Kids, School, and other reasons I love being a Mommy..

I love school. For more than just the reasons you are thinking...yes, it gets my little ones out of the house for most of the day, and its almost-free babysitting while I am at work...but that is not why I love school.

School is one of those fabulous opportunities for my kids to shine. And shine they do! I was never more proud of them than I was today.

My eldest daughter and her brother both go to the same school, and today she had an accident. The kind of mishap on the school grounds that can provide excellent fodder for the less reputable kids in the yard to use to humiliate a child for years to come. The kind of accident that would cause a child to run to the bathroom and hide in a tiny stall until mom or dad show up. She fell in the playground and ripped her pants from stem to stern.

The older boys were having a field day. My son, being an older boy, could have joined in on this revelry, mocking and ridiculing her. But he did not. And at the supreme disappointment of his friends, he stood up for his sister. He stayed with her and made sure that she got safely to the washroom. He made the call home on her behalf for someone to come to his sisters rescue. And for that, I am very very very proud of him.

My middle boy and his little brother go to a different school (until the construction is finished, and then they will all be going to the same school). They attend grade two and kindergarden. Today is my little kindergardener's second day of school, and his first time riding on the bus. His big brother stayed by his side the -entire- time. Big brother helped him on the bus, helped him off the bus, and according to him, was there at recesses as well to help him on the big equipment. I am SOOOO proud of how they stick together.

My heart is just bursting right now for how my family helps each other, for how they are there for their brothers and sisters when in need. I am SO proud right now I can barely stop smiling.

Kids, Clothing, and More Reasons to Yank My Hair Out

I hate clothes.

Okay...so you've seen me start a post like this before. We all know I do not hate clothing, but I do dislike the way my children manage clothing. There are two basic situations in which clothing can be mis-managed: What you do with them when you are wearing them, and what do you with them when you are not. My children are experts in both.

Okay, so after the shambles that was the first morning of school, I asked my beloved brood to decide what they were going to wear for the next day (yesterday) and put it aside -- on their dresser where they do not have to go looking. They all (apparently) obliged. So, yesterday morning arrives and my 10 year old son comes downstairs wearing a heavy black wool sweater and black denims. So I asked my young Johnny Cash if he was wearing or taking a T-shirt to change into in the afternoon. You'd think I had just asked him if he had murdered his best friend. He got really defensive and argumentative! I let the subject drop.

I will be honest here. I am not a morning person. In the wee small hours of the morning (any time before 11am) my idea of "pleasant" and others idea of "pleasant" may not agree. I am pretty sure I asked my son about his sweater "pleasantly" but I could be wrong. I could have pointed at him like he was guilty of drowning his sisters pet fish and demanded why he was stupid enough to put on a hot sweater on such a beautiful day. Only God really knows the truth at this point. My memory is vague having not yet been fortified with vast quantities of caffeine.

Anyways. So I did not pursue the matter with my son...not immediately anyways. My daughter comes waltzing into the room wearing clashing colours. Pink and orange which I am sure look fabulous together in the dimly-lit pre-dawn light, but not so great in the florescent floods that are in my kitchen. It hurt my eyes. Wondering if maybe she just had not noticed I asked her about it, and after having my head ripped off and handed to me by my son, I made an extra attempt at being sensitive: "My sweets," I started, "I am not sure that that shirt matches those pants exactly. You might want to go take another look." You'd think I just told her that her pet fish had been drowned by her brother. She went off on a tirade about how she had nothing else to wear, how she had no clothes, and how I need to do laundry. I censored the first few responses that came to my head and eventually settled on reminding her that if she wanted to wear something that was dirty, I would have washed it last night, that is why I had asked her to put her clothes out. I also (perhaps not so gently) reminded her of the $300+ shopping trip to Value Village on the weekend. She stomped away sulking.

This is when I realize that my middle son has not yet made an appearance downstairs. I opened the door to the upstairs (yes, my stairwell has a door at the bottom) just in time to hear my husband bellow at my son: "GET DOWNSTAIRS!!" My hubby is not a morning person, either. My son fled down the stairs crying noisily and completely naked holding a stash of clothes twisted up in his hands.

