Mama milestone

Originally published at Sweetspot.ca


Mornings at any mama's house are insane. Trying to get yourself fed and ready to go while trying to get your small humans fed and ready is quite the challenge. My main goals in the morning are:

1. Trying to put together a decent outfit that doesn't look like a preschooler picked it out.
2. Trying to keep semi-decent outfit free of other people's snot, mashed banana and/or oatmeal.
3. Coffee (or Tazo Awake tea).

By 8:30 am, my room looks as though robbers have been there. Everything in my closet has been pulled out. Sometimes tears are shed. But yesterday the skies opened up and the clothing angels came down to give me their blessing.

After three weeks of being sick, I noticed a positive side effect: My stomach was the flattest (or as flat as a twice stretched-to-the-size-of-a-large-mammal can get) it's been since I had my daughter a year and a half ago.

I reached deep into the back of my Ikea Pax wardrobe. There they were, still crisp, still cute and only slightly outdated. My Juicy Couture jeans. I considered Spanx and decided to brave the day without them. Carefully I pulled the jeans up over my cellulite-ridden booty, did up the zipper and then... hallelujah! The button did up! The muffin top barely rolled over the waistband and all was once again right with the world.

Sure, they were bootcut as opposed to the skinny, trouser or boyfriend styles of the present, but I. Did. Not. Care. I was in the tightest jeans I own for the first time in two years! Mom jeans my @$$

What about you? Have you had any awesome mama moments recently?

One bourbon, one scotch, one tear

Tonight everyone was asleep by 7. Nate's now caught the nasty flu and cried until we agreed to let him "west" on the couch. He fell asleep within 10 minutes of laying there. Then I put Jan to bed. He's working the overnight and if he doesn't sleep now, he'll be a mess by 7 am. Then came Lucy, who decided she didn't want to go to bed and wanted to be read 50 stories, but after two minutes of complaining, she realized I wasn't coming back.

Then Nate woke up screaming of pain in his chest, poor bub. I gave him some Advil and comforted him back to sleep. I was careful with my wording, so that he won't end up feeling sorry for himself every time he gets sick, like I do. I told him he was strong, that he could kick these germs, that I believed in him.

Then I poured myself a Scotch (because the Makers Mark bottle was empty). Because really, when your whole family is asleep at 7 pm and you STILL can't leave the house, you have to check out somehow.

I think that after almost five years, Martinis for Milk may have had its run. I'd like to start over somewhere... with more anonymity, or perhaps the opposite, but with more funny and less oversharing. For the first time I feel like I've gone out in just my Gap cotton hipster briefs.

Someone sent me a moving email the other week, after I posted about my shame at feeling animosity towards that Turkish girl on the bus. Born of the marriage of a German and a Jew, she felt I was promoting hate. I told her I was truly sorry, that I honestly don't hate Turks (I have several in my family), that I was trying to convey hurt, not hate. It made me very aware that my broadcasts here are powerful, and that while I mean well, perhaps my words can be misinterpreted and hurtful.

This got me thinking about my kids (hey, I was feverish for a week, what did you expect?). They're growing and soon their stories will no longer be mine to tell. What will happen when they read these posts some day? They'll be old enough to read them before they'll be old enough to understand why I called them FuckFace at nine months old. And at the end of the day, they're the ones whose respect and adoration matters the most.

It's taken me nearly five years to understand and accept motherhood and what it means, and this space has been crucial to that journey. But I think I'm there now. I think the party girl has hung up her dress and is ready to embrace what having two kids entails. I'm finally okay with that. But I could not have made it to that realization without the support of all of you.

I'm trying to live in the present, but I think that in order to do so, I need to empty my head of these stories I've been carrying around with me. They're bursting at the seams now, begging to come out and play. And I'm not sure if they fit on this blog. And I'm not sure if I can have two kids, a husband, a full time job and TWO creative outlets.

