My kids love Billy Talent. Most of you are probably asking yourself, “Who?” No it’s not the latest Broadway musical or a teenage all-boy pop band.
Billy Talent is a rock alternative/punk band right here from Toronto. For some reason, there are a few songs that my kids absolutely adore. For some reason… well it must be because their mommy listens to their music. But I also listen to every other genre as well. Why do you gravitate towards this particular band?
In the car, the Boss will request to hear “Fallen Leaves” over and over and over again. He has heard the song so many times now that he has memorized the lyrics.
I once played another of their songs, “Surrender” on YouTube and now they constantly request to watch the music video.
I had my video camera handy when I was playing their music outside on the patio and caught a memorable moment on tape:
So this whole “obsession” made me wonder why? Why this particular band? Genre? Singer? Music?
Will my kids grow up to be pure heavy metal tongue-thrusting middle-finger-pointing tattoo-laden teenagers? If I pushed classical music on them, would they become smarter?
The Boss already has an acoustic guitar and bangs around on his “electric” guitar. Both also like to bang on my piano. I can picture the Destroyer head-banging while playing the guitar while the Boss plays the drums and sings lead vocals.
Is there an innate reason for their attraction to certain music? Why do some kids like pop and others rap?
I know it may seem obvious but I did a little research and found that children do say it’s the sound of the music that attracts them to their favourite music. Lyrics play a more important role in teenage rap and heavy metal listeners.
With Billy Talent, I’m guessing that that my boys love the guitar riffs and the tempo of these particular songs, along with the singer’s voice.
What I also discovered was that race and ethnicity are the most powerful predictors of music taste. For example, 70% of a broad sample of black teenagers reported rap as their favorite music type, while only 22% mentioned either pop rock or “Top 10”. Very few cited rock, heavy metal, punk or country.
With the exception of the pop/Top 10 category, the preferences of white youth were distributed much differently: both rock and heavy metal drew a quarter of responses and only 13% mentioned rap. (Reference: Handbook of children and the media by Jerome L. Singer, 2002).
Also interesting was the fact that gender is as nearly a powerful predictor as race. Two primary gender differences emerge from the research on music preferences. The first and most fundamental musical gender gap is the separation between pop (female) and rock (male) tastes.
Whatever the historical era and whatever the population being studied, females exhibit greater attraction to the softer, more romantic, more mainstream forms, for example, pop, Top 40, disco, soft rock, Top 40.
On the other side, males tend to gravitate towards the harder-edged rock forms such as heavy metal, hard rock, punk, grunge and psychedelic rock.
So while my sister’s daughters are listening to the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus, my boys will likely end up being Billy Talent fans for a long time!
And wouldn’t it be cool if my head-banging rock-loving boys end up being rock stars too!
~ Maria
Monday, July 6, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Cheers to Dad
Guest Blogger - Dee Brun aka the Cocktail DeevaSince Fatherʼs Day is this month I decided to try and step into my husband's shoes and see what it is like to be a dad. So I paid closer attention to how he interacted with the kids and how they responded to him in situations compared to me. I also decided to interview my husband on his thoughts and feelings about being a father.
Five minutes into this endeavor I wanted to grind my teeth to powder. Just the mention of the words “talk” and “feelings” made this my shortest interview ever. My husband suddenly became about as chatty as Helen Keller. So I was left to draw my own conclusions on what it was like to be dad.
The main thing I realized in this research is that dads are still “men”. So naturally they have a very, how shall I say, “unique” way of doing things compared to “moms”. Here are a few that I had the sheer pleasure of observing...
Bath Time: Dads much prefer their young sons to run around the house to drip dry over the conventional invention of a towel.
Diaper Change: Dads feel that the diaper is just as absorbent no matter which way the silly cartoon characters are facing.
Feeding Time: Dads feel that the only food group that matters is the one that the child will eat with the least resistant and minimal spillage.
Bed Time: Dads insist that the smallest book with the fewest words is “His Favorite”.
Time Out: Dads always discipline.......Oh who are we kidding?
My favorite discovery of this study is that Dads play, giggle and love their babies just like moms do, only they make a lot more noise. I also realized that I prefer my husbands shoes on his feet where they belong. I love watching him be a dad. There is nothing more attractive than seeing a man caring and playing with his children. Now if we can only get them to carry and give birth to them we would be all set.
So give an extra hug, kiss and a big thank you to dads on their special day. They work hard and try their best and to be frank...some days to a better job than I can. Most of all, donʼt forget to tell your kids that you LOVE their dad.
“Commander and Chief” Caesar
6 oz Clam Tomato Cocktail
1.5 oz vodka
1/2 tsp horseradish
2 tbsp dill pickle juice
Celery salt to taste, a dash Tabasco, a dash Worcestershire sauce. Garnish with a Dill Pickle. Mix all ingredients in a large glass rimmed with celery salt and serve to dad as he enjoys some “me” time.
Dee Brun is the author of the stirring book Libations of Life, A Girls Guide to Life One Cocktail at a Time. She has combined imaginative cocktails with witty accounts of dating, carousing, dieting and simply put, the ups and downs of Life. www.cocktaildeeva.com
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Flying with Kids
After years of not having a proper, “real” vacation, I finally took one. Yes, I said “screw it, let’s go” so me and my boys travelled to Florida (hubby couldn’t take time off work).
Every year we say “next year” and next year ends up becoming five. Not this time – I had decided to make some vacation plans and goals for myself, once and for all, and actually follow through!
This trip is a little unique because my parents have a place in Florida. They bought a cute bungalow when the prices dropped on the Gulf coast near Clearwater Beach. Okay, so it’s not Fort Lauderdale or Miami nonetheless, beautiful beaches and warm weather.
Taking a flight with two rambunctious boys wasn’t going to be as painful as one would imagine because I arranged to fly down with my parents. And thank God for that because I really don’t know how I would have been able to handle going through security, worrying about our bags, etc. all the while chasing after these two boys of mine who only seem to really listen around the ninth time I repeat my words, at which point I am almost screaming.
Going through security and customs really was quite a breeze. By the time we managed to get through, it was already time to board our flight. No waiting, no cranky kids… first thing in the morning really is the way to go. The kids are excited, well-rested and cooperative.
We flew WestJet, the first time flying this airline and I was impressed. We arrived early and the stewards were exceptionally friendly. One was cracking jokes along the way on the mic while the other was accepting free snacks from passengers (I snuck him a few lollipo.JPG)
ps).
We had the very last row in the back of the plane…ah ha! They knew what they were doing when they reserved our seats… they saw us coming from a mile away and thought, “these kids look pretty rowdy, we better stick ‘em at the far back so they don’t cause a big commotion”.
Well I am proud to say that my lil’ devils were absolute angels on the plane! They were so excited about flying. “Let’s get ready for take-off!” shouted the Boss in excitement. “Yeahhhh,” screamed the Destroyer. As they sucked on lollipops (to help their little ears during take-off), they went on to pay tribute to The Wiggles with “Fly through the Sky” in not-so-perfect harmony.
How adorable they were looking out the window in awe, soaring above the clouds. Their first airplane ride!
Near the end of the 2.5 hour flight, the Destroyer started getting a little hyper (probably from all the lollipop sugar!) but I quickly settled him down with another lollipop – I mean, game. Cars and colouring books kept them entertained and thank God for Treehouse on satellite.
We arrived in Florida and all was well. The kids were happy and excited about the beach. This is too good to be true!
And it was… the first night, it was near bedtime and the Boss was confused. He was probably thinking, “What? We’re sleeping here?” He was missing home and his daddy.
“I want to sleep in MY bed”…. Oh boy, the meltdown was quickly approaching. The tears started welling up in those big brown eyes]. But he was also exhausted, only napping for a quick half hour on the plane. “I want to go home NOOOOW,” he screamed.
He wanted to drive home that night. He stomped and cried. Finally he calmed down after I explained we were on vacation, we would be here for a few days and go to the beach in the morning. I pulled him into my arms, stroked his hair and he fell asleep within two minutes.
Beach Day! The drive to Clearwater Beach is lovely… streets lined with palm trees is a picture to remember. Upon arriving at the beach your eye first meets soft grainy white sand and blue-green water. Serenity, tranquility…
“AAAAGGHHHHH!!!!” The peaceful moment is suddenly interrupted by the Boss’ cries for help. He’s surrounded by seagulls, crouching and covering his ears and his screams can compare to actors in those b-movie horror flicks. He’s so terrified of these vultures that are hovering above his head, trying to snub the cracker from his hand. He wants to leave the beach. “I want to go home!”
Here we go again! I think the crashing waves actually stopped too when they heard his screams. It took a good half hour to calm him down. My father reassured him that he wo.JPG)
uld chase… no, “kick the birds away”. Nice going dad, teach the kids how to be cruel to animals, why don’t ya!
A few mishaps but all in all, we had a wonderful time. We all got sick the second last day, of course. I was a bit panicked the morning of our flight, nervous about traveling home alone with my boys, unfamiliar airport.... I guess all the worrying was for nothing because luckily, they acted as if they were seasoned travellers.
