Silly me. I thought raising a girl would be the same as raising a boy. Well, that's what I was told in all my women's studies classes. Just hand her unisex toys, read her The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch enough times and all things will be equal. Dress her in red or blue. Give her the boy's hand-me-down clothes. Gender neutral colour on the walls of her bedroom. You're all set. Girls equal boys. Boys equal girls.
And then she was born. In a maelstrom of pink glitter. I swear butterflies and tiny fairies floated around the operating room. Okay, maybe those were the drugs they gave me. But in that moment I had an epiphany. No blue will touch my perfect baby girl. No green. No gender neutral wall colours are acceptable. All that I learned was thrown out through the lace priscilla curtains covering the windows of her perfectly pink striped nursery. I'll deal with her issues of inferiority in a patriarchal society as soon as I'm finished getting her ears pierced. Okay. I suck. I know. All feminists everywhere are turning their backs on me. Leaving my baby girl and I to fend for ourselves in a world where I do the baking and my husband takes out the garbage.
But you know something? I have no doubts my girl will turn out okay. After all she wants to be the boss of Daddy when she grows up. After she becomes an astronaut, after she becomes a scientist. I'm not sure how NASA will feel about pink space suits, but there's a first time for everything. I think what's important isn't the colour of the suit. It's the fact she believes with all the certainty of a four year old she will wear one someday. Sure Barbie's waist is too small, her boobs too perky, and her hair too long. But, you know she doesn't rely on Ken like she used to. She's got a career. Many of them in fact. She's got choices. And that's all I want for my girl.
In the back of my mind I know the pink princess phase is just that. A phase. If the little girls around us are any example pink is replaced by a love of all things purple, and then fades to shades of grey. And then, God forbid, darkens to black. So in reality I think I'm embracing this pastel time because it represents sweet innocence. A time when Daddy is still a hero, Mommy can make anything, and big brothers are still the authority on all things cool. I don't want it to end. And yet I am so much looking forward to experiencing all the colours of my girl. My beautelligent rainbow girl.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
On Report Cards
What a blah topic for a beautiful Friday afternoon. Let's see what we can do with it. So yesterday was report card day. Oh yeah. A national celebration in some houses, in ours not so much. Thane had a less than perfect year last year, so once bitten twice shy. He handed me his report card with the demeanor of a kid who knew he might be headed to the gallows. I took the missive and sat down with a cup of coffee for a good read. And no, the coffee was not fortified, although don't think I wasn't tempted.
It turns out his report card was fine. His average was at least a B. Not so bad. Hmmmm. Let's examine the Learning Skills and Work Habits section. This is where things go a little astray for Thane. "Not working to his potential," has been the prevailing theme in practically every report card the child has received. Isn't that just a nice way of saying, "He's smarter then he looks"? Just kidding, of course. Thane is very intelligent. He is also very creative, really, really funny, popular, and athletic. Great qualities in a kid. Unfortunately they often mask his academic abilities. The teachers have been right in the past, and are right this year. He can do better. So what is the appropriate reaction to this report card?
Gulp. Gulp. Punishment sounds so harsh doesn't it. Punitive by definition implies a penalty. Thane could have done better. It wasn't like he tried his very best. He admits he slacked off. Although he's nine, he reads at a much higher level. He does very well in math and science. He understands there are consequences for his actions or lack thereof. As parents where do we go from here? We're thrilled Thane has, for the most part, harnessed his temper. He's paying attention most of the time. He has a B average. That's more than acceptable. Punishment doesn't seem like the way to go. But we have to keep in mind he is aware he did not give it his all. And there were times the laughs he got were at the expense of others. Comedy and spontaneity appeal to Thane, and lead me to consider buying LCBO gift certificates for his teachers. (Hmmm. I should write about genetics sometime.)