I need to get to a point where I spend less time in my head. Oddly, I think the way to do that is to write a book. I'd like to pour my creative energies into something that will still give to the people who like to read me, but that will also take me to the next level as a writer. I think it's time. But it's awfully scary too, thinking of writing in the dark, without the immediate applause (or jeers) of a few hundred people a day.

Thanks for always dropping in on me over the years. It's meant so much, I can't even begin to express it. I've made some incredible friends through this space, ones I can't picture my life without and others I'm just happy to know. I like getting the occasional hello on Facebook, peeking in at your lives, your families. Blogging feels so one dimensional, especially since I'm so bad at responding to comments and playing the blogging game.

At the end of the day I just want to tell my stories. I want to bring people some joy in their day and to reach out to those who are freaked out or frustrated and say, "Hey, you're not alone! And if I can laugh at my day, surely yours isn't so bad."

I'll be back here the odd time or two. Lucy will be 18 months next week and I'll need to get out my thoughts about that. I haven't captured her spirit properly on this blog and I feel like I'm finally starting to know Miss Mystery. I wouldn't mind sharing that with you. Plus the huz still hasn't made the appointment for that snip...

I guess I'm not saying goodbye just yet, more like, see you when I see you.

Is he faking?

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


My son woke up Tuesday morning and exclaimed, "I'm sick!" My husband shot me that look that says, "Don't start freaking out," and so we set upon getting back to reality after a week of me being ill and the long weekend.

"My tummy hurts," he announced after not eating his breakfast (usually the meal he's most excited for). J and I debated who would call in sick to take care of him (every working parent's favourite conversation). But after a dose of Advil (not just for our friend Joey!) he was bouncing off the walls. "This little boy isn't going to school today," he sang as he danced on the couch. My husband locked eyes with me and mouthed, "He's faking!"

Now my son complains about going to preschool every day. (But once he's there he has a great time and whines when we come to pick him up at the end of the day.) He's not good with transitions. But one thing I know is that his hypochondriac mother has taught him to listen to his body.

That being said, it did look like he was well enough to go to school, so we sent him. But when I came home from work Tuesday, he was lethargic and feverish. Boy did I feel guilty. Did we send him the signal that he shouldn't trust his own instincts about his body?

He's been lying beside me all day today, sleeping while I work (thank goodness for laptops, wifi and understanding bosses). I've been shooting my husband "I told you so" looks all day. Four year-olds can definitely be manipulative, but I think kids at this age (and even younger) instinctively know what their bodies need and are feeling.

Would you travel with a sick baby?

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca

This past weekend, we headed to Ottawa to experience Winterlude with our friends, who moved to our nation's capital from Alberta recently. I was so prepared for the whole "anything goes when travelling with kids" thing -- or so I thought. Then Sunday morning, the day we were meant to return home, Lucy woke up with a fever.

Lethargic, clingy and completely opposite of who she normally is, we debated on the right thing to do: Drive home hoping she would sleep the whole way, or stay put for an extra night and take a sick day on Monday? Would we annoy our hosts if we asked to stay an extra night? Isn't the saying that fish and houseguests stink after three days?

In the end we decided to stay put, much to the joy of my son and his betrothed (the daughter of our hosts). Our gracious and accomodating friends made us feel right at home. Parents themselves, they were more than understanding of our predicament. Lucy seemed to break out of her fever the following morning. It was time to go.

The four hour drive took more than six on the way home (with two stops) and by Monday evening it was clear that I was also being hit by Lucy's bug. Tuesday morning she seemed better, save a runny nose, but I was far from fine. I called my mom and asked her to take Lucy for the day. The day turned into two nights, as I could barely move -- except when forced to cough.

I have never felt more guilty. I know motherhood is a whole bucket load of guilt, but this took the cake for some reason. My daughter was sick too and needed her Mama, but I was not well enough to care for her. I did the right thing, sending her to a loving home with people who were eager to shower her with affection and make her comfortable. But for the first time I had a tiny insight into what parents who give their children up for adoption might feel like.

