As Good As It Gets

I took Anea to the Health Unit yesterday for her 12 month shots.  Yes...a year and a half late...we all have our reasons.  And with years of experience, we came prepared with full arsenal of toys and snacks. Four shots later and we were sentenced to the waiting room.  
As we were serving our 15 minutes of post-shot time, I watched Anea, who was clearly disturbed by the stress just induced upon her.  Bouncing around the room pretending to be Tigger, she was yelling at the children who kept eying up her stuffed animals (what kind of waiting room that provides shots for children has absolutely no toys in it anyway?!), and i could hear her sigh an "Oh MAN!" whenever the other kids tried to rearrange her chairs she had ever so strategically placed.
 After the uncomfortable wait time, where other parents have nothing else to do other than observe your wild child and silently judge you, I decided there wasn't going to be an allergic reaction to the shot and did the unthinkable...something only a mother who has done this a billion times would do this.  And I swear the other moms were timing me!  After attempting to put her jacket on, I apologetically gathered up Anea's toys from all the other children who had stolen them.  After appeasing her anxiety that her  that we would not be leaving without the stuffies she had just cleaned the well trafficked floor with, we got her jacket on and left the clinic three whole minutes before the designated 15 minute time.  *gasp

She bounced her way walking all the way home and on through the rest of the morning, and when asked by her dad how it went, she exclaimed "I ha' fun, Dad!".  The rest of her day was full of bouncing, bossing, more bouncing and more exuberance than I would ever have even if you combined my last 10 years into one day.  

The shots finally kicked in around 2 a.m., and Matty, making himself indispensable so I will always eke
 Him I'll always keep him around, stayed up with her most of the night as they bonded over Advil, cold cloths and Pooh movies, until 6:30, where he plunked her with me and she finally slept.  For an hour.

Before leaving for school, Matt, forseeing the inevitably long and trying morning that would be had, suggested I stop at Starbucks and get a drink for her and myself before coming home and snuggling on the couch for a movie morning.  Brilliant.  See?  He's a keeper.  So on our way home, we stop at Starbucks for a dose of liquid patience.  Anea's first Christmas, as far as she would remember.  She was awestruck by the lit trees.  Wow'd at the decorations.  Awed by the beautiful colours and some random puppy that only she could see.  So I bought her a cookie with her drink.  With that curly bedhead, those elephant pj's and those adorable pink cowboy boots, how could I refuse her anything!  She wanders over to a table and says, "Shit, Mom!  Shit down!".  We've already established that today, she's the boss.  We get our drinks and a cookie and sit.  

Four minutes later and I'm bored out of my mind.  A two year old is not much for conversation.  Then she licks the hat of her snowman cookie.  Then she eats the hat.  We laugh.  She wiggles her shoulders to the music.  I wiggle back.  She points out the imaginary puppy.  I'm in awe of it.  I sit there drinking my chai latte and watch as she sits there, massacring her snowman, her blue eyes alit with amazement as she takes in the wonder that is Starbucks.  Then it hits me.  This is as good as it gets.  Life may never be as good as it is at this very moment.  I will never have a bed headed, cowboy booted, bright blue eyed feverish 2 year old dancing her way through a snowman cookie and giving me cheers with our coffee cups again.  So I chilled out.  I boogied my way through my latte, giggled as she ate the eyes out of the poor snowman, fetched her napkins so she could take care of every little crumb that had fallen, pointed out random Christmassy items just to hear her ooh and aww, reassured her that my drink and scone were very good, each of the 50 times she asked, and reciprocated the offered cheers with a little "thunk" of our cups.

And she was not finished after that.  She wanted to go shopping.  After an hour and a half of following her around stores as she spread her Christmas cheer, I was finally able to bribe her to come home and watch Peter Pan with me.  

There's something to be said about slowing down, allowing yourself to not be entertained, and to seeing the world through the eyes of a two year old.

If You Give A Mom A Chore To Do...

It's Tuesday.  My cleaning day.  I whip around the house, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, cleaning glass & windows, and if there is still time, mopping the floor.


