Canada Moms Blog

My Case Against Loot Bags

It started last February.

It was my son's sixth birthday and we were throwing him a massive outdoor party. We live on a farm and have a wonderful pond that, every winter freezes into the most excellent skating rink.  There was a massive hockey game between the guests and their parents. We roasted marshmallows and hot dogs and made hot taffy treats in the snow.

In the thirteen years and almost forty birthday parties since I became a parent, it was one of the highlights - and I've thrown some good birthday parties.

There was the year we had fifteen girls over to plant flowers in our front garden and gave them their own potted plant to take home.  We once had a professional makeup artist come over and makeover the girls in dramatic stage makeup and then do a photo shoot.  There have been princesses, lizard tamers, magicians and one year, I kid you not, Santa.

Thinking Local Never Felt So Good

Like many Canadian families, mine has made a dedicated effort to living a more clean, more green lifestyle. We don't just subscribe to the environmental impact that living this lifestyle has, but also the benefits to our personal health and the health of our community. 

I've always been a stickler when it comes to nutrition, portion size and the activity level of my children. Though we've had our less than stellar periods where we get busy and have to take advantage of convenience items, for the most part my family eats healthy and gets active.

It wasn't until this year that we all decided to really try hard to stay local as much as possible. We live in an area with a vibrant sense of community and we feel it necessary to help advocate it. Not only are we saving money by staying closer to home for foods, clothing and gift items, we are helping our neighbours live and work in their community too.

One of our new favourite Saturday morning traditions is making the short drive into town, park and venture up and down our local main street.  We hit the local farmers market, consignment shop and book store. We return library books, visit the butcher and the baker.  The kids munch on cookies as we walk.

The Value In 'Maybe': A Lesson In (Occasional) Half-Ass Parenting

I'm going to let you in on a widely known, but rarely discussed parenting secret.  A technique so golden and easy, it's as effortless as a pacifier at three o'clock in the morning!

You're a parent. I'm a parent. We all had parents, and trust me, they were so in on it.  I know mine were. I'm they approached it in the same way I did, you know, before I had kids.

"When I have kids of my own, I am never going to give 'maybe' as an answer.  I am always going to be honest and forthright with my kids. The world will be one giant 'maybe' to them one day and I refuse to set a stage for disappointment and passing the buck."

Yeah, right. I also said I wasn't ever going to let my kids use pacifiers, but at three o'clock in the morning I often found myself on the floor of the room rooting for one of the seven pacifiers we had splayed around.

It wasn't long after my kids started talking, and thus asking endless questions, that I started to see the value in the simple word "maybe".  What a wonderful word it has turned out to be!  With two little syllables I can give a gentle letdown that also conveys potential and hope that I might eventually.  A sort of  "Try me later. Right now, I just can't deal with you, but maybe after I've had a few days to digest this, you can beat me down."   At the same time, "maybe" can also be a way out for me later where I can say "You know honey, I did say maybe. I wasn't sure then, but now I'm certain we can't do this."

When do I most often use the "maybe" response? Usually to completely off-the-wall requests like asking for a dirt bike, a lizard or painting the kitchen walls bubble gum pink.  Sometimes it's in response to being asked to cut their hair in mohawks or for second ear piercings because "so and so's" mom is "so cool and let her do it". I'm usually in the driver's seat and the four of them are in the back clamoring for my attention as I try to concentrate on some sort of news radio.

I've felt guilty for saying "maybe" in the past. I hated it when my mother used it on me, but as ambivalent as it is, it's also iron-clad.  A maybe was a chance to wear her down, which was good for me, or have her dig in her heels later, which was good for her. See? Win-win!

My only cautionary advice is to be clear of the rules when you use "maybe".  If you've a strong-willed or smart child, make sure they're in on the terms. One of mine is of the bright variety and he knows that I sometimes use "maybe" in a sleep-deprived, pre-coffee daze. He'll know I'm not always paying attention, take the maybe as a yes and have a can of cold chili for breakfast.

(Original post to Canada Moms Blog.  Chantal also blogs at Bread Crumbs In The Butter where she swears she is not really this hapless a parent, she's actually quite effective, but still enjoys the occasional parenting cop-out now and again.)

Open House Atrocities

We're looking for a new house.  Did you know that? I may have mentioned it once or twice. Or, in every single post I've written for this website.  It's a bit of a theme in my life right now, but if this house would just sell, I could end it all by finally buying something.

The market in Ottawa being what it is, and this being July where most Ottawans are somewhere along the Rideau drinking beer and avoiding raccoons, things are not exactly moving.  Where does that leave me? Stalking the MLS website, crashing open houses and making my agent crazy with emails that go something like this:

"Hi Leo,

$349,9000 for THAT house? Are you kidding me?

And what's with the pink carpet?  And the green wallpaper border in the master bathroom. Seriously. My EYES. My eyes will never recover!

Can you please find me something that's less of an eyesore. Something with hardwood and not green patio carpet in the living room.

Regards,
Chantal"

Do you see how I'm filling up my spare time this summer?

I Am Known To Look On The Bright Side

The last year or so, specifically the last three months, have been a bit unlucky for us. It seems we've been at the mercy of some god who has either too much time on his hands or a serious hate-on for my family.

To name just a few of the unfortunate incidents we have my husband's small business pretty much collapsing on itself, twice; several cases of pneumonia; a nasty bout of pinkeye that made it's way through our house; some um... tiny little bugs that like to breed in your hair; and last, but not least, prepping this monstrous house to put on the market because we like to be able to afford to eat and then having a well meaning in law paint some walls the wrong colour two days before list it.

There. That's a gorgeous run-on sentence of misery, isn't it?

I try to be a glass-half-full kind of gal, so I'm not willing to let this string of insanely bad luck get me down.

How can I be so cheery about all this?

What's Wrong With The World Today?

Will you forgive me for sounding very much like the little old man who lived on the street you grew up on? It will only be for a few minutes.  I'm about to write down and say out loud something I didn't think I would be saying for at least thirty more years.

What is wrong with this world today?

I warned you.

Now, before you get up off your chair and tune in to Ellen, please let me explain.

Today was a beautiful spring days in my part of Canada. Ottawa to be exact. I live about forty-five minutes outside of the city but necessity (selling my house) and insanity (I needed cheap bedding at a my favourite Swedish home store), forced me to make the long drive in after work. With four children. By myself.