard, and I finally clue in as to why.

There, in another section of the lot, close to his truck, is my car! He’d moved my car! Who pulls into a parking lot and says to himself, “Oh, there’s the wife’s car…I’m gonna move it!”. How old are we again? “You should have seen the look on your face!”, he shouts out between belly laughs. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, you’re going to have some look on your face when I’m done with you. Seriously! What is wrong with you!

Here I was thinking it’s finally time to throw in the towel, Mommy has officially lost her nibits; the car is gone and so is my mind.  Then, I flash to a vision of Phil pulling in the parking lot, snickering to himself, proud of the evilness he’s about to subject me to and can’t help but laugh myself - I’m married to a child.

“You have no idea how hard it was not to burst out laughing in the store!”, he tells me between chuckles.  “Ha ha ha, that was hilarious”! – Little does he realize…that little stunt is forever  filed away in my memory. I may not be able to remember milk, may forget my keys in the front door and occasionally overlook that chicken pot pie should be cooked before serving, but this!  THIS, would not be forgotten!  I load up my vehicle, kiss the man on the cheek and whisper in his ear, “sleep with one eye open tonight dear – I love you!”

Mommy gets sick!

Up until now I’ve been lucky.  Three head colds, and the stomach flu made their way through my house and I was left unharmed.  Too soon had I spoke the words...and wham!  Mommy is smothered with a head cold.

The difference is, Mommy can’t get sick. When she does? It all falls apart.  There are dishes that at this point I assume toss out and replace with new ones.  Laundry in baskets I can no longer identify as clean or dirty; bits and pieces of family members strewn from one end of the house to the other.  It is here that I think it best to putter down the hall and seek refuge in my bed. 

With the help of Advil and pure determination, the groceries have been collected, pumpkins purchased, and shortbread cookies made at 5:30am for Gracie’s Halloween party (with a bed full of kids how was I supposed to sleep anyway). I have searched for the Halloween decorations, unsuccessful in determining their whereabouts and at this point, I’ve tossed in the towel in that department. 

With the soothing softness of Puffs strategically stuffed up my nose I continue to multitask my morning, searching for pumpkin stencils, so to create Jack-O-Lanterns with the kids (sometime before Halloween on Monday), make a feeble attempt at cleaning the kitchen, while the sounds of Treehouse TV whisper in the background while Puppy sleeps.

I’m thinking that he has the right idea.  Crawl into your comfy crate lined with blankets and a cuddle toy and sleep the morning away.  If only I could do the same.  It truly does amaze me at how quickly this house can literally go to pot when I’m not feeling well.

Yesterday I asked Drew to come help me in the kitchen.  I passed him the hand towel to dry dishes and was given a puzzled, unimpressed look.  Once again I reminded him that his item was called a dish cloth and people used them to dry dishes.  “Buddy, Mommy isn’t feeling well and could use your help”, I explain.  At eight years old this was his response. “Mom, if you leave the dishes on the counter the air will dry them you know. I don’t think I’m really cut out for manual labour.”

I would like to tell you that I smiled and took the time to explain to him that it’s important to help out around the house.  But, in my foggy, headache ridden head I wanted to take the dish towel and toss it at him.  I could hear my voice, squawking out something that made little sense to me, so I’d assume it made none to him, which inevitably led to the dishes remaining on the counter where they still sit this morning. Nonetheless, they are indeed dry. Next purchase…disposable plates.

So, with a coffee, two Advil cold & sinus in hand, and a clean set of tissues up my nose,  I will print what pumpkin stencils I’ve found, collect the last few pieces of Halloween costumes for the kids, let Puppy pee and head to bed.  Giving in to the flu, I am raising the white flag! With any luck, my Fairy God Mother will visit in my dreams, waving her magic wand leaving my house sparkly clean and Me feeling better….Please!

Have a Safe and Happy Halloween!

Puppy Tales

 Mr. Marty McFly

I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of the Mommy Jingles family, Mr. Marty McFly.  Marty is a Boston Terrier and at 10-weeks old weighs in at approximately 5.5lbs.   Marty and his sister Lexi made a short trip to St. John’s to become our newest family member ; and Lexi with my two great friends.  Lacey and Tyler already had a wonderful 2-yearold Boston Terrier named Tuna and we were all very excited to learn that we would be getting a puppy from the same breeder, making Marty and Lexi half siblings to Miss Tuna.

