Potty Humour

C is such a big boy. He finally decided to start using the potty about a month ago, and once he decided, its been pretty smooth sailing.

He runs into the kitchen, "Mommy I pooped, come see!"

And although I am extremely excited about the actual potty training success, I still don't quite share his enthusiasm in checking it out. But, I still go.

"Look Mom" He says, "There's a big one and some little ones..." He pauses and then says, "There's a Daddy one, a C one, AND a L one."

Conversations I really never thought I'd be having. :)

Still Got It

Do you ever have those moments when you forget, if only for a second, that you are a frumpy, mother-of-3, house wife and remember the days when you were hot? I mean, not that I was ever really "hot", but I used to get checked out, even hit on on occasion. Yes, its been a long time, but it did happen.

On Thursday we had a plumber out to fix a leaky toilet (with a set-up like that, you know the hotness is oozing in this story). Just as he was finishing up, L woke from her nap so I scooted upstairs, scooped her up and went back down. The plumber started to explain to me what he had fixed and why there was a problem. He was all "flanger" this and "wax seal" that, like I had a clue what he was talking about. In any case he was really staring at me, and I was thinking, "Yup, still got it". I had, as a matter of fact, actually fixed my hair that morning, and put on make up. I brushed my teeth and everything, real fancy like.

So I saw him out, and picked up the phone to call James when suddenly *sniff sniff* it hit me. The stink of fresh diaper, and I look down to see a Level 10 diaper disaster leaking clear from L's waist to her shoulders.

*sigh*

I should have known better. How super hot am I?

Bio Hazards

Warning, I am discussing body fluids. Let's be honest though, most conversations between moms end up on this topic at some point. Even at my hairdressers we wound up on the topic of potty training and poop. Its a sad reality about being a mom.

C is sick, again. Of the three, he's definitly the sicky. He's always congested or coughing. And he is a barfer. Any time he's sick, he's throwing up. I feel bad for him, but admittedly, I kinda feel sorry for myself too. Ugh, its amazing how as a mom you can handle the snot and the spit up. It doesn't even phase me to get poop on me. But I just can't get used to vomit.

K from a young age would know when he was going to be sick. But not C, the kid is a disaster.

So far he's thrown up three times this morning and I'm sure there's more to come. So I've come up with a solution. I've essentially saran wrapped his bedroom. I've used a painter sheet, but really, it looks like an old lady couch. Clever yes?

Until I really look at it and think, is this normal? I've plastic wrapped a bedroom - it reminds me of a bio hazard laboratory.

I am either a total genius, or a complete nutter. What do you think?

Mystery Ingredients

I made banana muffins the other day. The kids love them. Rarely does a batch even last until the next morning.
C was happily munching away on one, when he found a lump of banana.
"Mommy," he says, "Is this a booger?"
Number 1: No
Number 2: Why are you still eating it?
Number 3: Gross

Blowing Kisses

Did you ever read the book Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola? Growing up it was definatly one of my favorites. Its the story of a good italian witch, Strega Nona, who hires a guy from town to help her around her house. One night Big Anthony (the helper) overhears an amazing thing. Strega Nona sings a song and her enchanted pasta pot starts to fill with boiling pasta. When she has enough, she sings another song and the pot stops. Big Anthony thinks this is amazing, and to show off to the people of the town, one night when Strega Nona is away, he sings the song and the pot begins to fill. Everyone in the town comes to share in the pasta, they eat and eat and the pot keeps filling and they are all amazed. When they finally have had their fill Anthony sang the song, but the pot kept filling. See, the problem was that Big Anthony only heard was Strega Nona was doing, but he didn't see that she blew 3 kisses to the pot to make it stop. Without those kisses, the pot just kept boiling. It boiled and boiled until it filled the house, and ran down the hill, and it almost destroyed the whole town. At the last moment, Strega Nona comes home and stops that pot.

Great story.

So why am I telling you this story? Well, I'm convinced that someone has sang that magical song to my laundry pile, and neglected to blow those kisses.

My laundry is out of control. Its taking over my house.

Help!

A Moment With K

I'm sure most parents feel the same way, but I think K and C are hilarious. Even though C isn't talking much he still manages to make me laugh. The other day he was eating yogurt, feeding himself. Each bite he took he'd get some yogurt on his face, so after removing the spoon from his mouth he would scrape the sides of his mouth with the spoon to capture any excess, exactly like I do. Then he'd grab a wet face cloth and carefully wipe his face, only to repeat the process again with the next bite. It was so funny watching him, he was so proud of himself, my clean boy.