An out and out report card celebration wouldn't be appropriate either. Our parenting style differs from that. We don't praise our kids for picking a piece of lint off their pants. In the workplace I've had the pleasure of managing twenty-somethings who were raised like that. I called them the 'Entitled Generation'. They honestly believed they deserved a six figure salary, straight out of university. And if they managed to pull together a powerpoint presentation they thought they deserved a raise for all that hard work. They want to carry a brand new Macbook Air, drive a new car, and live in a fully furnished apartment straight out of the pages of Design Beautiful. Oh yeah. Mommy, daddy, and society told them they were perfect for twenty years. Boy, are they shocked when they find out they're not.
So, as with every parenting issue Chris and I need to strike a balance. To find that place in the middle that doesn't protect the kids from appropriate criticism. Yet still dangles some sort of motivational Bey Blade in front of them. As long as I live I will never forget my grade nine teacher holding my honours certificate in front of my nose minutes before Junior Convocation. He held it there and then he ripped it in two. The entire time he maintained eye contact with me. I kept asking myself, "How could he embarrass me like this? I thought he liked me." My heart was broken. What I couldn't have understood at the time was that his was too. He was my mentor and one of the best teachers I ever had. I had not worked to my potential. I still turn to that moment for motivation. Just because the truth hurts doesn't mean it's not the truth.
We'll all sit down and talk this weekend. Caden's report card was great so we dodged a bullet there. No letter grades to consider in Senior Kindergarten. Every kid is different, every family is different; therefore, we're wingin' it again. For the most part Chris and I are doing the best we can to raise our kids to be good people. To be productive members of society. Sometimes we do right by them and sometimes we fail miserably. Sometimes we even give in and fortify the coffee. Honestly, as parents, we are smarter than we look.
It turns out his report card was fine. His average was at least a B. Not so bad. Hmmmm. Let's examine the Learning Skills and Work Habits section. This is where things go a little astray for Thane. "Not working to his potential," has been the prevailing theme in practically every report card the child has received. Isn't that just a nice way of saying, "He's smarter then he looks"? Just kidding, of course. Thane is very intelligent. He is also very creative, really, really funny, popular, and athletic. Great qualities in a kid. Unfortunately they often mask his academic abilities. The teachers have been right in the past, and are right this year. He can do better. So what is the appropriate reaction to this report card?
Gulp. Gulp. Punishment sounds so harsh doesn't it. Punitive by definition implies a penalty. Thane could have done better. It wasn't like he tried his very best. He admits he slacked off. Although he's nine, he reads at a much higher level. He does very well in math and science. He understands there are consequences for his actions or lack thereof. As parents where do we go from here? We're thrilled Thane has, for the most part, harnessed his temper. He's paying attention most of the time. He has a B average. That's more than acceptable. Punishment doesn't seem like the way to go. But we have to keep in mind he is aware he did not give it his all. And there were times the laughs he got were at the expense of others. Comedy and spontaneity appeal to Thane, and lead me to consider buying LCBO gift certificates for his teachers. (Hmmm. I should write about genetics sometime.)
An out and out report card celebration wouldn't be appropriate either. Our parenting style differs from that. We don't praise our kids for picking a piece of lint off their pants. In the workplace I've had the pleasure of managing twenty-somethings who were raised like that. I called them the 'Entitled Generation'. They honestly believed they deserved a six figure salary, straight out of university. And if they managed to pull together a powerpoint presentation they thought they deserved a raise for all that hard work. They want to carry a brand new Macbook Air, drive a new car, and live in a fully furnished apartment straight out of the pages of Design Beautiful. Oh yeah. Mommy, daddy, and society told them they were perfect for twenty years. Boy, are they shocked when they find out they're not.
So, as with every parenting issue Chris and I need to strike a balance. To find that place in the middle that doesn't protect the kids from appropriate criticism. Yet still dangles some sort of motivational Bey Blade in front of them. As long as I live I will never forget my grade nine teacher holding my honours certificate in front of my nose minutes before Junior Convocation. He held it there and then he ripped it in two. The entire time he maintained eye contact with me. I kept asking myself, "How could he embarrass me like this? I thought he liked me." My heart was broken. What I couldn't have understood at the time was that his was too. He was my mentor and one of the best teachers I ever had. I had not worked to my potential. I still turn to that moment for motivation. Just because the truth hurts doesn't mean it's not the truth.
