Twirling, Sheet Digs and Barbie Hurling

So today I found myself with a bit of free time, a pile of fabrics and this big bunch of inspiration.
Ooooh yeah.

I made Mia a skirt and Bram a pair of pants today. Mia's skirt needs a little back story though...

Once upon a time, Mia fell in love with a dress once that was so expensive, I'd had to have taken out a second mortgage on the house to afford it. She screamed and hollered so expressively about not getting this dress, I was sure people thought I was abducting her. Or, if they knew she was mine, any doubts about having kids of their own were immediately confirmed, making me directly responsible for their eternal childlessness... Either way, it was a ginormous everyday diva melt-down and I cursed the day that dress would ever cross our path again.

Then, we saw the very same dress at my favorite consignment shop, Cherry T's! Only, it was about 5 sizes too small for her. Obviously, we had to get it (thank the Lord for store credit). Mia tried to wear it, even though it cut off the circulation to her arms. It hung in her closet for about two months until today...
I took the prettiest part off the dress, which was this tulle petticoat with 'actual' flower petals and leaves in it. I then attached it to the top of a pair of pink jogging pants that had a irremovable stain on them. Snip, snip, snip - off went the legs and stitch, stitch, stitch, on went the skirt with a nice soft pink lining.

Mia topped it off with an awesome princess t-shirt and ruby-red Dorothy shoes and proceeded to demonstrate its awesome twirl-factor.

She was very satisfied; in fact, Mia is my number one customer. I admit, it's easy to make stuff for girls - gathers, glitter and ruffles are my forté! Bram deserved something too, but boys' stuff is a challenge and most times, this Eco mama is just too tired for a challenge...

Not today, though.

I scored a bunch of great 'pre-loved' material the other day, including a green-striped sheet. I thought Bram would look pretty cool in a pair of mega-baggy green-striped cotton trousers, but to be honest, I wasn't sure I even remembered how to make a pair of pants form scratch.

The last time I did was when I was in art school (I refuse to disclose exactly how long ago that was, but suffice it to say, it was when Kurt Cobain was still alive), so when I sat down to make them, I discovered I still knew how!

Fancy that.

Bram happened to be having a melt-down when I introduced the pants - lo and behold, they were just the thing to bring him out of it! And, he put them on all by himself! Elastic waistbands, I love ya.

Then we played Barbie Hurling.

Yes, you read right: Barbie Hurling.

If you're not familiar with the game, I would suggest you get yourself some washing line and a couple of Barbies and get on the bandwagon, 'cuz it's big fun.

Mia and Bram invented this game, I am proud to say. They discovered how incredible it is to let a bit of rope down from someplace high, then they experienced the overwhelming sensation of tying something to the rope and hoisting it back up. Barbies were just destined to come into the formula sooner or later, let's face it.

You need someplace high to stand in order to hurl properly, and a few branches to hurl the Barbie over is preferable, but not mandatory. It does provide a challenge... Don't forget how sturdy Barbie is, though, and just keep reminding yourself she really can't feel a thing, and you'll enjoy the game even more. Hurl and hoist, that's about all there is to it.

If you can get some really sweet person (like visiting Uncle Chris) to stand below and hurl the Barbies back up, consider yourself very blessed.

Barbie Hurling is educational too, you know. It teaches kids about stuff like aim and velocity and heck, even physics, probably!

Happy kids, today.
Happy Mama.

The Birthday Mission

I am a sucker for two things when it comes to toys for my kids: they've got to be wooden and they've got to be durable. Now, don't get me wrong - I've got plastic toys just like the next mom, most of them hand-me-downs or second-hand deals I just couldn't pass up. But I have made a deal with myself to replace as much of the plastic as possible, when possible, with wooden. 



The mission: the replacement of one of Bram's favourite toys: a horrid half-broken 70's plastic parking garage, with a brandy new German-made, sturdy-as-hell, three-level wooden parking garage.



The occasion: Bram's third birthday.



What better way to toss out the old and ring in the new, right? A new year, another milestone - the 'terrible two's' finally gone, forever! To celebrate this momentous day, a big, wooden durable toy was in order. I strive to teach my children the value of aesthetics, beauty and durability; yes, even when they are way too young to grasp the concept.



The wooden garage has been sitting in its box for the last week and last night, when the kids were finally in bed, I planned to wrap it. That was when it dawned on me: it was not assembled! Giving a three-year-old kid an awesome toy that wasn't even put together is pure torture! I couldn't do that to him.

So, I opened the box, filled my glass of wine to the brim and got to work.

I was pretty sure I possessed the capacity to put this thing together, I mean, I've put IKEA furniture together before, for Pete's sake. How hard could it be? But as I pulled out vague piece after piece, and inspected the cryptic assembly instructions, I began to feel beads of sweat form on my brow. It was after 9pm and I still had decorations to hang up and a birthday cake to adorn. I rolled up my sleeves and got assembling.