K just says the funniest things. I keep telling myself I need to write things down because in our hectic days, I tend to forget what it was that made me smile.

On Wednesday we were heading to swimming lessons, and K was just chatting away in the back set. For the whole ride he was talking and singing and laughing, when all of a sudden he lets out a big sigh and says,

"Mommy, I think my batteries ran out"

What a nerd.

Another Moment with K

Ever wonder what its like to be in the mind of a four-year-old? Sometimes I wonder how things seem from K's perspective. We try to be pretty logical in how we talk to him, explaining why we're doing something or why he shouldn't do something. Today at lunch, he gave me a little insight into his thoughts, and I have to say, he's an imaginative little guy. He started into this crazy story, so I grabbed a marker, and together we wrote down his tale. The story describes what K says happened to him as a baby:

"A bad chameleon came to put me on the choo-choo train cage. I got locked in. Then he took me to cat land. They gave me cat food, I didn't like it. AND I didn't know what to do! I couldn't do anything! They did not have toys for me!!
They went around the block, and they pushed me in the head, and it pulled my hair.
Then, I was asleep in the freight car. The cage did not have a door, and no keys, and I wondered what to do...so I growed up."


"Did you ever get away from them?"


"NO! I'm still there, There are no doors!!"

Yeah, there you have it. He told me that story with conviction, and emotion. Perhaps I have a future writer on my hands? I think sometimes I forget how little K still is, because C's there and so little in comparison I expect to much from my firstborn. Getting a glimpse into his little mind helped me realise how far he's come (and how VERY far he has to go). What a goof. It made me laugh, hopefully makes you laugh too.

A Moment With K

Adventures With Mr Mom: Instructions Required

James tries very hard. His boys adore him, and for the most part he is an exceptional father. On Sunday morning he gave me the one thing I want more than anything in this world...SLEEP! After two nights of sick kidlets, I was exhausted, and he graciously took both boys while I was lazy. He and the boys woke me just after 10am with a tag-team "kiss" ambush that reminded me of WWF, and after much giggles and jumping around, he watched them some more while I showered and got dressed. It was lovely. I very much enjoyed it.

Around 11 we left the house, James had gotten them dressed, we had milk cups in tow, and went to face the world. Not five minutes from the house both the boys were whining in the back, in a chorus of "I wants". That's when it occured to me, "James, did you feed the kids?"

"No," he replied, "You told me to watch them"

Sigh.

Ode to a Stand Mixer

Martha Stewart I am not. Its not for lack of desire. I would love to be the put together women with an impecably decorated home and homemade EVERYTHING. Baked goodies, handmade Christmas cards, ironed shirts. But lets be honest, my desire for that homemade touch is most often outweighed by my lack of organization and follow through. My "craft" cupboard is overstuffed with well-intentioned projects, including a wonderful mini-album that was intended to be C's first birthday present and is now something he will be lucky to receive before graduation :) .

Baking is something I always liked to do, but was never particularly good at. Past attempts have been fraught with mismeasurements (resulting in a lot of melting cookies due to too much butter or too little flour), burnt bottoms (we actually termed this event the annual "scraping of the cookies" after me and mom spent consecutive Christmas' scraping the bottom of the cookies with butter knives to try and remove the charcoaled bottoms), and a loss of motivation to even try.

As most of you know, my many food allergies make buying baked goods tricky and best, deadly at worst. After several trips to the emergency room I've resigned myself to the fact that unless i make it, I'm not eating it. Enter the KitchenAid stand mixer. Two Christmas' ago, after agreeing on a Christmas gift budget, my husband COMPLETELY blew our budget and gave me a stand mixer. It was a beautiful thing, and just seeing it reignited that deep rooted Martha Stewart complex. No, it won't measure my flour, no it won't keep my cookies from burning, but it just makes everything so easy. I love it! Its mesmorising. Both the boys will pull up a chair and sit quietly for HOURS watching it mix batch after batch of goodie.

I bake WAY more (not so great for the waist line, but sure keeps the kids happy). And truth be told, it makes me feel fancy, I create my goodies all the while day dreaming I have a little cooking show and an audience watching my baking prowess. With the help of a fancy mixer and a kitchen timer, we have not had a scraping of the cookies since 2007, and I'm happy to say there is no lack of baked goods in the Rivett household this year.

Adventures with Mr Mom: The Bath Tub Incident

Saturday my neighbour had an open house to showcase her custom jewellery (check out her website for Stone Petal Designs). It was just after six, we'd had an early supper because the kids were wiped and we were set to put them to bed early, so after helping James get the boys into the tub, I ventured next door.

