Canada Moms Blog

Because Everyday is Valentine's Day

It was February 14, 1993 and the very first Valentine's Day I would share with the man who would eventually become the love of my life and the father of my children.

I was 23 years old but felt more like a lovestruck tween as I spent the day in a hazy of pink and red hearts floating around my head like some weird Care-Bear-induced acid trip.  I swear you could almost see Cupid's Arrow sticking out of my butt cheek. 

You see, I was absolutely convinced that I was in for a night of a dozen roses, the richest dark chocolate, and a fancy-schmancy dinner with the most romantic boyfriend I'd had.  Ever.

Well, that bubble o' love was quickly burst later that evening, when my ever-so-dreamy boyfriend uttered the words that almost made it our very LAST Valentine's together...

"Oh, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day."

The Return of the Holiday Card

I love sending out Holiday cards.  I mail it out to every member of my family and many friends, averaging about 80 cards annually.  It's a big part of the Season for me, and it's usually the task that gets me into the spirit of things. 

Years ago, when I first started sending out my own cards, I would just buy the familiar ones you'd often find at the big box stores.  Several years later, when my husband and I got engaged, we started sending year-end missives as well, which were well-received thanks to our tendency to live our lives unconventionally and my husband's uncanny way of turning the most mundane activity into a captivating story.

Then, when the kids arrived, we started taking family pictures and designing our own cards.  And because we now had offspring who were, lo and behold, as quirky as us, our missives became even more humorous and entertaining.

Decluttering Memories

Last week, my kids' old playpen made me cry.  Okay, let me rewind and explain.

I've been a decluttering machine as of late.  Okay, when I say "as of late", I really mean "these last couple of years"... ever since our hot water tank broke, and we were forced to deal with the kajillion boxes in our basement. 

Each box we opened felt like a trip back in time.  WAY back in time.  I found myself shredding receipts going back over 5 years, documents going back to the late '80s, datebooks from my university days, and 25-year-old journals harbouring the sadness and negativity of my youth that I was now ready to release.  The kids helped take care of their own stuff by boxing up good toys they no longer used. I think we donated 8 boxes of these toys to the Children's Hospital during the first pass alone! 

As for my husband -- well, he's the real reason why this clutter-clearing has taken a couple of years.  About 75% of those boxes were his. 

The Big Binge Begins

Yes, it's here! It's the time of year when I ditch the portion-controlling and carb-watching, and once again, with great joy and abandon, allow myself to eat. And eat.  And eat and eat and eat. 

For a whole 3 months.

This Big Binge usually starts on Thanksgiving weekend in early October.  I make a stuffed bird and a brown-sugar/pineapple/7Up-glazed ham.  The menu also usually includes corn, steamed vegetables, and baked potato with a huge dollop of sour cream.  Of course, it's not Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie... with whipped cream on top!

A Note to Pre-Baby Me

Sometimes, I wish I were you. Yes, you.  Over there.  My younger, pre-child self.  The one not covered in spilled apple juice, hot chocolate, or dish soap. The one not still in glasses and pajamas at 1 in the afternoon. The one who didn't have to stop yet another fight between her son and daughter over who should move further down the couch, who touched who, who should clean up the mess, or who farted without apologizing.

I'm talking to you, who didn't have to search for a pair of "non-holey, non-painty" jeans for the 7-year-old 15 minutes before bedtime because he refused to get into his pajamas until the last possible minute. Nor did you have to watch the 5-year-old's daredevil dance performance where she unexpectedly catapults herself off the couch to narrowly miss all the pointy toys strewn all over the floor.

My 30th Birthday Caper

I have a birthday coming up in November.  A BIG birthday.  One that will affect the age box I check when I fill out forms.  One that will change the number in front of the "-something".  One that will officially nudge me top over tail into Middle Age. 

I am turning 40.

I don't feel anxious about it.  After all, they say that 40 is the new 30, right?  And as one of the last of my group of friends to step over that threshold, I've been told that life on the "40 side" really feels no different and is quite sweet, like our 30s.  Of course, this doesn't mean I'll be celebrating like I did when I turned 30.  I don't think my fragile old bones could take it!

It's Never Too Soon to Live in Hawai'i

I had just dropped the car off at the shop for a tune up and was enjoying a rare blessedly-quiet morning stroll home alone.  The rain that had been pouring all night had stopped, and the sun was out.  There was a dewy mist hanging in the air, and it reminded me of the special time in my travels when I lived in Hilo, Hawai'i.

You see, Hilo is one of the wettest cities in the world, and on many mornings and shortly after a good rain, the air would be thick with water droplets, too heavy to evaporate, too light to fall to the ground, and not really fog.  As the rain clouds would dissipate, this mist would catch the sunshine casting rainbows everywhere in the jasmine-scented air. It was spectacular.

My hair and skin damp with this "Hilo Kiss" is one of my favourite memories of my travels, and my daughter's middle name Noelani, Hawaiian for "heavenly mist", was chosen in honour of this. 

To think, I would never have had this experience if I'd taken the safe route and stayed home on the Canadian Prairies.

Secret Stealthy Parentspeak

We were so thrilled when our son Lam -- at the tender age of 2 -- started reading.  His dad taught him the word "up".  And it wasn't long before he started picking up words by himself -- with the help of his favourite wooden alphabet blocks, educational internet games, and TV shows like Between The Lions.  We were there to read to him, to give him support, and to answer questions, but for the most part, he was expanding his vocabulary all on his own.

This meant that we didn't have to worry that Lam would struggle with reading when he started school.  Yay!

But it also meant that we didn't know which words he knew.  We learned this lesson when my husband said, "He needs a b-a-t-h", and Lam suddenly-wary said, "Bath?"

Oh, great!  We can't spell in front of our 2-year-old son!  How in the world will we talk about birthday presents? Christmas presents? Other equally trivial things, even kinky things, only for Mommy and Daddy?

Parties for Two

Every June, I become a party planning machine!  My son and daughter have birthdays at the end of June and the beginning of July, respectively.  Four days apart. 

What can I say?  October is cold, and cuddling for warmth often leads to, um, other fun activities.

Anyway, this year, my son Lam turns 7, and my daughter Mini turns 5.  And with both of them now in school, with broader interests, and having many new friends, birthday parties have become much more complicated.

Taking a Kid's Day Off

It all started when I volunteered for my daughter Mini's nursery class trip to Fort Whyte.  We were all excited about the event until I found out what time we'd be leaving the school.  "Just before lunch."  Hmm.  My son Lam usually comes home for lunch.  Going on this class trip would mean I wouldn't be home to give him said lunch.

After looking at all the options, my husband and I decided to pull Lam out of school for the day.  He wouldn't be missing anything significant.  He's only in Grade 1, and it was only one day.  Lam would spend the day with Daddy and sit in his AC Circuits lecture, surfing on Daddy's laptop at the back of the class.  Despite the nature of the lecture (I've taken AC Circuits, and it's not exactly a thrill-of-a-lifetime subject), Lam was jazzed about hanging out at his Dad's work.

Okay, the plan was set.  The school was contacted.  Everyone was on-board... sort of.  The plan made sense, so why did I feel like I was letting my son play hooky?!