Coming back was nice… both boys immediately flew into daddy’s arms. But coming back to below normal temperatures made me think, imagine living in a warm climate year-round… instead of going to the local park for some entertainment for the kids, you drive a few minutes to a beach for a few hours of swimming, making sand castles and soaking in some sunshine. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Only problem is, I’d miss home way too much.
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Every year we say “next year” and next year ends up becoming five. Not this time – I had decided to make some vacation plans and goals for myself, once and for all, and actually follow through!
This trip is a little unique because my parents have a place in Florida. They bought a cute bungalow when the prices dropped on the Gulf coast near Clearwater Beach. Okay, so it’s not Fort Lauderdale or Miami nonetheless, beautiful beaches and warm weather.
Taking a flight with two rambunctious boys wasn’t going to be as painful as one would imagine because I arranged to fly down with my parents. And thank God for that because I really don’t know how I would have been able to handle going through security, worrying about our bags, etc. all the while chasing after these two boys of mine who only seem to really listen around the ninth time I repeat my words, at which point I am almost screaming.
Going through security and customs really was quite a breeze. By the time we managed to get through, it was already time to board our flight. No waiting, no cranky kids… first thing in the morning really is the way to go. The kids are excited, well-rested and cooperative.
We flew WestJet, the first time flying this airline and I was impressed. We arrived early and the stewards were exceptionally friendly. One was cracking jokes along the way on the mic while the other was accepting free snacks from passengers (I snuck him a few lollipo
.JPG)
ps).We had the very last row in the back of the plane…ah ha! They knew what they were doing when they reserved our seats… they saw us coming from a mile away and thought, “these kids look pretty rowdy, we better stick ‘em at the far back so they don’t cause a big commotion”.
Well I am proud to say that my lil’ devils were absolute angels on the plane! They were so excited about flying. “Let’s get ready for take-off!” shouted the Boss in excitement. “Yeahhhh,” screamed the Destroyer. As they sucked on lollipops (to help their little ears during take-off), they went on to pay tribute to The Wiggles with “Fly through the Sky” in not-so-perfect harmony.
How adorable they were looking out the window in awe, soaring above the clouds. Their first airplane ride!
Near the end of the 2.5 hour flight, the Destroyer started getting a little hyper (probably from all the lollipop sugar!) but I quickly settled him down with another lollipop – I mean, game. Cars and colouring books kept them entertained and thank God for Treehouse on satellite.
We arrived in Florida and all was well. The kids were happy and excited about the beach. This is too good to be true!
And it was… the first night, it was near bedtime and the Boss was confused. He was probably thinking, “What? We’re sleeping here?” He was missing home and his daddy.
“I want to sleep in MY bed”…. Oh boy, the meltdown was quickly approaching. The tears started welling up in those big brown eyes]. But he was also exhausted, only napping for a quick half hour on the plane. “I want to go home NOOOOW,” he screamed.
He wanted to drive home that night. He stomped and cried. Finally he calmed down after I explained we were on vacation, we would be here for a few days and go to the beach in the morning. I pulled him into my arms, stroked his hair and he fell asleep within two minutes.
Beach Day! The drive to Clearwater Beach is lovely… streets lined with palm trees is a picture to remember. Upon arriving at the beach your eye first meets soft grainy white sand and blue-green water. Serenity, tranquility…
“AAAAGGHHHHH!!!!” The peaceful moment is suddenly interrupted by the Boss’ cries for help. He’s surrounded by seagulls, crouching and covering his ears and his screams can compare to actors in those b-movie horror flicks. He’s so terrified of these vultures that are hovering above his head, trying to snub the cracker from his hand. He wants to leave the beach. “I want to go home!”
Here we go again! I think the crashing waves actually stopped too when they heard his screams. It took a good half hour to calm him down. My father reassured him that he wo
.JPG)
uld chase… no, “kick the birds away”. Nice going dad, teach the kids how to be cruel to animals, why don’t ya!A few mishaps but all in all, we had a wonderful time. We all got sick the second last day, of course. I was a bit panicked the morning of our flight, nervous about traveling home alone with my boys, unfamiliar airport.... I guess all the worrying was for nothing because luckily, they acted as if they were seasoned travellers.
Coming back was nice… both boys immediately flew into daddy’s arms. But coming back to below normal temperatures made me think, imagine living in a warm climate year-round… instead of going to the local park for some entertainment for the kids, you drive a few minutes to a beach for a few hours of swimming, making sand castles and soaking in some sunshine. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Only problem is, I’d miss home way too much.
~ Maria
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Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ringless Band of Brothers
Guest Blog ~ Tammy Estabrooks
11:55pm - 11:59 pm
Ah…a stolen moment of peace. Little Sprout is fast asleep after an exhausting afternoon at the park, and Baby Sprite is snoring sweetly in my sling, while Winston the dog farts silently, yet offensively on the couch. Domestic bliss. Just one thing is missing, but that will be rectified soon. My hubby just called midday to tell me the good news. He will be returning from his week long business trip from California, swine-flu free and one day early, on my birthday no less. It’s the BEST present ever. I’m soooo excited I could just puke! This was my first time solo with our girls and a hyper-active Boston terrier and we made it! Daddy would be home in a matter of minutes now.
Brrring! The phone…it’s my hubby’s cell. He wanted to call me beforehand and remind me to leave the door unlocked so he would not wake his sleeping beauties. He’s such a sweetheart. The truth is, I’ve been sitting at the bottom of the stairs eagerly awaiting his return and vying to beat the dog at smothering him with sloppy wet smooches the second he steps through the door.
11:59pm - 12:01 am
I hear some rusting on the doorstep. Finally, my white knight emerges from the shadows as I fumble with the lock to hastily open the door. “Happy Birthday Schmoopie!”, he bellows, in a muffled whisper. He remembered to actually say it this year. This has been a running joke in our relationship. My first birthday together, after a four month whirlwind internet courtship, he proposed. Every birthday since, he’s managed to forget to say “Happy Birthday”. I guess every birthday thereafter just can’t compare. But I really don’t mind- it’s our own little inside joke ;)
Just as I am about to wrap myself and the baby in tow around his neck, his facial expression drops. “Schmoops, I kinda have some bad news”, he manages to mumble as he looks at the ground. “What Babe?” I grin. Nothing in my mind could possibly be bad news. He’s home safe and sound after all and that’s all that counts.
“Well, I…uh”, he mutters, “I lost my wedding band”.
12:02 am - 12:03 am
#1. “WHAAAAAAAAT!”, I yell.
#2. “WE’RE ON BREAK!”, I scream.
(That’s our secret code for a mutually sanctioned parental ‘Time Out’).
#3. SLAMMMMM! I slam the door in his face.
OK. So I didn’t actually slam the door in his face. But I did do #1. and #2. I know, it’s only a silly ring. It doesn’t really matter at all. But ladies, (and the handful of gentlemen that may actually be reading this blog)…take heed. You see this brings me to yet another little inside joke in our relationship- the fact that, well… my husband has managed to ‘lose’ his wedding band three times now. The funny thing is (but this time I am clearly NOT laughing), he always seems to lose it whilst either I or he are away on a business trip…hmmm…I know what you are thinking…sounds suspicious. We always seem to find it shortly later. Maybe he thrives on the excitement of ‘make up sex’…probably not because he’ll attest to the fact the silent “break” time prior to finding his ring is all too painful. Anyhow, he feels terrible. I forgive him.
Next day 11:55pm - 11:59 pm
As I recount my tale to my girlfriends during our ‘whine and dine’ evening, I come upon a disturbing truism. Three other husbands in the neighbourhood are also sans wedding bands. Really?! No way. Yes, they too have lost their rings but their relationships are still the pinnacles of love and marital perfection. So it just goes to show it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that ring. Nevertheless, one guy went so far as to take a day off of work to tear their house apart in a relentless search. His wife merely smiles and gests, “well if he gets a new ring, then so will I, and…it will need to be re-blessed, and…we will probably need a second honeymoon too”. Hmmm…I see the logic, and it does sound like a reasonable argument. But I’m sure that the husbands will talk my hubby out of that little plan at their next boyz in the hood gathering. Hence the title - Ringless Band of Brothers. A clear example that misery loves company.
When I tell my lady friends about the sentimentality of this particular ring, I am surprised by the response. I tell them earnestly that THIS ring is truly special, especially after we finally remembered to have it engraved on our 5th wedding anniversary. Mine says, “I love you”, and his says, “…so very much”. Yet another little quirky saying we use in our relationship. My gal pals are not that impressed. In fact, one of my closest girlfriends slurs her champagne laden witty words to say, “sounds to me like he loves you…SO VERY LITTLE!” Sure, it sounds a bit harsh, but I let that pithy comment go. Far too much alcohol and chocolate have been consumed this evening. I empathize with her as she recounts her woes about how she has bagged and tagged her husband’s massive mountain of dirty laundry, and finally, after much duress relegated it to the garage. I feel her angst. But that’s why we get together- to eat, drink and be merry (or dreary, depending the past month in review). I love my gal pals and the surprise double chocolate mousse birthday cake they gave me.