Fifteen minutes later I returned home and was greeted at the door by K, which was odd because he should have still been in the tub. Enthusiastically K says, "Mommy! Mommy! C pooped in the tub!!" Uh-oh. Then James chimes in from upstairs, "never leave again".

Apparently in the 15 minutes I was absent, chaos ensued. First C pooped in the tub, so James, panicked to get them out of the water, just takes them out of the tub, and tries to deal with the situation at hand. As he's draining the tub, a naked Colson wanders into K's room and proceeds to pee on his floor.

Poor Jimmy, isn't motherhood fun?

The Usual Suspects

On Tuesday I baked a lovely chocolate cake, and James and myself, and of course a bit for Keelan and Colson, all enjoyed a few pieces. By this morning there was a quarter of the cake left. Mmmm, its a great cake, rich, moist, chocolately, I was really looking forward to having a piece for dessert at lunch. Lunch was supposed to be leftover paella...supposed to be but apparently after I went to bed early last night, James helped himself to whatever was left of the paella and left the empty tupperware dish upstairs for me to clean up this morning (I love my husband...I love my husband...I love my husband...)

Fastforward to lunch, which I now have to cook, and this is what I come across:

The crime scene: The kitchen counter.

Facts:

Where previously there was quarter of a cake, now there is a sad, picked at, remainder of a cake

The scene has been left a mess, crumbs all over counter

A single, used, plastic fork has been left at the scene

Suspect #1: James (aka the husband)

** Scene has been recreated for dramatic purposes.

The facts:

• Has a known history of finishing
• off goodies without sharing, and tends to leave a trail.
• Had opportunity to sneak cake while Kidlets and myself were upstairs
• Enjoys chocolate cake

Suspect #2: C (aka Baby C)

The facts:

• Also enjoys chocolate cake
• Was upstairs at time of crime
• Cannot reach counter top

Suspect #3: K (aka K-Man)
**Note, suspect was prompted to make his best "mean face" for mug shot

The facts:
Has history of sneaking food without asking
Location unknown at time of crime
Has access to counter top

Did not appear to have any evidence on his person after crime, however did remove his clothing during the period the cake dissappeared

Now, given the paella incident of the morning, I was leaning toward suspect #1. So, begrudgingly I cleaned up the crumbs that had been left on the counter, and started making lunch (chicken donairs...mmmm, yummy enough to offset the frustration of having to cook when I thought it was taken care of).

As I'm making lunch, who should enter the kitchen but "the husband". C's in his high chair, happily plugging away at a freezie, K is playing under the kitchen table, holding a wonderful conversation with himself about Thomas and dinosaurs. James and I chat a bit about how business is going so far, he comments on how good lunch smells, and then he looks at the cake remnants and says, "you know, I've only had like 3 pieces" and looks at me as if I'm the one responsible for eating 3 pieces of cake since this morning (ok, i'm a closet eater, but even that's a bit much for me).

Okay now, let's do some math, a quarter of a chocolate cake (who's only ingredients are eggs, butter, sugar, and chocolate), one husband (formerly Suspect #1) who no longer appears to be guilty, myself, who I know not to be guilty, one baby, who had neither opportunity nor capacity, and one rather three year old, with a really guilty smile.

So to my husband, I apologize for jumping to conclusions, and to myself, darn, that kid really pulled one over on me. If he's already successfully framing James at three, then I am in a lot of trouble.

The Ring

Have I mentioned I'm a dork? Because I am. I get myself into the most ridiculous situations and they are usually as a result of being completely absent minded. I lose things, I'm clumsy, and I'm a dork.

Yesterday my wonderful husband decided I was entitled to a shopping spree. I didn't do anything particularly memorable to deserve it, he just wanted to be nice. So he took me to the new Cross Iron Mills mall to buy a new coat, and some boots, it was very exciting!! So I dressed up, did my hair (ok blow dryed it, but that's about as close to "doing" my hair as I get) and we went out. He lasted two hours, and I had a beautiful new coat, and boots, and scarf, and jeans, *sigh* I was extremely happy....until the car ride home.

As you may or may not know, I am one of the few married women these days who's engagement ring and wedding ring are not a set, and since they don't "go" together, I don't wear them together. In fact, after having K, my engagement ring was sized a size larger than my wedding ring and I wear it on my right ring finger, which is fatter than the left. Well, yesterday, in all the excitement to get out the door and go for a kid-free, all about me, shopping spree, I must have put my rings on the wrong hands, because my wedding band, my beautiful, Tacori style wedding band, my too small for my right hand wedding band, was on my right hand. And it wasn't coming off. We were about 10 minutes away from the house when I discovered my mistake. I was wearing my new coat, and it was warm, so my finger had swollen, but I figured by the time I got home, got the coat off and cooled down, the ring would surely come off.