We'll all sit down and talk this weekend. Caden's report card was great so we dodged a bullet there. No letter grades to consider in Senior Kindergarten. Every kid is different, every family is different; therefore, we're wingin' it again. For the most part Chris and I are doing the best we can to raise our kids to be good people. To be productive members of society. Sometimes we do right by them and sometimes we fail miserably. Sometimes we even give in and fortify the coffee. Honestly, as parents, we are smarter than we look.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
On Genetics
After twenty three years with the same guy you pretty much know how he ticks and if you don't you haven't really been paying attention. I have a clear idea of how my husband will solve a problem, react to change, or absorb information. What I find fascinating is watching our middle child Caden behaving just like his father. Genetics are beyond my ken. Let's face it, scientist I am not, but I can appreciate the complexity of the zygote becoming the flesh and blood boy. I have a more difficult time getting my head around the repetative behaviour patterns genetics throw at us.
Let's be honest there were some traits my husband possesses I was really hoping wouldn't get passed on to our progeny. And I have no doubt he feels the same way about my less than stellar contribution to the genetic stew. Einstein and Martha Stewart will not be found hanging around my family tree. Regardless, we love each other, and we love our kids, so we put up and shut up with a lot of the crap in between. And let's face it I have a handsome, brilliant husband. What more could a girl ask for?
But how do you cope when your husband has a Mini-Me that tags along beside him? Sometimes I feel a little outnumbered. A little outmaneuvered. My only edge is I have spent more than half my life with Chris so at times I can predict his behaviour. Advantageous when predicting the behaviour of his six year old clone. Take for example trying to get Caden to get dressed this morning. His pants were in the clean laundry basket. I told him to pick any pair and put them on. Half an hour later four kids and I were roasting in our own skins, dressed in our parkas waiting for Caden to make a grand entrance. And finally he did. Sans pants. Dinosaur boxers the only thing between him and the 20cm of snow that fell yesterday. I blew a gasket. Four pair of pants to choose from. What was the problem?
Well it seems, in Caden's opinion, these four pair of pants did not belong to him. They were too long and must belong to his older brother Thane. We argued. To prove my point I hauled Thane, by the hood of his parka, up the stairs to demonstrate to Caden each pair of pants only reached the top of Thane's boots. At this point Thane had denounced any familial relationship to Caden. In Thane's mind anyone who doesn't have the ability to get up and get ready for the day in fifteen minutes is not worth the air they breathe. I sent the grumbling Thane downstairs, threw a pair of pants at Caden's feet and watched him put them on. They fit. Suddenly I thought I knew what the problem was. And then Caden confirmed my hunch. He explained the pants looked different from the pants he wore last week. They were slightly longer and slightly wider. He had yet to accept the fact he had moved from a size 6x to an 8. He needed time to process that he had in fact grown, and that new pants were the product of this growth. He was stressed that something new was flying in his airspace. At six Caden would not be described as spontaneous. As his Mom, I have to allow him the time to process change and new information, even if it means he and his brother are going to be late for school.
So you may now ask, what does this have to do with genetics? Oh please let me explain. In our house Chris does the laundry. Sorts, washes, dries and folds. My job is to put away. Which would of course explain why Caden was directed to pull his pants out of the clean laundry basket. But I digress. Last night, while Chris was folding the aforementioned laundry I watched him holding pants up in front of him. I heard him sigh. This became a pattern. Hold up pants, sigh, fold, place in basket. You'll never guess what the problem was. Oh yes. Caden had new pants in the laundry. Slightly longer, slightly wider. Just that much closer in appearance to Thane's. You see Chris also sorts the laundry after he folds it. Each child has their own pile. He was annoyed that something new was flying in his airspace. In relation to being faced with the 'pants problem', on a scale of 1 to 10 his annoyance was a 2 and Caden's stress a 9, but that's the beauty of age and wisdom. Chris has learned how to cope.
