Canada Moms Blog

She Likes Big Butts and I Want to Die

My three year old daughter’s fascination with butts rivals any man’s love of booty. She likes to talk butts and she will not lie – and she always uses her Outdoors Voice. Her constant loud talk about butts and what they do is making me blush like a schoolgirl. So yes folks, in a nutshell, I’m a prude who is raising a miniature frat boy. Can you die from blushing too hard?

Take for instance her latest rendition of Old MacDonald:
Old MacDonald had a farm e-i-e-i-o
And on that farm he had a butt e-i-e-i-o
With a butt butt here and a butt butt there
Here a butt, there a butt EVERYWHERE A BUTT BUTT!

Or the talking butt game. Where she suddenly whips off the bottoms, bends over and grabs her cheeks a la Bart Simpson and makes her sweet tushy say: LOOK AT ME!

Are song lyrics too explicit?

I am going to sound old.  And like your parents.  I know this but yet, I have to get this off my chest.  Song lyrics have become like soft porn.  It’s ridiculous.  Lady Gaga goes on about riding a disco stick for goodness sake.  Last time I checked disco was a 1970’s phenomenon and I don’t recall any “sticks” being involved.  Okay, so I was five, whatever.

But don’t songs (and TV shows and movies) just keep getting more explicit?  I remember singing  Olivia Newton John's “Let’s Get Physical” when I was a kid and my mom admonishing me.  I had no clue what that meant.  I think, because she was wearing a leotard in the video, I thought it meant exercise.  But I can guarantee the dialogue with my mom about it, got me thinking.

To french school or not to french school?

I am covered in an all-over body rash and it’s called Schooliosis. It’s caused by a looming September, an almost-five-year-old just outside the primary cutoff, a commute dilemma and recurring French Teacher nightmares.

Let me start at the beginning.

Je suis SUCK at le francais. Just as bad as the sucking prompted by mathematics, science and music theory. If you can calculate a good tip and converse in Paris, I envy you. I get that it broadens horizons to be, like, clever and worldly and stuff. I am simply missing whatever chunk of brain commands language acquisition (and cello-playing, and pig fetus dissection, and long division).

For that reason, sending my kids to french school has never been a priority, as it is for my french-schooled husband—as I always used to say, before the decision was imminent: it’s not enough of a priority to justify an hour-long bus ride every day.

But here we are, the summer before he qualifies for free pre-kindergarten, and I’m ALL ITCHY.

Private? Public? Home?: Which School's the "Right" School?

Let's get one thing straight. I'm not the homeschooling type. I'm pretty much your typical urban mom. I've got the Bugaboo stroller, the umbrella stroller, AND the double stroller, the chichi diaper bag -- let's see what else -- the Lululemon yoga pants, the designer sunglasses, the endlessly-blinking PINKberry, the Starbucks addiction, and shall I go on? The Prada purse I carry is, however, FAUX -- since I'm a vegan, which (thanks to the Skinny Bitches, Toronto's Fresh ladies, and Natalie Portman) is actually quite urban-chic these days. Also, I am STILL wearing my winter boots (it's May), and my Lululemons are always covered in cat hair, my kids' lunch and/or snot. I don't blow dry my hair; I wash and go. Yes, I am a (mostly) typical urban mom.

That said, home-schooling is out of the question. It's simply not done here in midtown Toronto. And, if anyone KNOWS anyone who homeschools in midtown Toronto, please let me know. Because I want to shake hands and maybe even bow down to them in reverence and fascination. Because, compared to a homeschooler, I am hopelessly selfish. I personally LOVE it when my kids are at school and I get a little time for myself. It's not so much a matter of selfishness but of NEED.

So, with homeschooling out of the question, and now that my daughter's facing Junior Kindergarten in September, I'm left with two choices for school: private or public? It's a big question around here.

Back-to-Work Survival

T-minus 24 days until I am back behind a desk for 8.5 hours a day. My maternity leave with my second child is coming to a close and, as incredibly conflicted as I am about that return, it's something I have to do for my family. This time around I have become far more comfortable with the notion of being a stay-at-home-mom. The first time I had maternity leave, I scoffed at the idea of staying home with my children possibly being the most fulfilling job I could do. My patience was is thin, but seeing them flourish and KNOW that it has been my doing is really quite rewarding. Needless to say, this time around, returning to work is a bittersweet pill to swallow. I am craving the adult interaction, yet I LOVE being home. 

I think what's been making this time around even more difficult is that child Number 2 and I have a much tighter bond than Number 1 and I had have seeing as our personalities are so similar. That bond is making it far more challenging to separate from him and allow for someone else to spend more time with my child than I; essentially raising my child. (I went through this "someone else raising my child thing with Number 1 as well and it's mind of diminished seeing as he's now pre-school age.)

I received a call Wednesday notifying me that my infant son's position has come available starting May 1st. May 1st!? That didn't seem so close before but has now begun barreling down on my like a speeding freight train.

Panic is setting in.

Thank You 2010 Olympics

When I dropped my daughter at preschool the other morning, this book was waiting for me.

It is the HOP: Healthy Opportunities for Preschoolers booklet, brought to you by your friendly neighbourhood Olympic Committee.

This is apparently a legacy. An OLYMPIC legacy.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Seriously, if we as human beings, let alone parents, need booklets to 'teach' kids how to play, there is a HUGE problem with humanity.

Translation 101

They told me they were going to impregnate my child with French language and culture and so far, they’ve delivered.

We moved two years ago, the spring before our daughter started Junior Kindergarten. We packed up and headed for a new city – the place where we wanted to kick back and lay down some roots, raise our kids and send them to school.

Before we moved, we made the decision to send Julia to an all-French school. Even though neither of us have a strong command of the language we both agreed that our children should, as French is one of Canada’s two official languages.  We both liked the idea of our kids being bilingual and we had one school earmarked – the same one my brothers went to. My children would be following in their uncles’ footsteps.

I was very excited about the whole thing, but also kind of nervous. I wondered how I’d help her with homework and communicate with her teachers, given the fact that the majority of my French is made up of phrases like Où est la salle de bain?, Parlez-vous français ? and Je suis un anana!

(Where is the bathroom?, Do you speak French? and I am a pineapple, respectively.)

Daycare Turns to Nightcare?

I don't envy daycare workers. Numerous children - none of whom are their own - poopy diapers, temper tantrums and THE MESS! But there is something to be said about the type of person who takes on this type of work. They are brave, loving, caring, BRAVE!, fun and - did I mention BRAVE?

As a parent of two small boys, I know how a break in routine can set them off. I know that managing more than one at a time can be very draining - mentally and physically. I know that though there are many lovable moments, there are also those times of omgifyoudon'tshutupthisinstantI'mgoingtoshutyouup!!.

I know. I really, really know.