But no, like a cheesy scene from a made for tv movie, that ring wasn't budging. We tried everything. Hand in icewater, hand above head, butter, olive oil, dish soap, the more we pulled, the fatter that finger got. So, after over an hour, I finally gave up and started the drive of shame to the ER to have that ring, that beautiful eternity band that I had been warned could not be sized because of the detailing on the band, to have that ring that could not be repaired, cut off my finger. My stupid, sausage like finger that was starting to throb from all the pulling.

Upon getting to the "minor emergency" department in the Foothills Hospital, I was greeted by a nurse and a little man with a big bottle of what appeared to be Windex and an old towel. They wanted to give it one last go. My finger at this point was enormous, the ring could barely twist around nevermind move up or down, and I said to the nurse, "I don't think this ring is coming off". "You'd be surprised" she said and so, they got to work. Spray the finger, twist and pull, spray the finger, twist and pull.

and what did I do? I did what I had been doing since the car ride home from the mall. I prayed, I prayed and bargained, and prayed some more, and he sprayed and twisted and pulled, and it actually started to move.

By the time the ring was halfway to my knuckle my hand was aching from the pressure on of him pushing back against the rest of my hand. But he kept going. By the time it was just below my knuckle my finger was bleeding and clumps of skin were gathering around the band as the twisting of the ring rubbed my finger raw.

And when it finally slid over my knuckle and off my finger I gave that man a huge hug and started to cry.

So that is the story of the ring. I left the hospital with a finger so fat that I couldn't even bend it, bleeding and raw, and a smile from ear to ear. I still cannot believe they got if off.

Flu Shot Anxiety

On Monday evening, on a typical hot chocolate drive, James and I talked about the H1N1 Flu Shot. It's been a topic of much conversation among my neighbors and friends as we hear reports of six hour waits at flu shot clinics. The general consensus among my peers has been that they were not going to get themselves or their kids the flu shot. The shot seemed rushed, they didn't have time to properly test it in the push to get an immunization to the public and in general people felt like the media has overhyped the whole h1n1 pandemic. I'm not against flu shots, but I've never gotten one in the past and I didn't feel any need to get one now. and that's what James and I concluded from our Monday evening drive.

Until 12am Tuesday morning when K woke up with a fever.

Suddenly my head is full of all the information that the fear-mongering mass media has been sharing. So despite having seen K in feverish condition every cold and flu season, I find myself in a state of panic and paranoia. All the conviction I felt in the car ride about not getting the flu shot flew out the window and I am devastated now that I can't get the shot, can't take him out to sit for the six hours at a clinic.

I called into Health Link where the nurse assessed K over the phone. Questions like, "Are his lips blue?", "Is he confused, does he know where he is?" are not calming my panic. But with no symptoms other than a fever and sore throat she promptly directed my to their website for "home care" instructions (which I'd had already read before calling in). So all night I'm on him like a hawk, and with every cough, sniffle, whimper, even though I'm telling myself it's only a cold, that panic grows.

This morning K's fever is gone, but a runny nose and mild cough have come in its place. And although I'm not feeling as panicked, I'm definitely not the 'laissez faire' parent I have been in flu-seasoned past.

So now I'm not sure what the best route to take is. Do I wait til he's feeling better and take the whole family in for the vaccine? Do we withdraw ourselves from all social situations and just bunker down until the hysteria dies down? or do we just carry on as normal with some extra hand sanitizer?

Alberta adds clinics as H1N1 death toll rises

Health Canada takes word of others H1N1 vaccine safe

Fineprint: The Meal-Time Battles

As my mom can surely attest to, growing up I was the pickiest eater around. I survived for a year on chicken noodle soup and Vegetable Thins crackers, not because of a lack of wonderful home cooked meals, but because any attempt to feed me something new resulted in an hour at the table filled with tears, tantrums, and likely gagging as I filled my mouth with milk with every swallow. It was awful.

Because of my personal history I have approached cooking for my children with the expectation that majority of my dishes will not meet my children's approval, and I'm okay with that. Ketchup has become my weapon of choice in the dinnertime battle, because most things if drenched in ketchup will make it past the taste test. K is way worse than C. C will eat most of what's presented as long as no vegetable is within sight. And I'm okay with this. Usually I can sneak in some fruit slices or a yogurt onto the plate and I tell myself that this portion of healthy food will offset the not-so-healthy frozen fish sticks or kraft dinner. I signed up for mealtime battles, it was all part of the contract, but I missed the fine print.