Turns out, my boy could not find any clothes for himself, either. So I asked him: "Where are the clothes I asked you to take out for today?" He presented me with what looked like a handful of clothes that he just randomly grabbed out of his drawer: two long sleeve shirts, a pair of suspenders, and a single sock. "This is what you took to wear for today?" I asked. He burst out into fresh tears. So I went upstairs to get him better clothes. I also grabbed one of the several t-shirts I found in my eldest boys drawers for him.

When I presented the t-shirt to my eldest after I got back downstairs, he asked me where I found his shirt. As he was putting it on, I got the third degree again: he had looked through his drawers and did not see any, and he did not think he had any clean t-shirts and why had I not done any laundry yet.

For those of you who might be wondering....I had done laundry just two days before.

As the kids were walking out the door, I was too busy fuming over how they suddenly do not like orange juice or green beans - despite that they had ASKED for them - that I did not bother to point out that my eldest had put his sweater on backwards. Or that my daughters shirt was on inside out. Or that my middle boy had not tucked in his shirt. No. Better for them to discover those things on their own.

----- Update: When my daughter arrived home, she asked if I had noticed her shirt being inside out. She had discovered it at second recess and was very embarrassed. I am told in no uncertain terms that I should point these things out if I see them. Can't win for lossing some days.

Kids, Food, and Other Reasons to Yank Out My Hair

I hate food.

Well, that is not true. I love food. I just hate preparing food.

Well, no. That is not entirely accurate, either. I love preparing food for those who appreciate the effort and the joys of eating good food. Basically -- I do not like cooking for my kids. It does not matter what I make, all I hear is: "I don't like that. Can I make a sandwich instead?"

So now, I make supper for my husband and I, and I tell the kids to make sandwiches. Is this even appreciated? No. Now I hear: "I don't want sandwiches...I want something good for supper." And for those of you without children, "something good" equals Macaroni and Cheese mixed with a can of beans. *sigh*

Supper is not the only meal of the day that I dread to the core of my being. Lunch, the one meal I have no choice but prepare, is also pretty brutal. Let me give you an example: I was making sandwiches for lunch this morning for the first day of school. I hear: "I don't want jam. I don't like jam."

So I put the jam away and got out the bolona. "I don't want bolona." so I put the bolona away and bring out the deli meats (turkey/corned beef/ham).

"I don't like those either." At this point, I sighed and made the mistake of asking what they wanted for lunch. "Peanut Butter and Banana."

Again, for those of you without kids: Peanut Butter is a no-no at school. And we don't have any bananas.

I sighed and went on with making them a deli meat wrap with mozerella cheese (that they don't like, btw), cheese slices (which they only like in grilled cheese sandwiches I learned this morning), and cucumbers, which they didn't want in a sandwich because that's apparently quite gross. Silly me.

The lunch woes don't stop at the sandwich, though! Oh no. I also packed them pears which I cored and sliced for them. Apparently they only like their APPLES cored and sliced and peeled, they like to eat their pears whole.

They were given a handful of their favourite chips: "But mommy! I don't like that flavour!!! What flavour is that, anyways?" *deep sigh*

They argued over what colour sucker was the best colour. This discussion actually came to blows.

They got a yogurt, which started an argument over whether the yogurts were stirred or fruit-on-the-bottom which my kids -- are you ready for this? -- don't like. This discussion also came to blows. Mostly delivered by me.

And so insued the argument over spoons....one wanted plastic, one wanted metal, one said that metal spoons were banned from school, one said that plastic spoons were banned from school, one said neither were banned from school. I took the spoons away and told them to use their fingers. They just stared at me.

Is it any wonder I don't cook for my kids? And I get to do it again tomorrow morning. And the morning after that, and the morning after that, and the morning.....you get the idea.

And for those of you who might suggest that I let my children make their own lunches, don't. I gave it a good 3 weeks. It ended abruptly when I got a call from the school with a helpful, sympathetic secretary offering the numbers of the local food banks. *shudder*

I hate food.