As I stumble home around the corner at 2am, I have nothing but warm and fuzzy feelings of adoration for my husband. He’s taken my carefully pumped pre-alcohol-consumption breast milk and is lovingly feeding our beautiful baby. He’s given me the freedom of a night out with my girlfriends after a long and tiresome week as a single mom. Earlier on this evening as I went for a run, the poor guy even fumbled around the house desperately looking for matches or the bar-be-cue lighter to light my birthday candles. All this after fielding a painfully long and fruitless phone call to the LAX airport security regarding his lost ring. Isn’t that was it’s all about? The bands of marriage, not the wedding bands? That to me is the true tether that holds us together- the wonderfully eccentric daily events of our lives, not a random chunk of metal.
Alas, the bar-be-cue lighter and the ring are still no where to be found. The irony is, all I wanted for my birthday was-a decadent-vanilla-calorie-rich-guilt-free frozen cake from the grocery store and my hubby. And between 12:12 am and 12:14 am, 24 hours after my birthday…while I am sitting in my bed, my hubby gently hands me a single slice of cake with a single lit candle in the middle…wedding band notwithstanding.…I didn’t even need to blow out the candle because….I still got my wish!
12:15am onward…you get the picture!
Tammy is a speech language pathologist in private clinical practice with children. She has authored numerous communication programs including fluency interaction, articulation and pre-literacy development, social communication and anti-bullying. A former Mrs. Canada 2005, Tammy is married to her amazing husband, Ahren. They enjoy a life of fun and adventure with their lovely daughters, Alexandra and Arden as well as their lively Boston Terrier, Winston.
11:55pm - 11:59 pm
Ah…a stolen moment of peace. Little Sprout is fast asleep after an exhausting afternoon at the park, and Baby Sprite is snoring sweetly in my sling, while Winston the dog farts silently, yet offensively on the couch. Domestic bliss. Just one thing is missing, but that will be rectified soon. My hubby just called midday to tell me the good news. He will be returning from his week long business trip from California, swine-flu free and one day early, on my birthday no less. It’s the BEST present ever. I’m soooo excited I could just puke! This was my first time solo with our girls and a hyper-active Boston terrier and we made it! Daddy would be home in a matter of minutes now.
Brrring! The phone…it’s my hubby’s cell. He wanted to call me beforehand and remind me to leave the door unlocked so he would not wake his sleeping beauties. He’s such a sweetheart. The truth is, I’ve been sitting at the bottom of the stairs eagerly awaiting his return and vying to beat the dog at smothering him with sloppy wet smooches the second he steps through the door.
11:59pm - 12:01 am
I hear some rusting on the doorstep. Finally, my white knight emerges from the shadows as I fumble with the lock to hastily open the door. “Happy Birthday Schmoopie!”, he bellows, in a muffled whisper. He remembered to actually say it this year. This has been a running joke in our relationship. My first birthday together, after a four month whirlwind internet courtship, he proposed. Every birthday since, he’s managed to forget to say “Happy Birthday”. I guess every birthday thereafter just can’t compare. But I really don’t mind- it’s our own little inside joke ;)
Just as I am about to wrap myself and the baby in tow around his neck, his facial expression drops. “Schmoops, I kinda have some bad news”, he manages to mumble as he looks at the ground. “What Babe?” I grin. Nothing in my mind could possibly be bad news. He’s home safe and sound after all and that’s all that counts.
“Well, I…uh”, he mutters, “I lost my wedding band”.
12:02 am - 12:03 am
#1. “WHAAAAAAAAT!”, I yell.
#2. “WE’RE ON BREAK!”, I scream.
(That’s our secret code for a mutually sanctioned parental ‘Time Out’).
#3. SLAMMMMM! I slam the door in his face.
OK. So I didn’t actually slam the door in his face. But I did do #1. and #2. I know, it’s only a silly ring. It doesn’t really matter at all. But ladies, (and the handful of gentlemen that may actually be reading this blog)…take heed. You see this brings me to yet another little inside joke in our relationship- the fact that, well… my husband has managed to ‘lose’ his wedding band three times now. The funny thing is (but this time I am clearly NOT laughing), he always seems to lose it whilst either I or he are away on a business trip…hmmm…I know what you are thinking…sounds suspicious. We always seem to find it shortly later. Maybe he thrives on the excitement of ‘make up sex’…probably not because he’ll attest to the fact the silent “break” time prior to finding his ring is all too painful. Anyhow, he feels terrible. I forgive him.
Next day 11:55pm - 11:59 pm
As I recount my tale to my girlfriends during our ‘whine and dine’ evening, I come upon a disturbing truism. Three other husbands in the neighbourhood are also sans wedding bands. Really?! No way. Yes, they too have lost their rings but their relationships are still the pinnacles of love and marital perfection. So it just goes to show it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that ring. Nevertheless, one guy went so far as to take a day off of work to tear their house apart in a relentless search. His wife merely smiles and gests, “well if he gets a new ring, then so will I, and…it will need to be re-blessed, and…we will probably need a second honeymoon too”. Hmmm…I see the logic, and it does sound like a reasonable argument. But I’m sure that the husbands will talk my hubby out of that little plan at their next boyz in the hood gathering. Hence the title - Ringless Band of Brothers. A clear example that misery loves company.
When I tell my lady friends about the sentimentality of this particular ring, I am surprised by the response. I tell them earnestly that THIS ring is truly special, especially after we finally remembered to have it engraved on our 5th wedding anniversary. Mine says, “I love you”, and his says, “…so very much”. Yet another little quirky saying we use in our relationship. My gal pals are not that impressed. In fact, one of my closest girlfriends slurs her champagne laden witty words to say, “sounds to me like he loves you…SO VERY LITTLE!” Sure, it sounds a bit harsh, but I let that pithy comment go. Far too much alcohol and chocolate have been consumed this evening. I empathize with her as she recounts her woes about how she has bagged and tagged her husband’s massive mountain of dirty laundry, and finally, after much duress relegated it to the garage. I feel her angst. But that’s why we get together- to eat, drink and be merry (or dreary, depending the past month in review). I love my gal pals and the surprise double chocolate mousse birthday cake they gave me.
As I stumble home around the corner at 2am, I have nothing but warm and fuzzy feelings of adoration for my husband. He’s taken my carefully pumped pre-alcohol-consumption breast milk and is lovingly feeding our beautiful baby. He’s given me the freedom of a night out with my girlfriends after a long and tiresome week as a single mom. Earlier on this evening as I went for a run, the poor guy even fumbled around the house desperately looking for matches or the bar-be-cue lighter to light my birthday candles. All this after fielding a painfully long and fruitless phone call to the LAX airport security regarding his lost ring. Isn’t that was it’s all about? The bands of marriage, not the wedding bands? That to me is the true tether that holds us together- the wonderfully eccentric daily events of our lives, not a random chunk of metal.
Alas, the bar-be-cue lighter and the ring are still no where to be found. The irony is, all I wanted for my birthday was-a decadent-vanilla-calorie-rich-guilt-free frozen cake from the grocery store and my hubby. And between 12:12 am and 12:14 am, 24 hours after my birthday…while I am sitting in my bed, my hubby gently hands me a single slice of cake with a single lit candle in the middle…wedding band notwithstanding.…I didn’t even need to blow out the candle because….I still got my wish!
12:15am onward…you get the picture!
Tammy is a speech language pathologist in private clinical practice with children. She has authored numerous communication programs including fluency interaction, articulation and pre-literacy development, social communication and anti-bullying. A former Mrs. Canada 2005, Tammy is married to her amazing husband, Ahren. They enjoy a life of fun and adventure with their lovely daughters, Alexandra and Arden as well as their lively Boston Terrier, Winston.Sunday, May 10, 2009
Motherless Mamas
Guest Blog ~ Julie Cole
Mother’s Day is the one day every year that we are all expected to take a few moments to appreciate the fine women who keep this world turning. Besides patting myself on the back, I’m one of the lucky mamas who can thank my own mother - whose positive attributes are too many to attempt listing. Have the rest of you noticed that once you have your own children, you learn to treasure your mother’s new role as the mama’s mother?
My mother morphed from being an exceptional mother into an exceptional grandmother of eleven. In my case, I scored the mom trifecta – she lives locally, has retired from the working world, and is genuinely invested in the lives of her grandchildren. Don’t get me wrong, she has a life of her own but these 11 little people take up some prime real estate in her heart. As the saying goes, your grandchildren are your reward for not killing your own children. And my mom enjoys this role to its fullest.
As I’ve met more and more mamas in my life, as a mom entrepreneur, mama blogger, mama of many, etc, I have also become increasingly fascinated by my peers who are raising their children without the support of their own mothers. One question always nags me: how do these motherless mamas d
o it?