So you thought when I introduced genetics I was referring to eye colour, facial features, maybe the way Chris and Caden walk. Oh that's all there. In spades. Mini-Me all the way. No, I was talking about the hard wiring. That certain something that makes our parents a part of us in a sometimes scary, always fascinating, irrefutable way. So, I think I've made my point. Genetics are a weird and wonderful thing. When you get right down to it I'm not complaining one bit about Chris and Mini-Me. Afterall I love every one of their quirks. And frankly I wouldn't want to tick them off. I predict in a couple of years they'll be fighting over who does the laundry.
Let's be honest there were some traits my husband possesses I was really hoping wouldn't get passed on to our progeny. And I have no doubt he feels the same way about my less than stellar contribution to the genetic stew. Einstein and Martha Stewart will not be found hanging around my family tree. Regardless, we love each other, and we love our kids, so we put up and shut up with a lot of the crap in between. And let's face it I have a handsome, brilliant husband. What more could a girl ask for?
But how do you cope when your husband has a Mini-Me that tags along beside him? Sometimes I feel a little outnumbered. A little outmaneuvered. My only edge is I have spent more than half my life with Chris so at times I can predict his behaviour. Advantageous when predicting the behaviour of his six year old clone. Take for example trying to get Caden to get dressed this morning. His pants were in the clean laundry basket. I told him to pick any pair and put them on. Half an hour later four kids and I were roasting in our own skins, dressed in our parkas waiting for Caden to make a grand entrance. And finally he did. Sans pants. Dinosaur boxers the only thing between him and the 20cm of snow that fell yesterday. I blew a gasket. Four pair of pants to choose from. What was the problem?
Well it seems, in Caden's opinion, these four pair of pants did not belong to him. They were too long and must belong to his older brother Thane. We argued. To prove my point I hauled Thane, by the hood of his parka, up the stairs to demonstrate to Caden each pair of pants only reached the top of Thane's boots. At this point Thane had denounced any familial relationship to Caden. In Thane's mind anyone who doesn't have the ability to get up and get ready for the day in fifteen minutes is not worth the air they breathe. I sent the grumbling Thane downstairs, threw a pair of pants at Caden's feet and watched him put them on. They fit. Suddenly I thought I knew what the problem was. And then Caden confirmed my hunch. He explained the pants looked different from the pants he wore last week. They were slightly longer and slightly wider. He had yet to accept the fact he had moved from a size 6x to an 8. He needed time to process that he had in fact grown, and that new pants were the product of this growth. He was stressed that something new was flying in his airspace. At six Caden would not be described as spontaneous. As his Mom, I have to allow him the time to process change and new information, even if it means he and his brother are going to be late for school.
So you may now ask, what does this have to do with genetics? Oh please let me explain. In our house Chris does the laundry. Sorts, washes, dries and folds. My job is to put away. Which would of course explain why Caden was directed to pull his pants out of the clean laundry basket. But I digress. Last night, while Chris was folding the aforementioned laundry I watched him holding pants up in front of him. I heard him sigh. This became a pattern. Hold up pants, sigh, fold, place in basket. You'll never guess what the problem was. Oh yes. Caden had new pants in the laundry. Slightly longer, slightly wider. Just that much closer in appearance to Thane's. You see Chris also sorts the laundry after he folds it. Each child has their own pile. He was annoyed that something new was flying in his airspace. In relation to being faced with the 'pants problem', on a scale of 1 to 10 his annoyance was a 2 and Caden's stress a 9, but that's the beauty of age and wisdom. Chris has learned how to cope.
So you thought when I introduced genetics I was referring to eye colour, facial features, maybe the way Chris and Caden walk. Oh that's all there. In spades. Mini-Me all the way. No, I was talking about the hard wiring. That certain something that makes our parents a part of us in a sometimes scary, always fascinating, irrefutable way. So, I think I've made my point. Genetics are a weird and wonderful thing. When you get right down to it I'm not complaining one bit about Chris and Mini-Me. Afterall I love every one of their quirks. And frankly I wouldn't want to tick them off. I predict in a couple of years they'll be fighting over who does the laundry.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
On Life Plans
So in order to avoid eating half a loaf of homemade bread (Why does it have to smell so good?) I'm going to see how far I get with my blog. The weather certainly supports writing today. All snow drifts and white gusts. I just want to curl up with my laptop and type the day away. I'm afraid the seven kids running around here may have other ideas. On a good day I get to read my post over once. Today you may receive the unedited truth. Revealing my spelling and grammatical errors in all their glory. Oh well. More fun to watch the kids build with play dough than edit this. (I do have a fantastic recipe for homemade play dough if anyone else needs something creative to do on this blustery day!)