Matt always teases me about how I never get anything done because I get bored and distracted.  But the truth of it is this.  Today I planned on starting with the glass and windows in the house.  My friend cleans houses and swore that the best way to clean glass was with an old flannel baby blanket.  So I had cut up an old baby blanket to try it and it works great - no fluff or streaks left behind and no paper towel waste.
But I couldn't find my flannel rag, which means I am a week behind in my laundry from last week when I used it.  Hoping it's at least been washed and in one of the 5 baskets of unfolded laundry, I start to look for it. 
I sort everyone's clothes into their own basket and fold all the towels, cloths and sheets.  I find my rag in the third basket but finish sorting the laundry any way.  I can't hang anything up in the closet because I left the ironing board out to finish a sewing project.  I could finish the 2 minutes of ironing I needed to complete that project, but decide to stay true to my laundry task and just dump the "to be hanged" and "to be ironed" stuff on the ironing board.


Since there are now empty laundry baskets, I might as well throw a load in the washer now that I can reach it.  I hate the giant Tide soap dispensers where you lay it on it's side and push the button and the soap comes out.  It gets the floor soapy, the cup soapy and my fingers soapy, so now I have to wash my hands.
While I'm washing my hands, I notice the boys left their toothbrushes out, so I put those away and wipe up the giant puddles on the counter that always occur from the simplest tasks of a 4 and 6 year old.  I notice the cupboards are sticky and make a mental note to wash all the cupboards in their bathroom.


The kids are busy watching tv downstairs, so I quickly put away the folded towels and sheets before Anea climbs on my bed and throws it everywhere.  While putting sheets away in the boys room, I see their "made" beds drooping on the floor, waiting to be caught in the vacuum (which, as it is Tuesday, I plan on doing today) and reminding me I hadn't straightened their beds yet.  They make their own beds, but when they aren't around to catch me, I remake their beds for them.  They have incontinence pads ("pee pads") on their bed that need strategic placement and I don't want to insult their bed making skills by making them feel incompetent, so I try to be sneaky about redoing their beds.  They never notice.


While leaving the boys room I find some garbage and toss it in the garbage bag.  Tomorrow is garbage day.  I might as empty the garbage out upstairs while I'm thinking of it.  However, there is so much junk in the garage right now that I won't be able to make it to the garbage can without tripping on crap.  So now I am at crossroads.  Leave the garbage until later, or go tidy up a path in the garage so I can take the garbage out.  By now it's been 40 minutes and I still haven't even cleaned a single window.  Feeling a little overwhelmed by the amount of tasks that are yet to be accomplished, I figure I need a break.  This blog is my break.  Now it is close to lunch time.  I will be feeding the kids and then it will be nap time.


And so I ask you, did I really do nothing all day today?  Because my house sure looks like it and nothing on my list got done!

Not A Creature Was Stirring

The Hawkins Christmas December 4!  Yes, I ran out of time this day.  I was planning on yelling and freaking them awake, but they looked way to cute and peaceful, I couldn't bring myself to...yet.

Christmas Parade, Dec. 3, 2011

December 3rd's video.  We spent the evening with friends, family, cousins and grandparents watching the Christmas parade.  Watching Anea's face and holding her back from joining the parade was my favourite part!

Christmas Parade 2011 from Debbie Hawkins on Vimeo.

My Little Elves Hard at Work

Here is our newest video!  Elves working hard for our December 2cnd video!  (Took a while getting it uploaded.)


Little Elves - December 2, Christmas 2 from Debbie Hawkins on Vimeo.

Christmas At the Hawkins

A few years ago I did a video every day in December.  I thought I'd try that again this year, so here it is - our Christmas starting December 1st!

Fear of the Dark

"Mommy, will you stay upstairs for a while?"  It's been Keyon's request the last few weeks after I've tucked them into bed.  At four years old, night worries and fears seem to have started setting in.  Most bedtime excuses I am abrupt about and ignore them or give them ultimatums if they bring it up again, but fear of the dark is something I still remember vividly, and have alot of patience for.