There are three kinds of motherless mamas that I encountered when I posed the question:
1) Those whose mothers are geographically far away. I can relate to this one. I had my first three children halfway around the world and can distinctly remember what it was like to have three children under the age of three, while going through an autism diagnosis with the eldest. These are not remembered as my best days and certainly having my mom around would have helped. But, I did have her with me emotionally by way of phone calls every day discussing my son’s development and diagnosis. With this support, I didn’t actually feel isolated from her.
2) Those whose mothers are emotionally unavailable. I hear about this one occasionally – the mama whose own mother didn’t do a good job of getting it right. The result is a new mama trying to make her way through the journey of motherhood without having had a role model or given any amount of motherly support. Some women described having emotionally uninvolved or distant mothers more difficult than if their mothers were not actually alive. Complete absence would be easier than disinterest.
3) Those whose mothers who have passed away without ever having met their grandchildren. Speaking to mamas in this situation was the closest thing to emotional torture imaginable.
For those whose mothers have passed away, there are some very practical reasons to miss having their own moms around. Grandmothers are generally competent, helpful and can be implicitly trusted. There is no greater feeling than dropping children off at Grandma’s house and knowing you don’t have to give them a second thought – they are with the one person that you trust has a vested interest and love for them. And who else can you share endless amounts of boring information about your children with, if not your own mother? Regardless of how trivial the details, grandmothers listen intently. They savour the kind of details that are so mundane it would be too embarrassing to share them with even your best friend.
I also heard stories of some of the less obvious reasons motherless mamas can feel alone in their own mothering.
It had never occurred to me that their own baby and childhood histories seem to be lost or forgotten with the death of their mothers. There is no one around to say “your baby looks just like you at that age” or “she crawls in that funny way you did”. Sure, Grandpa may still be around but how much does he remember of your infancy? Those were the days when moms took full responsibility and dads didn’t have much time for babies. And so, details and history can be lost forever.
Some mamas reported that their widowed fathers were in so much pain over the loss of their wives that speaking her name was too painful. Her name also became taboo sometimes if dad re-married and new wife was uncomfortable speaking of the past. But where does this leave the motherless mama? She is left without a present day connection to her mother and is muted to ask questions.
It seems there are a lot of parents who are unjustly ripped off by the early death of a would-be-grandmother. I can only imagine what it would be like to be at the park or zoo and to witness active grandparents beaming as they enjoy the day with their grandchildren. Undoubtedly, one would look sadly at her own children, disappointed that they are deprived of what is an obviously special relationship. And what about those times when a new mother wants to turn to an elder for some parenting advice? Not having your mother to call upon with those everyday questions makes the life of a mama even more challenging.
This Mother’s Day I am going to spend less time thinking about the praise I should be getting for the job I do. Instead, I’m going to be especially thankful for my mother and I’m going to quietly celebrate the work of the motherless mamas out there. I truly do not know how you do it.
Julie Cole is a co-founder of Mabel’s Labels Inc. (http://www.mabel.ca/) and the proud mother of six.
Mother’s Day is the one day every year that we are all expected to take a few moments to appreciate the fine women who keep this world turning. Besides patting myself on the back, I’m one of the lucky mamas who can thank my own mother - whose positive attributes are too many to attempt listing. Have the rest of you noticed that once you have your own children, you learn to treasure your mother’s new role as the mama’s mother?
My mother morphed from being an exceptional mother into an exceptional grandmother of eleven. In my case, I scored the mom trifecta – she lives locally, has retired from the working world, and is genuinely invested in the lives of her grandchildren. Don’t get me wrong, she has a life of her own but these 11 little people take up some prime real estate in her heart. As the saying goes, your grandchildren are your reward for not killing your own children. And my mom enjoys this role to its fullest.
As I’ve met more and more mamas in my life, as a mom entrepreneur, mama blogger, mama of many, etc, I have also become increasingly fascinated by my peers who are raising their children without the support of their own mothers. One question always nags me: how do these motherless mamas d
o it?There are three kinds of motherless mamas that I encountered when I posed the question:
1) Those whose mothers are geographically far away. I can relate to this one. I had my first three children halfway around the world and can distinctly remember what it was like to have three children under the age of three, while going through an autism diagnosis with the eldest. These are not remembered as my best days and certainly having my mom around would have helped. But, I did have her with me emotionally by way of phone calls every day discussing my son’s development and diagnosis. With this support, I didn’t actually feel isolated from her.
2) Those whose mothers are emotionally unavailable. I hear about this one occasionally – the mama whose own mother didn’t do a good job of getting it right. The result is a new mama trying to make her way through the journey of motherhood without having had a role model or given any amount of motherly support. Some women described having emotionally uninvolved or distant mothers more difficult than if their mothers were not actually alive. Complete absence would be easier than disinterest.
3) Those whose mothers who have passed away without ever having met their grandchildren. Speaking to mamas in this situation was the closest thing to emotional torture imaginable.
For those whose mothers have passed away, there are some very practical reasons to miss having their own moms around. Grandmothers are generally competent, helpful and can be implicitly trusted. There is no greater feeling than dropping children off at Grandma’s house and knowing you don’t have to give them a second thought – they are with the one person that you trust has a vested interest and love for them. And who else can you share endless amounts of boring information about your children with, if not your own mother? Regardless of how trivial the details, grandmothers listen intently. They savour the kind of details that are so mundane it would be too embarrassing to share them with even your best friend.
I also heard stories of some of the less obvious reasons motherless mamas can feel alone in their own mothering.
It had never occurred to me that their own baby and childhood histories seem to be lost or forgotten with the death of their mothers. There is no one around to say “your baby looks just like you at that age” or “she crawls in that funny way you did”. Sure, Grandpa may still be around but how much does he remember of your infancy? Those were the days when moms took full responsibility and dads didn’t have much time for babies. And so, details and history can be lost forever.
Some mamas reported that their widowed fathers were in so much pain over the loss of their wives that speaking her name was too painful. Her name also became taboo sometimes if dad re-married and new wife was uncomfortable speaking of the past. But where does this leave the motherless mama? She is left without a present day connection to her mother and is muted to ask questions.
It seems there are a lot of parents who are unjustly ripped off by the early death of a would-be-grandmother. I can only imagine what it would be like to be at the park or zoo and to witness active grandparents beaming as they enjoy the day with their grandchildren. Undoubtedly, one would look sadly at her own children, disappointed that they are deprived of what is an obviously special relationship. And what about those times when a new mother wants to turn to an elder for some parenting advice? Not having your mother to call upon with those everyday questions makes the life of a mama even more challenging.
This Mother’s Day I am going to spend less time thinking about the praise I should be getting for the job I do. Instead, I’m going to be especially thankful for my mother and I’m going to quietly celebrate the work of the motherless mamas out there. I truly do not know how you do it.
Julie Cole is a co-founder of Mabel’s Labels Inc. (http://www.mabel.ca/) and the proud mother of six.
Friday, May 1, 2009
The things I really want for Mother’s Day, but just can’t bring myself to ask for...
Guest Blog ~ Dee Brun
3) MY NAME...don’t get me wrong, hearing the word mamma, mom or any version of this word is the sweetest sound on earth and I would trade everything I have to hear it forever. But for one day a month I would like to hang out with people who call me Dee.
4) TIME...just a little bit of it alone, to do something silly. Like clean my purse that has now become another diaper bag.
5) I would like my 22 year old breasts back......Ok, so I can’t have everything, but a girl can dream can’t she???
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you Goddesses. And always remember the best Mother’s Day gift is the blessing of actually being a mother....and an evening with George Clooney a close second...Cheers!
“Love your Mamma”..Martini...with a little slice of peace and quiet...
2 oz Watermelon Vodka (Smirnoff available LCBO)
2 oz lemon juice
1/2 oz simple syrup (equal parts sugar/warm water)
3 slices cucumber
2 mint leaves
Shake vodka, juice, syrup and mint leaves with ice. Serve in a martini glass with ice.
Garnish with cucumber floating on the top of cocktail. This cocktail is best made up ahead of time so mint and cucumber flavours can infuse infuse into the cocktail.
So make up a pitcher the day before and invite the other Mom’s over to enjoy some if that TIME you asked for...
Cheers!
Dee Brun
So if someone asked you what you really wanted for Mother’s Day, what would you say?
Of course as mothers we would all say, “Oh nothing, just the love from my family is enough”. Of course this is all true and the home made card, Quickie Mart flowers, burnt breakfast in bed and macaroni necklace are all a wonderful bonus. But if no one was listening and judging, what would you really ask for?
First let’s take a look at the word want for a minute. I did some research trying to find out the exact medical terminology for the metamorphosis that takes place as soon as we become mothers.
Of course as mothers we would all say, “Oh nothing, just the love from my family is enough”. Of course this is all true and the home made card, Quickie Mart flowers, burnt breakfast in bed and macaroni necklace are all a wonderful bonus. But if no one was listening and judging, what would you really ask for?
First let’s take a look at the word want for a minute. I did some research trying to find out the exact medical terminology for the metamorphosis that takes place as soon as we become mothers.
I know there are many, but this particular one is where the word “need” is totally erased from our vocabulary and replaced with “want”. Of course my search came up empty. How do we, perfectly intelligent, rational women, forgo our basic human needs and now see them as wants?