So today I've been contemplating life planning. Not the typical financial stuff, but the sort of life planning parents do for their children. Chris and I have a chat every couple of months about each kid. Where they're at in school. Good grades, bad grades. Typical behaviours, new behaviours. New likes and dislikes, friends and activities. Parenting today is different than it used to be. Kids are more savvy, more educated, more knowledgeable. As parents we have to be on our game.
Kids know what sex is before they see the 'bunny' movie. They know there are good and bad drugs. They know liquor is a drug. They can't wait to have coffee because it will give them energy. Their friends are from all over the world. Some of their friends have lost their parent's in war. Some of their friends have held a gun in war. The news is accessible. The Internet needs no explanation. And every twelve year old has a Smart phone.
So the world is a million times smaller for our kids than it was for us. And we're not doing our kids any favours if we stand around like a bunch of old curmudgeons complaining about it. We're the parents and we need to accept this is the new way our kids will do business. To be prepared as a parent you might like to try life plans for your kids. They don't have to be written in stone, or even written down. It's enough that you make the effort. When it comes to parenting this is no time to wing it.
I'm no fool. I know you're thinking we're insane. Life plans for kids.? Way to over think something that should come naturally! But I don't think parenting comes naturally, or there wouldn't be so many parenting how-to books out there. I think we should take advantage of every opportunity to help our kids out. To raise them to be productive adults. I'm not saying over schedule your kids. I'm not saying pick their friends. I'm not saying meet with their teachers every week. I am saying put some thought into what you want your kid's future to look like? What kind of adult do you want them to be? Just because the kid down the street is in golf, and you like to watch golf on TV doesn't mean it's right for your kid.
As an example of how we plan for the kids let's look at Thane. We're still not sure if hockey is the right activity for Thane. But we have a plan. He is to get the first three levels of CanSkate (essentially figure skating basics). If he passes those he has to pass CanPower (figure skating lessons in hockey gear). All these levels can be done in a few months. If he passes them he can try hockey. Reasons for not just sticking him in hockey? We have a life plan for Thane. Skating is on the list of skills we would like him to have. It's very important to us that throughout his life he be able to skate. If we had put him in hockey and he hated it the chances of getting him to take figure skating lessons 0%. Kiss that skill goodbye. Also, if he does play hockey we want him to be good at it. Not NHL good. Just successful at his level. He has a better chance of success if he has a solid skating foundation. We have made the decision that our kids be able to skate, swim, ski, and have a basic knowledge of how to express themselves creatively. Hence piano, guitar and acting lessons. Anything else they want to try along the way is gravy. Entirely up to them and we will support them within reason.
Another item on the kid's life plans would be sensitivity to differences. So I deliberately provide childcare for a little boy with cerebral palsy. His parents are well aware over the last three years their son has been coming to our house he has taught our kids about differences, tolerance and prejudice. God bless them for sharing their son with us. These life lessons were part of the plan we have laid out for our kids.
Please don't think we have a list on the fridge, a ledger in a safe deposit box somewhere. Chris and I have conversations. A long time ago the plans were laid out. We just touch base every now and then to make sure we are on track. If we're not we make adjustments. Talk to teachers, change coaches, talk with the kids about making good choices. If nothing else having a plan gives us, as parents, a sense of control in a world that can easily take control of our children. And let's face it, even though they just ate a whole loaf of homemade bread in one sitting, they're worth it.
So today I've been contemplating life planning. Not the typical financial stuff, but the sort of life planning parents do for their children. Chris and I have a chat every couple of months about each kid. Where they're at in school. Good grades, bad grades. Typical behaviours, new behaviours. New likes and dislikes, friends and activities. Parenting today is different than it used to be. Kids are more savvy, more educated, more knowledgeable. As parents we have to be on our game.