Lucy came home Thursday afternoon, and all is right again with the world. We're both running at the nose like mad, but at least we're together. And I've never been more happy or relieved to see her snot on my shoulder.

(PS: Happy Valentine's to everyone who loves someone this weekend. Take the time to snuggle that someone a little tighter tomorrow.)

Screw St. Valentine, give me St. Bourbon

So of course, when we came home from Ottawa, I came down with the worst sickness I've had since Lucy was born. I can't remember the last time I was in bed for a week (probably after my c-section with Nate). The worst part was, I had to send Lucy to my mom's because I was not well enough to take care of her.

"I've abandoned my child!" I kept screaming in my head. And no amount of drinking your milkshake was going to cure the guilt.

She came home yesterday and we had a pretty good evening. But when she woke up at 6:30 am this morning, I turned and coughed up a flaming lung. Then I realized that everything in my body hurt. And I thought, "How the fuck am I going to make it through the next 6 hours until J comes home?"

We mostly managed. The house looks as though it's been ransacked by burglars of course. But I was impatient and the simple "share with your sister or the Lego gets put away" conversation turned into a bit of a fight. (Yes, we've given up on trying to keep the Lego out of her hands, we've just had to be extra vigilant about teaching her it doesn't go in her mouth.) But then J showed up and saved the day.

The kids were meant to go to Grandma's anyway, since J is working tomorrow night and I will use any Hallmark occasion available to force him into a date night. ("Honey, it's National Beavers Day! Let's go out.") Except:

1) Lucy had one of those up to the neck poops today. Which NEVER happens to my consto girl. But because I can't smell, I didn't notice. She squirmed away from me while I was changing her and smeared shit all over the sheets. Like serious shit.

2) We only have one set of sheets.

3) I can't stand up for more than 10 minutes at a time, so I won't make much of a date anyway.

4) Because I can't stand up for more than 10 minutes I did not shave my legs during my shower. Nor did I make any attempt to style my hair, pluck my caterpillars, or look in any way sexy after said shower.

5) Can't taste anything, so taking me out to dinner would be pointless.

6) Coughing blood is so not sexy.

So looks like the "in sickness and in health" clause will be up for review again tonight... Here's to ordering in and hoping he still loves me in the morning.

Winterlude Dude

This past weekend, we set out for Ottawa with a hope and a prayer that our weekend visiting friends would go remotely as planned. And of course God laughed at our on-the-fence, lefty asses.

It started out OK. We left at a good time: 10am. Lucy fell asleep about 30 minutes into the drive along the boring 401. Then she woke up 30 minutes later and did not sleep another wink for the entire drive to our nation's capital. Fo' rillz.

What child, I ask you, what child can stay awake for such a long, dull drive? The Loogoo Monster that's who.

So began the dance:

• pop pacifier in her mouth to encourage sleep
• Loogoo takes pacifier out of mouth and launches it onto the car floor
• I completely give up on the idea of sterile pacifiers and let her suck on road salt flavoured pacifier
• She starts sneezing around Belleville
• We stop for lunch at the Dirty Clown
• She eats off the Dirty Clown's dirty high chair, because we've packed the portable high chair so deep in the trunk, it doesn't seem worth it to get it out
• Back in the car, more pacifier toss, more BlaBladoll toss, fussfussfuss
• Socks off and tossed
• More sneezing
• Lots of Ray Lamontagne played to encourage sleep, lots of fluttery eyes, then lots of waking self up and crying. (The good child just read, or played, or napped, or sucked his thumb and looked out the window.)
  

Somehow we made it to the new home of our lovely friends Double Momma, Diskie Dan and their twin girls. If you've been reading me a while, you may recall Nate's encounter with the twins many years ago.

Well one of our favourite families recently moved from Edmonton, Alberta to Ottawa for a job change. And now that they're only a four-hour drive away, well we are seeing lots of boring drives down the 401 in our future.