Being a first time dog owner, I was quite nervous and excited waiting for Marty to arrive. With my friends, and a warm fleece “disney princess” blanket we were off to collect our puppies.  As soon as I saw him, I knew he was ours and instantly fell in love.  The sweetest little face and eyes that can melt your heart, Marty was home…and like the first time I brought my kids home from the hospital, “Now what do we do?” 

We had kept him a secret from our kids, hoping it would minimize the, “Mom, is he here yet? Is he here yet?” and to also give them a wonderful surprise.  And, surprise it was.  Captured on film, the look on their little faces when they not only saw Marty, but learned he was ours to stay was a true parental moment etched in my head forever. Disbelief, awe and love; this little bundle of fur would now be showered with love for a very long time.

 Cuddles with Grace

Two weeks later, and I am proud to report that Marty is doing great!  He has the sweetest little personality, is well on the way to fully house trained (minus gale force winds and torrential rain – but, who can blame him),  loves spending time in his little bed, and best of all, sleeps through the night!  Lights out by 10:00 and not a peep all night; 6:30am as I stumble out of bed, I am greeted by Mr. McFly patiently sitting in his kennel waiting to go for his morning pee.  Better still, the boys have now taken to getting up in the morning and brining Marty outside; further making our Puppy Adventure a family effort.

I’d like to tell you stories, of sleep deprivation, chewed shoes, hidden poopy surprises, and more. However, for now, I haven’t any.  As a family, we agreed on boundaries and rules to help Marty along and thus far, we seem to be going in the right direction as I look forward to learning along with Marty.  Seeing my kids with him is truly a special experience.  While Marty, like the kids, will become adolescent and push the boundaries of my very sanity, he too must remember the golden rule.  In this house, I’m the pack leader!  

 Meeting Mommy for the first time

The Sweet Sound of The Recorder

Grade three has with it many great joys. Like his brother before him, yesterday, Drew received his Grade 3 musical Recorder.  His face is beaming as he delicately removes his chocolate colored musical instrument from its cloth bag.  

He delightfully explains that as he progresses through each song in his book he will receive a colored ribbon to tie to his recorder; symbolizing each level of accomplishment he has made.  “Mom, I can’t wait to get home and practice!”. 

Back in the day, it was at this time I too, received my first recorder.  Then in Grade 5, I began my adventure as a flautist.  Music was and continues to be a big part of my life.  More and more I see trickles of what musical talents I have, began to shine through in the kids.

The Recorder is a member of a category of wind instruments known as internal duct flutes.  Like the flute, the recorder has a mouthpiece that acts as a plug creating a shaped windway.  However, what makes the recorder special, is the seven finger holes and single thumb hole, which is known as the octave vent.  Traditionally made of wood, today we are most familiar with ever popular plastic recorders.

 Known as a simple, and elegant instrument, I believe as a parent  I am safe in saying,  that while the recorder can produce sounds of beauty and tranquility by a well-versed musician; it can also be the source of blood-curdling sounds crippling all within ear shot when at the hands of a child (of any age).

Back home Drew has pieced together his instrument and begins the process of practicing his recorder.  Like all great musicians, we all must start somewhere. Or be it a cruel trick by musical educators around the globe. The shrill beginnings of “Mary had a Little Lamb” began to resonate throughout the house. 

As if beckoned by a higher power, his siblings not only ask what he is doing. No. They join the parade! Noah has dug out his own recorder decorated with colourful ribbons and Grace has managed to resurrect my old recorder. 

I would like to tell you that here they paraded around the house, tooting sweet melodies in sweet harmony…however, I cannot.  I blaring sounds of air forced through this pastic weapon, were painful and relentless. “That’s great guys! Maybe we can take it downstairs?”, I pleasantly beg.

“At least their practicing right? We all have to start somewhere.”, but does that somewhere have to be in the same room as me at this given moment?  Then, as if a gift from the powers that be, I glance to the calendar where I am reminded of my manicure appointment at 7:15pm. Only forty minutes from now!!  The door opens as my husband returns home, “Wow, what’s going on here?”, he asks!  

“It’s a musical symphony of recorders Dear! It’ll make your ears bleed with delight!”.  Minutes later as I’m walking to my car I can still hear the honks of their recorders resonating outside the walls of the house.  With a sigh and small chuckle, I drive away with a little smirk on my face…Daddy will survive.