As I was reminiscing, I remember when I was younger with my family ever expanding, my parents built a room in the basement for my sister and I to share.  Feeling all alone down there and in the dark, I remember making a quick dash from the stairs to the safety of our bedroom, worried about what could happen that late at night in those 15 feet of space between those two places.  Even having my sister sleeping across the room, I would lay awake, straining to hear any noise of life upstair, trying to block out the strange creaks and groans that a house seemingly makes only at night.  Most nights, my dad would be in his workshop down the hall, and though I'm sure it drove my mom nuts that he spent so much time down there, it was relief for me.  Once that table saw started up, I would be able to relax and fall asleep.  To this day, the smell of sawdust and the sound of a table saw is a favourite of mine.


We moved to Chilliwack when I was a teen where we built a room for my 2 sisters and I to share.  I sure missed the sounds of the workshop, but we had our own stereo then and fell asleep every night to the soundtrack of "The Last of the Mohicans".  Even then, being in the same room with two sisters, I would wake up scared in the middle of the night and try to make noises to wake them up, hoping to be invited to share their bed with them, which never happened.  For some reason I never felt able to just crawl in their bed on my own accord.


At 18 I remember waking up in the night and being too terrified to move or call out as I watched a shadow creep across the room, seemingly to "get me".  Even once I was married, I was so thankful for the neighbours dog (and I hate dogs) which made me feel safer, as Matt was gone alot of evenings.  To this day, I have to have a curtain open or a nightlight on, or I will freak out if I wake up during the night, and when we are camping and it's pitch black, I have to sleep with a flashlight turned on the entire night.


All these memories have resurfaced now that I have to teach my own children how to handle their fears.  This last year, they were terrified to go upstairs alone, and as much as it drove us CRAZY, I could also understand it, because I remember going down hallways and being so scared to look into dark corners or dark doorways, or even to close a door and see what might behind it or in a closet.  I would picture a scary or ugly face and was so worried that when I looked in those dark places, I would suddenly see that horrible face there, even though I knew how ridiculous it was.


Now with my own children, I put my laundry on when they go to sleep so they can hear noise.  I leave nightlights on and the bathroom light.  I put music on a sleep timer for them and let the light from the cd player act as a nightlight for them.  I promise to check on them in a little while to see if they are ok.  And most recently, I will occasionally make myself busy upstairs for a half hour so that my sons can fall asleep more easily.  This being said, I don't accept any crap from them at bedtimes, complains, fake injuries and random requests are ignored.  Discipline is given and privileges are taken away if these things and my patience with them and their fears are abused.


I only share these things with you all because I think alot of people don't understand childrens' fears of the dark.  You can't rationalize fear away, you can't force or discipline it away.  I think you can just give them ways to cope with and handle it until they grow up to use self control and their brain is developed enough that they are able rationalize themselves through the moment.  So happy bedtimes to you, and don't ever lock me in the dark or I will attack you like an animal and probably bite your face off!

Baby It's Cold Outside

The weather has changed to almost winter weather now, and it was so cold out when I picked Kief up from school.  I have been having alot of fights with him lately, and when he refused to wear his jacket, I decided to pick that fight in a different way, and so instead of arguing, I gave an evil little laugh (inside my head of course) and braced myself for the judging looks of the other moms as we headed outside with Kiefer's jacket half dragging on the ground (as I refused to carry it).  


This day, I let him walk as slowly as he wanted, spin as many circles as he wanted and dawdle the time away, glad I'd had to park a ways away from the school.  His cumbersome jacket hitting the ground got a few whines, but that was it, so as we left I I rolled down my window and turned the cold air on.  Not a complaint from him.  So I roll my window down the rest of the way and rearrange the vents to shoot at him.  Still he chatted away without a complaint.  We were almost home now.  I drove slower and cranked the air up all the way.  Still not a peep about being cold.  Fine, I will use the power of suggestion.  


"Aren't you cold yet?"  


"Nope!  Not even a little bit!"  


Curses!  My plan has completely failed!  I have lost my battle!  Noooooooo!  "What?!!"  I exclaim.  "I have to see this - I'm going to check your hands when we get back!"


He's giggling now, and willingly lets me check his hands once we park.  Sure enough they are mildly cool, but not one bit cold.  I do not know how he did it, but he won.  Maybe I won't bother arguing with him about the coat anymore.  I have conceded defeat - what's the point in arguing when he's right!  *sigh*  I feel the judging stares coming my way!