See, the thing that gets me, the part that actually does hurt my ego, is that my kids will basically eat anything that they find. For over a year K would sneak a piece of dog food every time my back was turned. I can't make him stop eating snow despite the frequest leaves and dirt and "other" items that he's swallowed in the process. I've actually seen him lick the dog. And C's just as bad. Granted he's only 17 months, but last weekend, visiting friends, he not once but twice found a piece of sidewalk chalk to chomp down on and made a huge tantrum when I took it away.

So it begs the question, is my cooking really so awful that the critics would rather eat crayons than try a spoonful of soup? Is my pizza so terrible that an after dinner dog biscuit is preferable?

I'm sure like everything else it's a phase. Most 10 year olds will clear a plate of "normal" food...right? and I guess I always have a fall-back: 10 years of a rotating meal plan of Kraft Dinner and Macaroni & Cheese. It might not be my ideal menu, but it sure beats kibbles and bits :)

You'll Never Guess What My Kids Are Up To

It's not even 10am and I'm sitting down to enjoy a nice chai tea latte. It's warm and I haven't even had to reheat it the typical three times. How is this possible? Why have I had this rare opportunity to actually take a breath a enjoy a quiet, solitary moment. My children are (dramatic pause) playing with each other. Actually playing. They are in K's room, playing with trains. Sharing. and its been going on for nearly an hour.

It started when C started crying to announce he was wake and ready to start his day. Too lazy to drag myself out of bed, I asked K to go say hi to his brother. K begrudgingly marched into C's room and announced in his growly "dinosaur" voice, "These are my trains and you can't have them" (translation: "Good morning"). But then something shifted. The dinosaur voice gave way to his regular, pleasant K voice, and I smiled as K explained to his brother how he had found his Thomas trains this morning and then went into his room.

Then K brought two of his trains for C to play with, and then invited him into his room to play. And they did. They played. No crying. No fighting. All I can hear is giggling and K telling his brother all the ins and outs of the Sodor trains and C babbling back. This is the moment that I had in my mind when I found out I was having two boys. This is the moment that gives me hope that they might actually grow up and like each other, that maybe the all the pinching and hitting and kicking and pushing will evolve into something that looks more like friendship.

Okay okay, overkill maybe. And now there's C crying, and K shouting "that's not funny". My perfect moment is over. My tea is still only half drunk. But it happened, and maybe it'll happen again. For today, that's enough for me.

What Ever Happened to Soap Operas and Bon Bons

So I'm finally giving in and starting a blog. Its kind of the 'in thing' to do, or at least that what I've heard. I've thought long and hard about what I would write, what is so interesting in my life that someone else would care to hear it. And the answer to that question truthfully, is nothing.

There's nothing particularly unique about my day-to-day life. I'm a work at home mom, with two young boys. I make the beds, fix breakfast, clean and clothe my toddler and preschooler, I read books, and do crafts, clean the house and buy the groceries, and if I find the time, maybe squeeze in a shower and watch some Oprah. But sometimes, in those rare, quiet moments, I get time to really think, and so often the thought that creeps up on me is, "How did I get here?"

Look at my Mom, she made it look easy. We ate at home almost every night, and to real, homemade dinners. Fast food was a treat, not a routine. Our house was clean, so were us kids, and she never appeared frazzled. So when I signed up for the position of Mommy, it was a no brainer. I always knew I wanted to stay home with my kids. From a very young age I had the desire to be a stay-at-home mom. My mother stayed home to raise my brother and me, her mom stayed home and raised her. It was the natural path, not even a choice really. I'd done well in school and at my jobs. Whatever I tried I excelled at. I loved kids and cooking, I knew how to do laundry and clean a house, so really, how much work would it be? Right?

But oh when that illusion is shattered. When the dogs won't stop whining and the kids won't stop barking, the "homemade dinner" of Kraft dinner is burning on the stove as my Blackberry vibrates to let me know another email has arrived...that's when it hits me.

What if this isn't a 'natural path' at all?

What if its not easy?

What ever happened to soap operas and bon bons?

To be fair, I love my kids. I am so incredibly grateful that I CAN be home with them. But there are days. There are days when I just have to laugh at where I am. University educated, strong, confident woman, desperately negotiating with my three year old to keep his shirt on while he poops. And I have to think, I cannot be the only mommy out there who feels like this, who wonders, "How did I get here?"

So that's what my blog will be. My blog will be a place that I can finally admit that my house isn't actually organized, and that I didn't brush my hair this morning, and that my son's socks don't match. And hopefully, somehow through the anonymity of the internet, someone out there will tell me that they feel the same way.