Also, as we all know, referring to something as a “want” when you’re a mother carries along with it another dreaded four letter word...GUILT!!!
If you actually look these two words up in the dictionary you would be surprised how very similar their definitions really are...Go ahead, have a look, I’ll wait....
So this Mother’s Day I wish to profess to my husband and four children how much I truly love and appreciate all of them. And thank you in advance for the clay paperweight, decoupage card and carnations...
But if no one was listening and judging, this is what I really want for Mother’s Day...
1) EAT...I want to eat a meal, that I so lovingly prepared for my family, once a week without having to feed someone else. Just one fork, one plate and one hot meal from start to finish.
2) SLEEP...one night a week I would like to enjoy a full nights sleep. Trust me, this will be more of a gift to my family. Sleep = Happy...Happy mom, Happy wife, Happy life...
Also, as we all know, referring to something as a “want” when you’re a mother carries along with it another dreaded four letter word...GUILT!!!
If you actually look these two words up in the dictionary you would be surprised how very similar their definitions really are...Go ahead, have a look, I’ll wait....
So this Mother’s Day I wish to profess to my husband and four children how much I truly love and appreciate all of them. And thank you in advance for the clay paperweight, decoupage card and carnations...
But if no one was listening and judging, this is what I really want for Mother’s Day...
1) EAT...I want to eat a meal, that I so lovingly prepared for my family, once a week without having to feed someone else. Just one fork, one plate and one hot meal from start to finish.
2) SLEEP...one night a week I would like to enjoy a full nights sleep. Trust me, this will be more of a gift to my family. Sleep = Happy...Happy mom, Happy wife, Happy life...
3) MY NAME...don’t get me wrong, hearing the word mamma, mom or any version of this word is the sweetest sound on earth and I would trade everything I have to hear it forever. But for one day a month I would like to hang out with people who call me Dee.
4) TIME...just a little bit of it alone, to do something silly. Like clean my purse that has now become another diaper bag.
5) I would like my 22 year old breasts back......Ok, so I can’t have everything, but a girl can dream can’t she???
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you Goddesses. And always remember the best Mother’s Day gift is the blessing of actually being a mother....and an evening with George Clooney a close second...Cheers!
“Love your Mamma”..Martini...with a little slice of peace and quiet...
2 oz Watermelon Vodka (Smirnoff available LCBO)
2 oz lemon juice
1/2 oz simple syrup (equal parts sugar/warm water)
3 slices cucumber
2 mint leaves
Shake vodka, juice, syrup and mint leaves with ice. Serve in a martini glass with ice.
Garnish with cucumber floating on the top of cocktail. This cocktail is best made up ahead of time so mint and cucumber flavours can infuse infuse into the cocktail.
So make up a pitcher the day before and invite the other Mom’s over to enjoy some if that TIME you asked for...
Cheers!
Dee Brun
Dee Brun is the author of the stirring book Libations of Life, A Girls Guide to Life One Cocktail at a Time. She has combined imaginative cocktails with witty accounts of dating, carousing, dieting and simply put, the ups and downs of Life. www.cocktaildeeva.com
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Potty Mouth
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"Kaka. Poo poo. You’re a pee pee."Ah, the lovely sound of bathroom words being repeated over and over again by my 4-year-old and then mimicked by my 2-year-old.
Standing in a long line-up at the local power store, suddenly the Boss yells out, “Mommy I want to eat kaka for dinner!!!”
Embarrassed, I look up to see everyone staring at me… waiting to see how will I respond? Will I scold him in front of everyone? Will I threaten not to buy him yet another character from the Cars movie to add to his endless collection? Or do I amuse him?
“Sure, I’ll give you some kaka for dinner!” I respond.
“Ooooh that’s yucky!” the Destroyer responds with a giggle.
“Noooo, that’s disgusting!” The Boss quickly changes the subject.
Gotcha with that one, didn’t I??? Ha ha ha! I’ll outsmart a 4-year-old any day! Er, only when I’ve had enough sleep and can quickly think of a comeback.
You can’t help but laugh. But after the 26th time of hearing “poo and pee”, it starts to get a little annoying. Ok, I imagine these words are humorous to any young kid. And I know that he uses them because: a) they are funny to say; b) they are funny to hear; and c) they always get my attention and attention is good!
But when is enough? I guess when my 2-year-old is yelling out “PUCK” (as in hockey puck?) …uh yeeeeah! Then you know there is a problem!
How do I clean up my kid’s potty mouth?
Of course parents need to set a good example in the first place. Ahem. Oops… guess I was sick the day they taught that lesson.
Kids enjoy modeling after bigger people. It’s only natural for them to imitate and repeat words. Kids will push the envelope until they get the reaction from the parents that they’re looking for. Toddlers are especially great mimics, especially if you say a word a lot or say it with a lot of feeling.
What if a bad word slips out? I’m guilty of this with my favourite word being “sh*t!” We’re all human and it happens. For younger kids, the trick is, as soon as the word slips out, replace it with something more silly. Instead of saying “sh*t”, say “sugar” and say it with the same amount of emotion.
Another tip is to simply ignore the bad word your child is uttering… if he isn’t getting the reaction he expects, he’ll quickly drop it. Ignore it when he says “stupid” 30 times??? Uh I don’t know if ignoring it is going to work for my kids!
As kids get older and their vocabulary expands, you have to set boundaries and have family rules. Explain to the child why the word is offensive and why we don’t say it. Tell the child that there are consequences to a potty mouth and follow through with the appropriate punishment.
And if that doesn’t work, the ol’ bar of soap in the mouth technique is sure to clean up a dirty mouth in no time.
Gotcha with that one, didn’t I??? Ha ha ha! I’ll outsmart a 4-year-old any day! Er, only when I’ve had enough sleep and can quickly think of a comeback.
You can’t help but laugh. But after the 26th time of hearing “poo and pee”, it starts to get a little annoying. Ok, I imagine these words are humorous to any young kid. And I know that he uses them because: a) they are funny to say; b) they are funny to hear; and c) they always get my attention and attention is good!
But when is enough? I guess when my 2-year-old is yelling out “PUCK” (as in hockey puck?) …uh yeeeeah! Then you know there is a problem!
How do I clean up my kid’s potty mouth?
Of course parents need to set a good example in the first place. Ahem. Oops… guess I was sick the day they taught that lesson.
Kids enjoy modeling after bigger people. It’s only natural for them to imitate and repeat words. Kids will push the envelope until they get the reaction from the parents that they’re looking for. Toddlers are especially great mimics, especially if you say a word a lot or say it with a lot of feeling.
What if a bad word slips out? I’m guilty of this with my favourite word being “sh*t!” We’re all human and it happens. For younger kids, the trick is, as soon as the word slips out, replace it with something more silly. Instead of saying “sh*t”, say “sugar” and say it with the same amount of emotion.
Another tip is to simply ignore the bad word your child is uttering… if he isn’t getting the reaction he expects, he’ll quickly drop it. Ignore it when he says “stupid” 30 times??? Uh I don’t know if ignoring it is going to work for my kids!
As kids get older and their vocabulary expands, you have to set boundaries and have family rules. Explain to the child why the word is offensive and why we don’t say it. Tell the child that there are consequences to a potty mouth and follow through with the appropriate punishment.
And if that doesn’t work, the ol’ bar of soap in the mouth technique is sure to clean up a dirty mouth in no time.
~ Maria
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Sunday, April 12, 2009
When Your Child has a Speech Language Delay
Your child is almost two years old and not talking. You’re worried but not sure what to do. Most of your friends and family tell you not to worry: “He’ll talk when he’s ready”, but you can’t let it go.I was concerned when my eldest son wasn’t saying much at 18 months. I asked his pediatrician who told me it was up to me; I could act now, or wait until two years old before taking any action. My motherly instinct told me to act right away. My son’s frustration due his lack of being able to communicate was intensifying and I didn’t want to delay it any further.
The doctor referred me to The Hanen Centre, a not-for-profit authority in the development of family-focused early language intervention programs and learning resources. I enrolled in the It Takes Two to Talk® program which helps to enable parents to become their child’s primary language facilitator, thereby maximizing the child’s opportunities of developing communication skills in everyday situations.
“As a parent, there is nothing worse than the feeling that you can’t do something yourself,” says Elaine Weitzman, Executive Director of The Hanen Centre and a professor at the University of Toronto. “Parents should not wait if they are concerned about their child’s language development. Yes children do develop at different paces and some children talk earlier than others, but we know there are milestones that need to be reached. So don’t wait.”
When parents find that children are delayed, they feel they have to do something intensified or catch up, and try to teach the child specific skills. “We see parents getting flash cards, alphabet books, and it’s not going to help them communicate,” says Weitzman. "Tell little stories and have conversations… don’t focus too much on things that are designed to teach children specifics like the alphabet or math.”
Jo-Ann Banisch, 39, is a Toronto stay-at-home mom of two-year-old Hope. Hope was born at Mount Sinai Hospital and had open heart surgery at three days old. Born with a congenital heart disease, Hope has endured another two open-heart surgeries but is doing very well. Her doctor warned her condition may result on speech and language delays later.