Nate's reunion with the twins (or Da Girls as he calls them) was a good one. We'd spent a lovely day at the Science Centre in Toronto last fall, so he was actually really looking forward to seeing them. Loogoo was just happy to be anywhere with her family and immediately set about exploring other people's toys and driving the twins batshit crazy.

Nate and Daisy (pink onesie) were smitten with each other. I've never seen him bond like that with anyone. They would chase each other 'round the house and collapse in a fit of high-pitched giggles. And by Saturday evening, Daisy was begging us to stay "just one more day."

I had hoped to be able to fit in a visit with Andrea (I didn't get remotely ambitious enough to try and contact Dani as we're kinda in the same boat with young kidlets), but by Saturday morning it all seemed too much (already!) and I called her to say "next time." (Ironically we were probably both at the same Winterlude spot at the same time, but never ran into each other.)

I was nervous about skating on the Rideau. I haven't been on skates in at least a decade. When I finally made it out of the hut, Jan approached me with both our kids. "You have to take Nate, I can't skate with both of them," he said, thrusting Nate's hand into mine. Crap, crap, crap. I can't skate, I thought. But then, just like that, I could. I remembered the basic push-off-then-glide move and while it was anything but graceful, it did the trick.

Nate on the other hand was being a total goof. In his defense he's only been skating once a week for the past 4 weeks or so, but he was being extra, as we used to say in Scarb. "Whoa! Whoooooa!" he purposefully wobbled trying to wipe out because he thought it was funny. But then he did the "one hand on your knee, one hand on the ice" thing he learned in his class and that was pretty cool.

Loogoo was in a backpack carrier we just bought on Craigslist. Because, you know, we overthink things and overlook the obvious: 25 lbs of baby strapped to your back when you're on skinny skates is maybe not such a good idea Jan. She was mostly happy, until she wasn't. Then we had to abort mission and pull them both back to the hut on sled, crying and complaining. Not fun. But yet, still kind of fun. I'd forgotten that I could enjoy something so un-Scarb as skating.

Lucy slept really well that night and in the morning had a hard time getting up. At first I thought nothing of it, but as the morning went on I noticed she wasn't getting out of bed at all. A quick check with the thermometer proved why she was so lethargic and not her boisterous self. Uh-oh.

We decided we'd have to leave the following day. I spent the entirety of Sunday indoors with Loogoo feverishly clinging to me, snot pouring down her face. The others tried to get out to do some more Winterluding, but the Snowflake Kingdom they went to with the ice castle and snow slides was shut down for -- wait for it -- being too icy! The warm weather the day before had mucked things up and made conditions unsafe. Of course they were sent packing only after they'd found parking and had just got their bearings.

But you know what? Despite all that, it was still awesome! Being in a cosy house with good friends who are going through the same stuff you are? Well that's the best any parent can hope for. Good hospitality, good jokes and delicious meals shared, kids who get along...

Nate and Daisy were chasing each other around the house again, giggling like maniacs when I caught them turn around and suddenly hug each other. Raising her index finger with glee, Daisy whispered, "You get to stay for one. more. day!" For me, that moment was worth the entire agony of the drive home (and the days of sick that followed -- more on that to come).

The Latest from the Homeland

Nope, not Armenia. Here's a perfect snapshot of our mundane yet beautiful life. You can watch the huzzle make an adorable fool of himself, which involves chicken fingers, Lionel Ritchie and the bad haircut I gave my daughter. (Ignore the pixelated intro, it gets better once the real snippet kicks in.)

(* Bonus points if you catch my headless, clueless appearance and can quote me in the comments.)

Identity Crisis

"An-neh, an-neh..." Hearing a foreign language -- one that you understand -- on the otherwise comatose commute home is slightly jarring, immediately bringing you back to the waking life.