Slowly but surely, the garage came together. Hours went by, and the room was filled with the scent of wood and perspiration as I worked arduously. I knew how my son had the gift of finding the weak spot of any given object which could lead to its certain demise. I had to ensure this particular toy was as 'Bram-proof' as possible.



Finally, it was finished. The garage, including the little elevator and two miniature gas pumps, was complete. I was proud, I was elated; for a moment, I was Super Mom. I realized I didn't have enough wrapping paper to cover this gargantuan thing, but as I picked it up to move into the living room, I made an even more horrifying discovery: it came apart! The wooden pegs weren't enough to keep the structure intact - to my dismay, I realized I had forgotten an essential ingredient of this project: glue.

Figuring Bram would be respectful enough to take this minor flaw into consideration as he played with it (ha!), and seeing that it was almost midnight and I still hadn't blown up any balloons yet, I left it as is, covered the thing with about fifty sheets of grey, recycled tissue paper and tied the biggest bow possible around it. It wasn't pretty. It looked like an enormous pile of paper maché with a red bow tied around it. But it was what was on the inside that counted, right? I hoped Bram would see it that way too...

Hanging the decorations in the dark was a challenge, but I managed to make the place look festive without waking the kids or breaking my neck. It was just after midnight when I finally fell asleep, which by my standards, was about the equivalent of an all-nighter.

This morning, Mia was up first, and was able to contain her own enthusiasm by not unwrapping the mysterious grey lump.

Obviously, she knew it was what was on the inside that counted.

When the birthday boy finally emerged from his bed, it took him all of thirty seconds to realize the place was decorated for his benefit. One of the perks of turning three, I think, is that you are finally aware you're turning three.

Half asleep and rather wobbly, he saw his present. He, also, was aware that something exciting was on the inside. He managed to unwrap it (with Mia's help, naturally) and squeals of delight filled the room.

One of the basic needs of a Mom was satisfied: my kid was happy.








As you can guess, the brandy-new, gorgeous, German-made, wooden, three-level parking garage was exactly as sturdy as I made it - so, not very. Without the levels actually attached to the base with glue, the thing came apart about twenty times in as many minutes. But the kids caught on quick, and before long, they were putting it back together by slotting the little pegs back into their holes themselves! It became a puzzle garage!

Bram loved it, and will love keep on loving it, whether I stick it together with glue or not.

Mission accomplished.

One valuable mommyhood lesson learned: there's something to say about not following the directions - isn't that what they call, 'thinking outside the box' (even if it is by accident)? Or perhaps I just learned, once again, about the amazing adaptability of children. We grown-ups should take notes.

In any case, that old plastic garage is officially become redundant, and has a date with a garbage bag, as soon as I type the last word of this post.


Spring Break Blues

It's only Wednesday.

Vacation started last Friday and I am running out of ideas to entertain these kids of mine. I thought I really prepared for this one, but my seemingly endless supply of toilet paper tubes (good for making just about anything from crazy critters to flower vases to working rocket ships) don't seem to impress the kids anymore. Today we've already played dress-up, did our make-up, created objects d' art with play-dough, we've colored, painted and sang songs, we watched a movie and jumped on the bed - and it's not even noon.

No play-dates on the horizon until Friday, no birthday parties until Sunday, no plans whatsoever. We've been lucky the past few days with tons of sunshine and gorgeous Spring-like weather, so we've spent most of the time outside. Time flies when the sun is out! But today is grey and promising rain any second. Bummer.

I'm not making things any easier by sharing my attention with the computer, a constant thorn in the eye of my children. I think they consider PowerBook to be a member of the family, something like a new baby, that demands more attention than they think is fair. They're probably right. Considering it's my only window to the world and an important tool for my own self-expression, they'll just have to accept it. Believe you me, PowerBook can get jealous too.

Right now, Bram is making it clear he is done with the current activity by hanging on my neck and chattering loudly in my ear. He is of the opinion that grown-ups are actually made for climbing on and attacking stealth-style. He's now decided that taking away something Mia is playing with would be far more fun than sharing, and indeed, he provokes an interesting and rather loud reaction from her. I have made a deal with myself to intervene as little as possible these days, in the hopes that they will learn to settle their differences together by cooperation. Sometimes, this works. Other times, we all need a band-aid and a kiss to make it better.

Sharing is tough. But inventing new and fun things to do all day is considerably more challenging. My kids don't get that yet. I certainly didn't get that as a kid - I only got it when I had kids of my own. (I think I can hear my Mom laughing to herself as she reads this...)