Kids know what sex is before they see the 'bunny' movie. They know there are good and bad drugs. They know liquor is a drug. They can't wait to have coffee because it will give them energy. Their friends are from all over the world. Some of their friends have lost their parent's in war. Some of their friends have held a gun in war. The news is accessible. The Internet needs no explanation. And every twelve year old has a Smart phone.
So the world is a million times smaller for our kids than it was for us. And we're not doing our kids any favours if we stand around like a bunch of old curmudgeons complaining about it. We're the parents and we need to accept this is the new way our kids will do business. To be prepared as a parent you might like to try life plans for your kids. They don't have to be written in stone, or even written down. It's enough that you make the effort. When it comes to parenting this is no time to wing it.
I'm no fool. I know you're thinking we're insane. Life plans for kids.? Way to over think something that should come naturally! But I don't think parenting comes naturally, or there wouldn't be so many parenting how-to books out there. I think we should take advantage of every opportunity to help our kids out. To raise them to be productive adults. I'm not saying over schedule your kids. I'm not saying pick their friends. I'm not saying meet with their teachers every week. I am saying put some thought into what you want your kid's future to look like? What kind of adult do you want them to be? Just because the kid down the street is in golf, and you like to watch golf on TV doesn't mean it's right for your kid.
As an example of how we plan for the kids let's look at Thane. We're still not sure if hockey is the right activity for Thane. But we have a plan. He is to get the first three levels of CanSkate (essentially figure skating basics). If he passes those he has to pass CanPower (figure skating lessons in hockey gear). All these levels can be done in a few months. If he passes them he can try hockey. Reasons for not just sticking him in hockey? We have a life plan for Thane. Skating is on the list of skills we would like him to have. It's very important to us that throughout his life he be able to skate. If we had put him in hockey and he hated it the chances of getting him to take figure skating lessons 0%. Kiss that skill goodbye. Also, if he does play hockey we want him to be good at it. Not NHL good. Just successful at his level. He has a better chance of success if he has a solid skating foundation. We have made the decision that our kids be able to skate, swim, ski, and have a basic knowledge of how to express themselves creatively. Hence piano, guitar and acting lessons. Anything else they want to try along the way is gravy. Entirely up to them and we will support them within reason.
Another item on the kid's life plans would be sensitivity to differences. So I deliberately provide childcare for a little boy with cerebral palsy. His parents are well aware over the last three years their son has been coming to our house he has taught our kids about differences, tolerance and prejudice. God bless them for sharing their son with us. These life lessons were part of the plan we have laid out for our kids.
Please don't think we have a list on the fridge, a ledger in a safe deposit box somewhere. Chris and I have conversations. A long time ago the plans were laid out. We just touch base every now and then to make sure we are on track. If we're not we make adjustments. Talk to teachers, change coaches, talk with the kids about making good choices. If nothing else having a plan gives us, as parents, a sense of control in a world that can easily take control of our children. And let's face it, even though they just ate a whole loaf of homemade bread in one sitting, they're worth it.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Shack Happy. Us?
Going shack happy is a funny thing. It sneaks up on you when you're too busy to notice. It's winter. It's cold. We have no plans to go anywhere warm anytime soon. Everyone is getting a little sensitive. It's not like we spend a lot of time in the house. We're always running all over the place, but the lack of sunshine is getting to all of us. As a family we're a little high strung right now. Nerves are close to the surface and the kids are within a whisper of having an all out brawl. We need to make a few minor adjustments if we're going to eliminate some interpersonal static electricity in this house.
I'll admit I am tired of making meals for everyone and they are tired of my repertoire. It's not like I'm a one trick pony, but some of the meals I've been serving lately have been a little sketchy. The old slow cooker may have to become a plant pot, with a handy attached meat thermometer. Last week I decided to change things up a bit. Instead of eating at the dining table like we always do, I threw the plates and utensils on the coffee table in the living room. Instead of meat and potatoes I got Chris to pick up munchies. You know, besides pizza, every kid's favorite foods. Fruit, veggies and dips, crackers and summer sausage. Cheesies and chocolate milk. It was Friday night, so we put Diary of a Wimpy Kid in the DVD player and ate in front of the TV. I know. Not rocket science. But I spend half my life chasing kids with juice boxes and sticky fingers away from my new sofa. Letting them run loose with food is a big step for Chris and I.