She is talking to her mother on her cell phone, in Turkish. I look her in the eyes as I stand to make my stop. She could be my cousin. She is so familiar. Yet something in me can't be friendly.

"Oh hi, your ancestors murdered mine," says the automatic tape in my head.

I am angry with myself. I am progressive, educated, forgiving. Yet I can't let it go. The stain on my soul will not rub off. My great grandmother, widowed, surviving genocide, having to put her children in an orphanage until she could find a job that would feed them... I can't... it hurts too much.

I want to be positive, to let go, to move forward. But part of me is forever rooted in the past. No matter how I try to Canadianize myself, embrace my nationality, my heritage haunts me. I want to learn to love being Armenian again, but I don't know where to start. The sadness is too great. The community too closed, too picky about whom it wants to bring into the fold. I know this is not the experience of many, but my own past lingers too. A story for another day perhaps.

I try to distract myself with the sad faces in the diner, the crunch of Kamiks in the snow, the sparkly saris in the window. I don't realize until I enter the warmth of my home and hear the "Ma-ma" that quickens my steps from the bus, that I haven't taken a breath since I locked eyes with her.

The Mother-Son Date

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


I guess I have had dates on the brain. After my Mom Date the other week, I decided to go on yet another substitute for a real romantic date this past weekend. The (somewhat creepy-sounding) Mother-Son Date.

My first born changed my life completely and for the better. Since the arrival of his amazing sister, we no longer have all the time in the world together. So it's only natural that I should want to carve out some alone time with him. (To be fair, I am envisioning a future of mother-daughter shopping outings as well.)

When I was invited to check out the TSO's Young People's Concert series, I immediately envisioned a lovely outing with Nate. A four-year-old at the symphony is a daunting thought (the TSO recommends ages 5-12), but fortunately my son is rather calm and can sit quietly and still provided he has a) something small to play with and b) access to his thumb for sucking. (The thumb-sucking issue is another post entirely...)

"Nate, we have to dress a bit nicer for the symphony," I shouted down when he came in from his skating lesson. "Do I have to dwess han-some Mum?" Swoon. We got dolled up, drove across town and headed into Roy Thomspon Hall with moments to spare. (Being on time is not one of my strong suits.)

The show was perfectly structured for kids: About an hour or so, featuring six pieces of music with the charming conductor educating in between. Our show's theme was percussion -- what kid doesn't love drums and maracas? The music was varied and lively, and this mom learned a thing or two during the program. The looks on the blissful parents' faces were worth the price of admission ($18-28) alone!

Most of the kids were really well behaved (save for one hilarious quiet moment where a child shouted out, "Mom, can you take me home now?). I was worried when they announced that Ravel's "Bolero" -- a 12-minute song -- would be the last song, because many of the kids were squirming in their seats at that point. But the world's best-known song is so awesome, adding in one instrument at a time, building powerfully, that the TSO adding a dozen snare drummers coming through the audience was merely icing on the classical cake. (And Evelyn Glennie, the rivetting FEMALE percussionist, was the cherry on top.)

Moment of Pride: The show started with Aram Khatchaturian's "Sabre Dance," which, as a Canadian of Armenian decent, made me tear up to be able to share with my son.
Moment of Panic: When Lego Batman's helmet went flying down the stadium seating before the show was out. (I've seen them sell on eBay for five bucks! Something that barely fits on your pinky!) Luckily, we spotted it and it was returned to us by some lovely little girls.
Moment of Pure Love: Seeing the look on my son's face as he clapped exhuberantly for the performers.
Slight Negative: The music was a touch too loud for my little man's ears. But really -- how can you tone down the symphony?
Added Bonus: You can listen to the show you saw afterwards via the TSO podcast.

Overall, it was a great introduction to a piece of culture that my kid (or his mom) doesn't get to experience on a regular basis. I heartily recommend it and would definitely go again. And my date? Well, aside from wanting to be referred to as "Master Wayne" the entire time, he was positively a gentleman.