Now they're giggling. That sound is what makes it all worthwhile. They are experts at cracking themselves and each other up! Bram has discovered he has a talent for making Mia laugh simply by making sounds with his tongue or pretending to be a dog. Those are the moments I cherish, because it means I can finally have some alone time with PowerBook...

I am quickly learning, the less I interfere with my kids' day, the better it is. A cardboard box, a tub of play-dough and the underside of the table is all they really need to create an enormous mess have a great time. My instincts tell me it won't last long though. My biological Mom-timer is set for 3 minutes and forty-five seconds, and counting, before someone bonks his head or feels unfairness in some way.

Two minutes.

One minute and thirty-three seconds. (I better come up with something quick.)

Twenty-six seconds and... bingo.

Mia's foot got stepped on. One pink butterfly band-aid coming up.

Here I come with the toilet paper tubes again. It's all I've got, take it or leave it.

Lord, it's only Wednesday.

The Pre-School Rant

If you know me, then you probably know the three most important things about me:
I have no regrets, I treat others as I expect to be treated, and I don't hold a grudge.
Every so often, however, someone comes along who makes me rethink the three basic principles by which I live. I thought I could let it go, but apparently I need to write this off my chest.

September of last year, Bram started going to a pre-school near us. It had recently undergone major changes due to a new law passed by the government involving the merging of pre-school and daycare facilities. The idea was to offer a sort of 'one-stop-shopping' for parents - instead of the hassle of bringing their children to one place and having them transferred to another during the day, all childcare benefits would be held in one place. We gained a central location but were forced to say goodbye to our experienced and much-loved caregivers. What we were left with didn't really become clear to me until much later.

The first couple weeks was fine. Then, things started to go downhill fast. When Bram saw the front door of the pre-school and realized we were going to leave him there, he would begin to cry. Then he would begin to scream. And holler. And kick, hit, protest with his entire body. Several times, I would see the eyes of one particular 'caregiver' (in her case an extreme contradiction in terms) roll when she saw me approaching with the clearly audible protesting Bram in my arms. Then, he would repeat all the crying, screaming and hollering when I picked him up again in the afternoon. Something was very clearly up but I didn't get it yet.

As the months passed, Bram became increasingly more audible about not wanting to be anywhere near that pre-school, and especially that particular 'caregiver'. I blame myself for not recognizing the signs earlier, but continued to bring him to that place four times a week, despite his consitent protests. Bram didn't have words to communicate yet, so he used what he did have - his entire body and every sound he could produce in a wide range of frequencies.

There were a lot of kids in the pre-school group, and I knew Bram wasn't too fond of large groups anyway, so I attributed his behavior on that for a while. Whenever I brought him to pre-school or picked him up, he sought negative attention by biting, hitting and doing just about anything he could come up with that he knew wasn't okay. His behavior was extremely unlike our little Bram!

It was autumn, and colds were reigning the schools. Bram's drippy nose was a constant factor, but when I picked him up from the pre-school, his face was often bright red and infected with snot and filth. The 'caregiver' thought Bram's snot was too disgusting to wipe away. When I asked how things had gone, she would describe Bram in terms of 'naughty' and 'difficult'. I simply couldn't understand why he acted so differently in that pre-school than anywhere else. I hated bringing him there against his will and proceeded to ignore that gnawing gut feeling that told me not to.

Then, the hair that broke the camel's back came crashing down. One afternoon, when I picked Bram up from the pre-school, the 'caregiver' told me between big smiles and laughs that she was forced to tie Bram up to his chair that morning because he wouldn't sit down.
Excuse me...? She tied him up to a chair?

She tied my child up to a chair.

I cannot explain my behavior upon hearing that, but I can tell you, it was anything but rational. I didn't tell a soul about it for days and let it rot away my insides. I was actually led to believe my son had deserved to be treated like an animal. I felt ashamed and confused. Bram so clearly felt threatened, he felt unheard and he felt misunderstood, and instead of standing up for him, I let the 'caregiver' convince me my child was a bad egg.

So, I told someone. And then, I told someone else. The reactions I received from other moms, dads, family members and specialists were abundant and in the same exact tone: get him out of there now. I talked to the head of the facility and told her about the monstrous mistake her employee had made by tying my son up. Unfortunately, and to my utter dismay, she defended the 'caregiver' and implied that Bram had deserved it. On top of that, she insinuated that Bram was mentally challenged! I was shocked and apalled and removed Bram immediately from the facility alltogether.

Bram has been in a new pre-school since January and the improvement is incredible. It will be a while before he really feels safe again in any kind of facility, after such a gross breach of his rights as a person, but his new caregivers are aware of this and they give him all the space he needs to gain their trust. In the past couple months, I went from the blind mother to the hawk-like mother, just about ready to peck the eyes out of anyone who told me my child was anything less than amazing.