What an enjoyable dinner. Not having to listen to anyone whining about what was on their plate was worth the dip in between the cracks of the hardwood. In our house you don't have to eat it all, but you have to take bites according to age. Four years equals four bites of the dreaded broccoli. The three kids are horrified they are all moving up a bite over the next two weeks. Suck it up kiddies. Birthdays are not all fun and games. But this freestyle dinner was complaint free. No cajoling anyone to take bites. Unbelievable.
It's funny how I can get stuck in a rut doing things the way I think they're supposed to be done. Sometimes I have to remind myself to use my own common sense. In my mother's house you can eat off the floors. Even in the corners. In my house not so much. Even the dog thinks twice before she eats a Cheerio off our floors. (And she has all her shots!) Sure, I hate cleaning floors, but I also hate nagging the kids about spilling or dropping anything. How productive would you be at work if your boss stuck their head in your cubicle every fifteen minutes to remind you to keep your workspace tidy?
And I really do hate clutter. It drives me crazy. You wouldn't know it walking around this place. It's taken me years to come to the realization toys aren't clutter. That some stuff isn't clutter. This is our home. We live here. You can visit anytime, but you've got to accept, this is the way we roll. So yes, we have lightened up, so you may find our house in a mess. And on Friday nights you may find us sitting on the floor in the living room eating off plastic plates. But you'll probably hear us laughing and that's what will get us through the long cold winter without selling each other on Kijiji.
I'll admit I am tired of making meals for everyone and they are tired of my repertoire. It's not like I'm a one trick pony, but some of the meals I've been serving lately have been a little sketchy. The old slow cooker may have to become a plant pot, with a handy attached meat thermometer. Last week I decided to change things up a bit. Instead of eating at the dining table like we always do, I threw the plates and utensils on the coffee table in the living room. Instead of meat and potatoes I got Chris to pick up munchies. You know, besides pizza, every kid's favorite foods. Fruit, veggies and dips, crackers and summer sausage. Cheesies and chocolate milk. It was Friday night, so we put Diary of a Wimpy Kid in the DVD player and ate in front of the TV. I know. Not rocket science. But I spend half my life chasing kids with juice boxes and sticky fingers away from my new sofa. Letting them run loose with food is a big step for Chris and I.
What an enjoyable dinner. Not having to listen to anyone whining about what was on their plate was worth the dip in between the cracks of the hardwood. In our house you don't have to eat it all, but you have to take bites according to age. Four years equals four bites of the dreaded broccoli. The three kids are horrified they are all moving up a bite over the next two weeks. Suck it up kiddies. Birthdays are not all fun and games. But this freestyle dinner was complaint free. No cajoling anyone to take bites. Unbelievable.
It's funny how I can get stuck in a rut doing things the way I think they're supposed to be done. Sometimes I have to remind myself to use my own common sense. In my mother's house you can eat off the floors. Even in the corners. In my house not so much. Even the dog thinks twice before she eats a Cheerio off our floors. (And she has all her shots!) Sure, I hate cleaning floors, but I also hate nagging the kids about spilling or dropping anything. How productive would you be at work if your boss stuck their head in your cubicle every fifteen minutes to remind you to keep your workspace tidy?
And I really do hate clutter. It drives me crazy. You wouldn't know it walking around this place. It's taken me years to come to the realization toys aren't clutter. That some stuff isn't clutter. This is our home. We live here. You can visit anytime, but you've got to accept, this is the way we roll. So yes, we have lightened up, so you may find our house in a mess. And on Friday nights you may find us sitting on the floor in the living room eating off plastic plates. But you'll probably hear us laughing and that's what will get us through the long cold winter without selling each other on Kijiji.
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