Banisch was referred to the Hanen Centre and started educating herself early on. “They really coach the parents on exactly what you need to do and if you’re doing something wrong, not what to do. We take for granted that we talk; it’s common sense for us and we talk and talk too much and too fast.”
The Centre gives parents easy access to specific tools to help their own children, through programs, books and DVDs. Here are just some of the tips parents can utilize to assist in their child’s language development:
Give your child an opportunity to talk. “Back off and let them take charge, with respect to starting a conversation – it’s best if we start the conversation to get them talk and let them talk,” says Banisch.
Repeat the same words constantly and pause. Let your child fill in the blanks. A great way to do this is through songs and music where you sing a verse and leave out a word for your child to fill in.
Have small talk every day. “Focus on bath-time, bedtime where you have little conversations… they are far more helpful than specific teaching activities,” says Weitzman.
Let your child lead. Letting your child lead begins with OWL – Observe, Wait, Listen. Understand how your child communicates and what they want to talk about. “If your child is interesting in trains, talk about trains,” says Weitzman. “If your child is fascinated with the washing machine, it’s a great opportunity to talk about round and round, clothes getting wet and getting dry.”
Some tools to help parents include the book It Takes Two to Talk, which was an eye-opener for me personally, and a great tool to use in simplifying the way you talk to your child. Banisch used It Takes Two to Sing where the songs are slowed down, giving the child the opportunity to sing along.
The Hanen calendar is also great tool for every parent of a preschooler aged 2 ½ to 5 years old. It offers twelve steps to get children ready for school and gives tips on how to get conversations going, and in every day situations like daily routines. “It gives you tips on what the teacher may be doing at preschool so that you can do at home to make sure your child is on track,” says Banisch.
By the time my own son turned three, he was caught up to his peers. Early intervention is crucial. “Seek the help of the services of a Speech-Language Pathologist and it can take a while,” says Weitzman. “The window of opportunity is better when children are young.”
~ Maria
The Hanen Centre is a local agency in Toronto with Hanen-certified speech-language pathologists in the U.S., U.K. and Australia. The Centre has developed books and DVD’s that can be purchased at www.hanen.org.
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Saturday, April 4, 2009
Back to Square One
I’m back to working from home.
Short-lived was the getting-dressed-up and feeling lady-like and dainty at the office. Taking breaks to window-browse or grab a latte, listen to the radio peacefully in the car on the way to work, flirting with cute male clients...
Now I’m back to my tiny office on the second floor of my house with a desk and computer on one side and a wallop of kids’ toys on the other.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or to cry.
I’m obviously saving money in gas and daycare. But how can I possible be productive when my 2-year-old is constantly trying to climb on top of me to slam on the keyboard?
I make sure that I take my morning shower and get dressed into something half-decent, like a nice cardigan and pants rather than lounging in my track pants, or better yet, poodle-print pyjamas all day long.
I turn on the radio for background noise like I normally would at work.
I make myself a hot, brewed POT of coffee rather than miserably sipping instant cup after instant cup of Nescafe and wondering why the caffeine hasn’t hit me yet?
I even answer the phone in a professional tone, "Maria speaking" rather than a cheerful "hello".
All in an effort to feel like I’ve got a “real” job, working from home.
Until reality hits me smack in the face when the Destroyer gets hit smack in the face by his older brother, the Boss.
Or like today when the Destroyer destroyed yet another item in my house. Aside from almost ruining my CD drive by inserting coins, this time he yanked the mouse off my desk which fell in such a strange way that it broke (cheap thing anyway).
It was so easy to work outside of the home; I didn’t even consider it work, really. It was a “break” for me, from my hectic routine with the kids at home. I have to be honest, I actually looked forward to going to work to have some relaxation time!
But those few weeks I was working outside of the home, I missed the boys terribly. Now I find myself pulling my hair out, exhausted by 6pm and reconsidering the whole work-downtown with a live-in nanny option.
I sometimes feel guilty that I can’t give the kids my undivided attention all day long. They now have to settle for 20-minute increments of my time. And I can still manage to squeeze in their swimming and skating lessons during my lunch hour. Luckily both boys keep each other entertained but with that comes huge arguments and the consequences of those wrestling matches (read my blog, Why Do Boys Fight so Much?)
Regardless of the endless battle to strike a balance, although it’s EXTREMELY challenging to do, I am pretty damn grateful to be working from home.
~ Maria
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Revenge of the "In-Betweens"
Guest Blog ~ Tammy Estabrooks
When I first got married, I remember how quickly and easily things fell into place. Content in our little, love-nest bubble, young and hopelessly in love, the future of our wonderful lives together stretched before us.
I had a queen-sized bed that I purchased from my first real job that didn’t require a plastic name tag. He had a futon that became our living room couch. I had a white tiled kitchen table with matching white wicker chairs. He had a black entertainment centre complete with five coordinating black remote controls and enough DVDs and CDs to stock an HMV.
Aside from the feng shui nightmare of our bedroom where unbeknownst to us, our bed was inadvertently pointing towards evil, we were for all intents and purposes the perfect yin and yang. We didn’t need to discuss who would do what chores, we just fell into our roles naturally, without debate. He cooked and I was his sous chef. He took out the garbage, I vacuumed.
Even when the endless loads of what my good friend likes to call “Mount Washmore” rose up against us in anger, we were undaunted. We were a team after all. For richer or poorer, better or worse, delicates or darks - he washed the laundry, and I folded and put it away.
Ah such marital bliss. But then things slowly began to unravel, one sad and mangled orphaned sports sock at a time. The truth came out. He turned into the dreaded “Mr. In-between”.
I know you are scratching your head in dismay. So was I, but it wasn’t until I discovered that this condition actually had a name could I finally take a deep breath and start the 12-step program. It’s so liberating when you can attach a label to a psychosis because then and only then can the healing process truly begin.
The “in betweens”, apparently as my girlfriends earnestly informed me, are t
he laundry limbo where clothes reside in a purgatory that is neither clean nor dirty. The “in betweens” had become an unwelcome tenant in our happy home and to my chagrin, my husband was their landlord. On the surface it doesn’t seem like something to get your knickers in a knot about, but if this transitory residence happens to be the bedroom, bathroom, living room floor, the gloves come off (mine, mind you are neatly folded and packed away), and it’s every tighty-whitey for himself.
Don’t get me wrong, I am no neat freak by any means. I do however have a short fuse when my husband finds forgets to pick up said “in betweens” so that they then begin to fester behind the couch. At this point in time, they have now reached the point of no return once the rancid stench of gym gear sprint out the door.
Now ladies, nobody likes a nag. I’m a simple girl. I don’t need ornate jewelry or elaborate grandiose gestures of fancy. When we built our home, the one and only request I had was not a granite counter top or a marble tile entry (ok, that’s not entirely true, I was pretty insistent on stainless steel appliances…but I digress), but a good old fashioned laundry shoot, like the one I grew up with in the Maritimes. This was basically, a hole in the floor with a lid, nothing too crazy. Little did I know that such a seemingly simple request would turn into an iron-clad, fireproofing disaster for the builder- but my incredibly accommodating husband made it happen and for that I am very thankful.
I just don’t understand why the “in betweens” keep piling up at the foot of the laundry shoot that he so ardently petitioned for? Doesn’t he realize that it takes the same amount of energy to drop his clothes down the shoot as it does on the floor?
Peacekeeping efforts aside, I’ve been forced to use various war tactics:
#1. Ignoring the pile- this only makes it apparently grow larger.
#2. Dropping whatever I find on the floor on his head while he sleeps. This approach doesn’t seem to even ruffle his feathers as he slumbers so soundly. A burning house couldn’t even rouse this sleep beauty.
So what’s a girl to do? The obvious would be to simply ask him to pick his things up, sometimes her does, other times it results in his Y chromosome takeover- “whY me?”, ‘whY should I?”, “whY bother?”.
I am at a stalemate with my mate’s stale unmentionables. I remember watching a twisted daytime talk show about a lady who nagged her husband for the same domestic crimes after seeing a bread crumb trail of his clothes from the front door to the bedroom. The lady was advised to let sleeping dogs and wrinkled shirts lie where they may, be thankful that she had a husband to begin with and to see his little piles of clothing as endearing reminders of his love for her… Hmmm…no thanks, I don’t buy it, not unless he takes the time to spell out: “You are the love of my life” with his preshrunk chinos and golf shirts, at least.
When I recounted this tale to my hubby, sensing the distress in my voice, he vowed to do better. I have to commend him because for the most part he has cleaned up his act, literally. Only occasionally do I find a rogue T-shirt balled up beside the computer.
As for the renegade orphaned sock dangling homelessly across the banister, well at least it is no longer alone, but gently tied in a knot with it’s mate as a neat little pair nestled together at the foot of our bed, forever linked in a loving embrace… alas… much like the two of us.