I hear now and then stories about the 'caregiver' blaming Bram for the behavior of kids in his old pre-school group, even though Bram has been out of there for almost two months. Apparently, this 'caregiver' considers blowing a raspberry (a pretty natural step in a child's speech development) not only as as something negative and wrong, but as Bram's fault. If she wants to raise her own children in that frame of mind, and bear the adverse consequences it will most likely have, then she has every right to do just that. I just can't understand why someone who so clearly dislikes certain children is even pursuing a career in caring for them.

I am still in doubt about whether or not I should press charges against this 'caregiver'. To be honest, I worry about the children who still go to that pre-school, and truly hope that they will not be subjected to the same torture as my child was. It doesn't take much to fall into this 'caregiver's' bad egg category, apparently. Needing to go on the potty outside the scheduled potty-time is a sure way to get on her black list, for example. I do not want to expose Bram to any more negativity by going through some sort of legal process, and I am not the vindictive type... but am I wrong to keep this to myself?

Like I said earlier, in this situation, I need to rethink the three basic principles by which I live:

I have no regrets...
but if I had listened to my gut instincts, I could've gotten him out of there sooner and prevent the damage that was inflicted. 

I treat others as I expect to be treated...
but I would willingly drag that caregiver's name through the mud and ensure she is never allowed to be near children again if she slanders my son in my presence.

I don't hold a grudge...
but my increasing contempt for her keeps me up at night.

At the end of the day, I learned perhaps the most valuable lesson of parenthood, which is to never doubt my ability to raise my children with unconditional love and understanding. It wasn't my fault that Bram was unhappy, but it was my fault that I didn't listen to him when he tried to tell me in his own way. Communication comes in countless forms. Just like love.

When Good Gets Even Better

A friend put it best the other day when she wrote on her Facebook page, 'My kids are playing together, which shouldn't be miraculous, but it is'. I'm thrilled to announc: my kids are doing that too! And it is a miracle!

Like any other stage of development, this one crept up on me stealth-style as well. One day, they're barely giving each other the time of day and the next, one is pretending to feed the other one, who is pretending to be a dog. Experts said this would happen. My mom said this would happen. Friends assured me someday this would happen. It's happening right now.

And they're not just playing together, they're doing all the things that I hoped someday they would. They're doing big-kid stuff like communicating, sharing, taking turns, listening. My God, I've waited so long for this time to come so that the most wonderful of wonders has happened. I actually find I have something on my hands other than peanut-butter and snot stains: time.

I'm not talking about oodles of time, goodness no. I mean, I can't finally write that novel or take up knitting or anything. We're talking about a few extra minutes a day in which I can sit back and actually enjoy them interacting with each other without having to intervene before some sort of head injury would get inflicted. Sure, now and then I need to play the diplomat and give back whatever it was the other one wasn't ready to share yet, but those times are fewer these days. They're still only two and only four, I know we have a long way to go yet, but the start is there. And it's a damn good start.

There was a time when I was the one who had to pretend to be the dog, but those days are over. Someone more than qualified for the job (and with significantly more energy) has taken my place, and I am thrilled to hand over the responsibility. My son has discovered the joy of being 'wanted' and my daughter has discovered the joy of having another slave around besides me...

Good times just got better.

New Year's Revelations

Today is the first day of 2011, my 5th year of being a Mom. Instead of New Year's resolutions, I've been making some New Year's revelations today. Another year has passed and as I surrender myself to Mommyhood entirely, I realize a few things about how my life is now, as opposed to how it was. We're talking about slight differences, but fundamental ones, which establish my role in life once and for all.

The tell-tale signs that I need to get out more:

All my clothes have drool/snot/peanut butter stains on them, and I don't even care.

My Facebook updates are usually about what the kids are doing, or what they just did.

I don't know what's going on in the world, but I sure as heck know all the words to all the 'Dora the Explorer' songs.

I'm seriously considering getting my first name legally changed to 'Mama'.

I'm more worried about whether there's enough tape in the craft drawer than about the state of the present government.

I get genuinely excited when some of my son's pee actually makes it into the potty.

My bedtime is exactly five minutes after my kids' bedtime.

I find myself coloring when the kids aren't even around.

A good night's sleep is something I actually fantasize about.

Playing dress-up with the kids was in fact the last time I actually dressed up.

My idea of 'me-time' is going to the bathroom on my own.

I actually considered writing Santa a letter this year too.

I find myself enjoying food much more if it has a face on it.

My friends have literally said to me, 'You need to get out more'.


But the biggest revelation I made today is this: I am a Mom. And I love being a Mom. I wouldn't trade being a Mom for anything - not fame, not a zillion dollars, not even a good night's sleep. If I can't sing on stage, I might as well sing along with Dora. And if I don't know what's going on in the world, at least I know what's going on in my kids' world, which is the most important world to me after all.