The Letter "No" and the Toilet Master.

We were practicing Kiefer's spelling test when I decided I couldn't stand how his little "n"'s looked like "h"'s, so I took matters into my own hands.  We practiced n's hand over hand, and when he still forgot the concept of staying below the dotted line and starting at the top of your letter, I told him a story...

A story he can relate to, about a baby "n".  "n" stood for "no".  The baby "n" isn't allowed upstairs.  Upstairs is the place above the dotted line.  No going upstairs baby n!  Kiefer is giggling away as I explain that the dotted line is the baby gate to keep the baby downstairs.  We do some more n's.  Now I teach him the curve that goes with the n.  I tell him the baby "n" loves going upstairs so much, it reaches up and kisses the baby gate before going back down.  Kiefer is in a fit of giggles once again as we practice more "n's",  and I have a "yessss, I'm an awesome mom" moment.  For a brief moment.  

A very brief moment. 

All this talk about babies makes me realize that mine is no longer underfoot, and I know exactly where she is.  "ANEA!"  I exclaim.  Keyon starts giggling right away and chases after me as I charge up stairs, hoping I'd made it in time.

I hadn't.  My guess is she had been up there for at least a minute.  It was the worse one I'd seen yet.  The toilet hadn't been flushed and water was all over the toilet.  My eyes take in the peed in toilet, the pee water covered the toilet seat, and then my gaze follows her soaked sleeves all the way up to the toothbrush she held in her grubby hands.  A toothbrush I swore I threw out a few weeks ago, and either way, had been fished out of the garbage at one time or another.  A toothbrush that, if my deduction reasoning is up to par, I'm guessing was swirled around in the toilet before being placed in her mouth.  She just stood their grinning, her toilet water styled hair askew and a her toilet-water-garbage toothbrush dangling from her mouth, while Keyon jumped up and down, giggling and shouting his lastest nickname for her.  "Toilet Master!  Toilet Master!  Toilet Master!"

You may think you have an idea of the thoughts that went through my head at that moment, but my guess is you'd be a little off, for the first thought that ran through my head was, "I knew I shouldn't have bothered getting her dressed this morning!  All that work matching her entire outfit..."

So I stripped her, bathed her in the sink, redressed her, fed her, cheered at Kiefer's sweet "n's" and now I am thinking that baking cookies, banana bread and washing my floor can all wait for another day.  It's time for the Toilet Master's nap and to finish practicing Kiefer's spelling test.

The Toilet Paper Trail Tale

The other day, I faced the inevitable. You can only put it off for so long before it creeps up on you, and I managed a stint of close to three months. The big ‘ol grocery trip. Not the quick one that takes only 15 minutes and $35. No, the “I need to clean out my fridge and van and check the bank account and clip my Superstore coupon for my $300 to $400 of groceries that we’re lacking due to my 3 month procrastination.”

So on this special occasion, I decided to spice things up a little. Life was feeling a little slow, a little stale. I thought we could use a change. And why not? There were an extra few dollars in the account…I’ll splurge a little. Try something new. And not take an hour hemming and hawing over what was the best deal, etc., etc. So I quickly scanned the items in my current aisle, checking out prices. $19.99 for 29 rolls. Double rolls. Hmmm….$14.99 for 16 rolls…nah…$19.98 for my regular 36 pack of individually packed rolls. Ok, time to take the plunge. Yes, the nagging thoughts still ran through my head…”do you use more if it’s thinner, or less if it’s thicker? Will it equal out in the end? Should I go by the number of squares on the roll, by the foot amount, the roll number per package…?” Nope, this was splurge time. I grabbed that Charmin toilet paper, threw it in my cart and didn’t look back.

Fast forward to throwing it up the stairs into the living room in a hurry to pick K1 up from school.

Fast forward to K1 arriving home from school and running upstairs ahead of me. He now enters the room. A beam of light shines down from heaven, illuminating the glorified name brand toilet paper.

“MOM!!!!” A shriek. “MOM! THANK YOU!!!! YOU BOUGHT THE SOFT KIND!” “This feels good on your bum you know!” “I can’t believe it! You bought it!”