When I first got married, I remember how quickly and easily things fell into place. Content in our little, love-nest bubble, young and hopelessly in love, the future of our wonderful lives together stretched before us.
I had a queen-sized bed that I purchased from my first real job that didn’t require a plastic name tag. He had a futon that became our living room couch. I had a white tiled kitchen table with matching white wicker chairs. He had a black entertainment centre complete with five coordinating black remote controls and enough DVDs and CDs to stock an HMV.
Aside from the feng shui nightmare of our bedroom where unbeknownst to us, our bed was inadvertently pointing towards evil, we were for all intents and purposes the perfect yin and yang. We didn’t need to discuss who would do what chores, we just fell into our roles naturally, without debate. He cooked and I was his sous chef. He took out the garbage, I vacuumed.
Even when the endless loads of what my good friend likes to call “Mount Washmore” rose up against us in anger, we were undaunted. We were a team after all. For richer or poorer, better or worse, delicates or darks - he washed the laundry, and I folded and put it away.
Ah such marital bliss. But then things slowly began to unravel, one sad and mangled orphaned sports sock at a time. The truth came out. He turned into the dreaded “Mr. In-between”.
I know you are scratching your head in dismay. So was I, but it wasn’t until I discovered that this condition actually had a name could I finally take a deep breath and start the 12-step program. It’s so liberating when you can attach a label to a psychosis because then and only then can the healing process truly begin.
The “in betweens”, apparently as my girlfriends earnestly informed me, are t
he laundry limbo where clothes reside in a purgatory that is neither clean nor dirty. The “in betweens” had become an unwelcome tenant in our happy home and to my chagrin, my husband was their landlord. On the surface it doesn’t seem like something to get your knickers in a knot about, but if this transitory residence happens to be the bedroom, bathroom, living room floor, the gloves come off (mine, mind you are neatly folded and packed away), and it’s every tighty-whitey for himself.Don’t get me wrong, I am no neat freak by any means. I do however have a short fuse when my husband finds forgets to pick up said “in betweens” so that they then begin to fester behind the couch. At this point in time, they have now reached the point of no return once the rancid stench of gym gear sprint out the door.
Now ladies, nobody likes a nag. I’m a simple girl. I don’t need ornate jewelry or elaborate grandiose gestures of fancy. When we built our home, the one and only request I had was not a granite counter top or a marble tile entry (ok, that’s not entirely true, I was pretty insistent on stainless steel appliances…but I digress), but a good old fashioned laundry shoot, like the one I grew up with in the Maritimes. This was basically, a hole in the floor with a lid, nothing too crazy. Little did I know that such a seemingly simple request would turn into an iron-clad, fireproofing disaster for the builder- but my incredibly accommodating husband made it happen and for that I am very thankful.
I just don’t understand why the “in betweens” keep piling up at the foot of the laundry shoot that he so ardently petitioned for? Doesn’t he realize that it takes the same amount of energy to drop his clothes down the shoot as it does on the floor?
Peacekeeping efforts aside, I’ve been forced to use various war tactics:
#1. Ignoring the pile- this only makes it apparently grow larger.
#2. Dropping whatever I find on the floor on his head while he sleeps. This approach doesn’t seem to even ruffle his feathers as he slumbers so soundly. A burning house couldn’t even rouse this sleep beauty.
So what’s a girl to do? The obvious would be to simply ask him to pick his things up, sometimes her does, other times it results in his Y chromosome takeover- “whY me?”, ‘whY should I?”, “whY bother?”.
I am at a stalemate with my mate’s stale unmentionables. I remember watching a twisted daytime talk show about a lady who nagged her husband for the same domestic crimes after seeing a bread crumb trail of his clothes from the front door to the bedroom. The lady was advised to let sleeping dogs and wrinkled shirts lie where they may, be thankful that she had a husband to begin with and to see his little piles of clothing as endearing reminders of his love for her… Hmmm…no thanks, I don’t buy it, not unless he takes the time to spell out: “You are the love of my life” with his preshrunk chinos and golf shirts, at least.
When I recounted this tale to my hubby, sensing the distress in my voice, he vowed to do better. I have to commend him because for the most part he has cleaned up his act, literally. Only occasionally do I find a rogue T-shirt balled up beside the computer.
As for the renegade orphaned sock dangling homelessly across the banister, well at least it is no longer alone, but gently tied in a knot with it’s mate as a neat little pair nestled together at the foot of our bed, forever linked in a loving embrace… alas… much like the two of us.
~ Tammy
Tammy is a speech language pathologist in private clinical practice with children. She has authored numerous communication programs including fluency interaction, articulation and pre-literacy development, social communication and anti-bullying. She is an exuberant advocate for children with communication disorders and loves sharing her enthusiasm with the community through workshops and presentations. A former Mrs. Canada 2005, Tammy is married to her amazing husband, Ahren. They enjoy a life of fun and adventure with their lovely daughters, Alexandra and Arden as well as their lively Boston Terrier, Winston.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Girls Night Out
When was the last time you went with a bunch of girls to a night club? The last time I did was more than five years ago, maybe seven – I don’t even remember that far back. I definitely was under 30!
I had my share of partying when I was young so after I got married, a perfect night was hanging out at home or with friends or family. “Been there, done that” was the reasoning and there wasn’t anything I missed about the club scene. Drunken gals tripping over themselves and guys practicing their best pick-up lines sort of lost its appeal. And of course, becoming a mom pushed that whole scene very far out of reach.
Just the thought of stumbling home after 3am and having to wake up at 6:00am to take care of my kids while dealing with a hangover, would just not be worth it!
Until I discovered this great group that puts together Greek nights at various night clubs in Toronto through Facebook. Thanks to FB not only because it helped me reconnect with some dear old friends, but it gave me back my social life!!! I don’t care if I sound like a big loser but it is true. I’ve rediscovered that I do like meeting new people and who cares if it’s online? OlaKala functions http://www.olakala.ca/ boast an older crowd which is nice for this 30-something mama.
So I invited a bunch of girlfriends to join me on my Greek-style Girls Night Out. I thought everyone would jump at the chance to get out for some dancing and reply “count me in!” After all, how often do moms of young kids put on their best clothes and go out for a night on the town? Sadly, only one – just one! – girlfriend wanted to join me on my “comeback”.
Needless to say, she was ALL I needed – we had the absolute BEST time. Honestly, I felt like I was 22 again!
I had no clue what to wear… being out of the scene, I asked her what girls wear to night clubs these days. I ended up wearing skinny jeans and a nice top with my sexy red patent leather heels. Vavoom!!! I felt like a siren! Meanwhile there were girls trotting around wearing strapless mini-dresses way high up on the thigh, low-cut tops practically showing nipple and donning salon-style hairdos!
I truly enjoyed sipping a few drinks with a fun-loving friend while we scoped the scene, shared a few laughs and met some new people. Even a guy in his mid-20s tried to pick me up. Ah ha!!! I couldn’t believe I was getting propositioned by a young thang, and he couldn’t believe I was a mom of two kids. I was very flattered - it was the kind of superficial boost to my ego that I just needed! Does that sound pathetic? I don’t care, it felt wonderful!
Did I tell you we also danced the night away? I must have burned about 3,000 calories that night and definitely felt in my legs the next day. I admit I was pretty burnt out the next day and just loafed around with the kids.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!
I had my share of partying when I was young so after I got married, a perfect night was hanging out at home or with friends or family. “Been there, done that” was the reasoning and there wasn’t anything I missed about the club scene. Drunken gals tripping over themselves and guys practicing their best pick-up lines sort of lost its appeal. And of course, becoming a mom pushed that whole scene very far out of reach.
Just the thought of stumbling home after 3am and having to wake up at 6:00am to take care of my kids while dealing with a hangover, would just not be worth it!
Until I discovered this great group that puts together Greek nights at various night clubs in Toronto through Facebook. Thanks to FB not only because it helped me reconnect with some dear old friends, but it gave me back my social life!!! I don’t care if I sound like a big loser but it is true. I’ve rediscovered that I do like meeting new people and who cares if it’s online? OlaKala functions http://www.olakala.ca/ boast an older crowd which is nice for this 30-something mama.So I invited a bunch of girlfriends to join me on my Greek-style Girls Night Out. I thought everyone would jump at the chance to get out for some dancing and reply “count me in!” After all, how often do moms of young kids put on their best clothes and go out for a night on the town? Sadly, only one – just one! – girlfriend wanted to join me on my “comeback”.
Needless to say, she was ALL I needed – we had the absolute BEST time. Honestly, I felt like I was 22 again!
I had no clue what to wear… being out of the scene, I asked her what girls wear to night clubs these days. I ended up wearing skinny jeans and a nice top with my sexy red patent leather heels. Vavoom!!! I felt like a siren! Meanwhile there were girls trotting around wearing strapless mini-dresses way high up on the thigh, low-cut tops practically showing nipple and donning salon-style hairdos!
I truly enjoyed sipping a few drinks with a fun-loving friend while we scoped the scene, shared a few laughs and met some new people. Even a guy in his mid-20s tried to pick me up. Ah ha!!! I couldn’t believe I was getting propositioned by a young thang, and he couldn’t believe I was a mom of two kids. I was very flattered - it was the kind of superficial boost to my ego that I just needed! Does that sound pathetic? I don’t care, it felt wonderful!
Did I tell you we also danced the night away? I must have burned about 3,000 calories that night and definitely felt in my legs the next day. I admit I was pretty burnt out the next day and just loafed around with the kids.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Why Do Boys Fight So Much?
Lllllllet’s Get Ready to Rumbleeeeeeee!
Announcer:
Announcer:
In this corner wearing black cotton briefs, weighing in at 41 pounds, Anthony the Boss!!!! [The crowd roars] And in this corner, wearing white pull-ups, weighing in at 29.6 pounds, Daniel the Destroyer!!!! [The crowd cheers] Make it a clean fight! [Bell rings]
The Boss pummels Daniel right in the stomach. The Destroyer takes the blow but quickly pulls on the Boss’ thick mane of hair. The Boss quickly knocks him down the floor – can he hold the Destroyer down???
1 – 2 – 3 ! No the Destroyer is back! This time attempting to bite the Boss on the leg. He may be disqualified! Who will win the championship title of Extra Light Mini Featherweight???
The Boss pummels Daniel right in the stomach. The Destroyer takes the blow but quickly pulls on the Boss’ thick mane of hair. The Boss quickly knocks him down the floor – can he hold the Destroyer down???
1 – 2 – 3 ! No the Destroyer is back! This time attempting to bite the Boss on the leg. He may be disqualified! Who will win the championship title of Extra Light Mini Featherweight???
It’s another day of a never-ending battle zone. I may as well slap on some war paint and camouflage clothes.
My boys fight too much.I took the Destroyer to his 2-year check-up… can you believe the nurse came in just to say “Congratulations! Your son is the most energetic kid we’ve ever had here!” We’re talking about a CHILDREN’S CLINIC – where there are seven pediatricians and hundreds of kids going through there a week. MY KID was the liveliest. I told her, “You haven’t seen anything yet - I’ve got another one at home!”
What do my boys fight about? Mostly toys – whatever one of them is playing with, the other one has to have. It never fails, the Boss can pick up a piece of lint off the floor and the Destroyer has to have it. In order to please them and make them “happy”, we’ve bought them a few duplicates. But I have refused to buy two of everything. They have to learn to take turns and share, right? Then there are those moments I had only wished I caved in and bought a second toy so that I would have avoided the big headache.
When one has a toy the other one wants, it’s like the devil has entered their body and possessed them. Their eyes roll back, their faces get all contorted, they yell out these moans and groans that I didn’t know was even possible to come out of their tiny little bodies!
The only thing I find that works in sharing a toy is setting the timer on the stove to give both of them a turn.
They say a parent should try to let their kids settle things for themselves… yeah right! How can I not intervene? If I allowed them to work things out, we’d have bruises and black eyes. We’d be taking daily trips to the hospital for stitches.
Same thing with the suggestion to “ignore” their fighting. I really don’t know how I can turn a blind eye. I would be able to if they were fighting with words, but a kick or a push is one of the first things my boys do to settle the score. In my house it’s back to the basics of mankind - grunting and punching does the trick.
Another year or so and I think they’ll both be a bit better with this??? I hope??? In the meantime, maybe it’s a good idea to invest in full body armour – football or hockey gear? I’m sure they’ll both fight over that too.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Be My Own Valentine
Today is Valentine's Day... yippee. I sound very enthusiastic... but to honest, it's friggin over-rated. There is no point in going out for dinner tonight because service will be lousy. What's the alternative? Does your idea of a romantic evening involve a roomful of toys and screaming kids? Absolutely not. Likely it involves only you, your husband and a bottle of wine, right? If you were smart, you probably booked the sitter months in advance.
So what's on the agenda for tonight? After watching the gorgeous Giada De Laurentiis on the Food Network, not only do you want to look like her, but you'd love to cook like her. So now you're inspired to make a gourmet meal look effortless. But watching her cook made you hungry so you opted to sit on the couch and watch her make a delicious “spaghITTI” dish while devouring a pan of brownies.
Why do WE have to romance our men anyway? Don’t we do enough already? After reading a Valentine’s Day article, I decided to ditch the “Recipe for Romance” standard and have a little fun with the usual “how to” tips. Enjoy!
Tip #1: Make a Romantic Dinner
Do you want to surprise your significant other by springing a romantic dinner? Forget the cooking! There is no need to slave in the kitchen to cook a delicious dinner for your husband – you do this all the time anyway. Order in. I’m not talking about pizza or wings, but a full three-course meal from a catering company. Plate it yourself and he won’t even have to know you didn’t cook.
Tip #2: Set the Mood
Candles, romantic music, yada yada yada. Bust out the Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog and some gin and juice and let’s partyyyyy.
Tip #3: Dress for the Occassion
Yeah, I’m gonna dress up in stilettos and irritating panty hose so I can trot around my kitchen? Nah, my blue jeans with a cozy sweater is sexy enough.
Tip #4: Think Outside the Box
A stuffy dinner with fine china with candles and crystal glasses in the dining room sounds divine… buuuuut no, not today. I only have the energy for some left-over paper plates from the kids’ birthday parties and we can eat on the floor in front of the television. Less clean-up and we don’t have to bother gazing into each others eyes, we can just watch the game.
Tip #5: Aphrodisiacs
Mmm, oysters… yummy. Not for this picky eater! Just pass the chocolate please.
Tip #6: After Dinner
Play a fun game of Twister. Hmm, now that could be interesting. A movie? “Titanic” or “A Love Story” might be the obvious choice but let’s ditch those traditional heart-wrenching flicks for some raunchy material like “Californication” on Showcase or better yet, some late-night soft-core porn on The Movie Network!
xoxo
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Working Mom? Re-entering the Workforce
After much contemplation, I am finally ready to get back into the work force. Decision made!
A year ago, I wouldn't have been ready at all. The Destroyer was attached to my hip like glue, still depending on my boob for the odd snack. He would cry for me when I would leave, and only want me to snuggle up with at night when he’d wake up.
But in just a short time, both my boys have jumped the separation anxiety hurdle and now wish me off in when I go out. What a difference from screaming for about twenty minutes after leaving my little one to "bye mommy, see you soon!" He’s only two.
A year ago, I wouldn't have been ready at all. The Destroyer was attached to my hip like glue, still depending on my boob for the odd snack. He would cry for me when I would leave, and only want me to snuggle up with at night when he’d wake up.
But in just a short time, both my boys have jumped the separation anxiety hurdle and now wish me off in when I go out. What a difference from screaming for about twenty minutes after leaving my little one to "bye mommy, see you soon!" He’s only two.
For almost five years, I have been home raising my kids. When I look back, I still can’t believe that in five years I gave birth to two amazing boys. I was pregnant for a total of 18 months and my boobs produced milk for two years! I still think of this time of my life as an incredible blessing.
My boys are getting older now and I can see how much they need more stimulation than what I can offer them. The Boss is thriving in kindergarten; at first I was worried about sending him to full day alternate-day school but he's adjusted so well. 
The Destroyer is already anxious to join the older kids into the preschool program; he peeks through the window, bangs on the door and asks for the program instructors by name!
From a stay-at-home mom to a work-at-home mom, I am off to be a full-fledged “working mom”. But letting go comes with mixed feelings. That feeling of both pride and sadness watching my baby go off to school is similar to what I’m feeling right now about this whole transition.
Change is welcome. The idea of getting back out in the world is exciting. But I’m also nostalgic when I think that the phase of having babies, maternity leave, breastfeeding, watching them learn to walk and talk, is now a joyful memory. My boys will never be babies again!
I’m now entering a new phase of teachers and schools, endless birthday parties, extra-curricular activities and PA Days. Going to work and rushing home, and trying to get it all done with a wink and a smile.
I have tested the waters and taken the plunge. Fired off some resumes. I figured I should give myself about six months to find a job, especially with the current economic crisis.
To my amazement, not only did I get a call for a job within days, I have several prospects in a matter of a couple of weeks. Change is good – and opportunities are bountiful!
From a stay-at-home mom to a work-at-home mom, I am off to be a full-fledged “working mom”. But letting go comes with mixed feelings. That feeling of both pride and sadness watching my baby go off to school is similar to what I’m feeling right now about this whole transition.
Change is welcome. The idea of getting back out in the world is exciting. But I’m also nostalgic when I think that the phase of having babies, maternity leave, breastfeeding, watching them learn to walk and talk, is now a joyful memory. My boys will never be babies again!
I’m now entering a new phase of teachers and schools, endless birthday parties, extra-curricular activities and PA Days. Going to work and rushing home, and trying to get it all done with a wink and a smile.
I have tested the waters and taken the plunge. Fired off some resumes. I figured I should give myself about six months to find a job, especially with the current economic crisis.
To my amazement, not only did I get a call for a job within days, I have several prospects in a matter of a couple of weeks. Change is good – and opportunities are bountiful!
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