It must be noted. Advertisement Does work.

And with that, K2, eager to participate in all the excitement, proceeds to rip open the package and distribute each roll all over the living room.
K1 immediately grabs a piece off the roll and runs upstairs. A moment later I hear him yelling, “IT’S SO SOFT ON MY BUM! It doesn’t even HURT!”

My apologies son. I didn’t realize it was so tragic before.

He runs back downstairs. “You got to feel this Mom! Just TRY it!”

“K1, don’t you dare pull down my pants.”

His response was to drop his drawers right there on my couch and demonstrate the awesome power of softness on his little tushie, while I, now losing my cool at that moment, having my floor covered in toilet paper and a tainted piece of toilet paper that I just knew was going to be cast away in his excitement, pulled out my stern don’tmesswithmom voice.
“Don’t you Dare put that used piece of toilet paper on my couch.”

Then, not wanting to ruin this spectacular moment for him, and hoping to get my floor cleaned even just a little, I cheerfully suggest, “Hey! Why don’t you bring some upstairs into the bathrooms for you to use later!” I’ve never had a suggestion be greeted with that much enthusiasm!

Fast forward to later.

I discover that apparently to K1, in order to justify putting new toilet paper in a bathroom, you must first dispose of the old paper in quick and efficient manner. So when I went upstairs, I was greeted with giant piles of toilet paper all over the bathroom floors and had the new roll placed with much care on the counter, ready to burst with softness, waiting for the next user.

And so, for the next few days, I had a lovely mound of toilet paper, all unrolled and ready for ease of use. It also must be said, Baby Girl discovered the new toilet paper and seems to like how easily it rolls off.

And thus ends the tale of the toilet paper. Come to my house, use my bathroom. K1 just may ask you about your toilet paper experience there.

Enjoy it while it lasts, my children! For it has created too much work for me to repeat again!

Why don't they give mom's a handbook for this kind of stuff?

All three kids packed in the van and we’re off to the high school to pick up a special boy I’ve known for 13 years, since he was 3. Someone we consider part of our family and that the boys have known since the day they were born, who , to honour the family’s privacy (not that they would mind either way) I will refer to as “Marvin” in borrowing of one of his moms’ many nicknames for him, “Messy Marvin”.

We've arrived.

I hop out at the high school and after bugging him until he finally gives me a hello, we load him and his things into the van where we continue the rest of our conversation.

“How was school today”

“School!”

“Yes, how was school?”

“School. Bus!”

“Oh yes, you went on the bus. What did you do at school?”

“School!”

“Yes, but what did you do AT school?”

“School. Gym!” Even if he has not had gym that day, he will respond “gym” because that’s what he’s done every day, that’s what gets him out of answering any more questions, and because that’s his favourite class in school. I believe that in his mind, even if he didn’t have gym, he thinks he should’ve, which therefore makes it worth mentioning, which is why I let it slide, every time.

He’s excited today! We’re in for a fun afternoon! As we pull out of the school parking lot he twists his hands in the air above his head, jerking his body back and forth in a dance all his own, letting out a few jibber jabber noises and high pitched “eeeeeee’s”.

“Oooooh, you had a good day today, didn’t you! Did you have a good walk?” It was sunny and I saw his T.A. come back with him from outside, so I know they would’ve taken him for a walk, just as I know he hears me, even though he gives no acknowledgment. Our conversations are based on a lot of assumptions.

“Did you have a good walk Marvin? Say ‘yes, I had a good walk’”.

He complies quietly and continues his dance.

I noticed Kiefer watching our exchange quite closely. It’s been alot quieter than normal in the back seat. Normally the boys would be going crazy right now with Marvin being this animated! They love to run around the house waving their hands in the air and yelling “eeeeeeeeee!”, or collapse into fits of giggles at how funny Marvin is, or ask me “supper, supper, supper, supper, supper, supper, supper?”, just like Marvin does. To them, he is the funniest teenager they have ever met!

So why the silence now?

Finally I hear Kiefer quietly ask, “Mom, Marvin’s not like us, is he?” I felt my eyes immediately start to fill up with tears. It could have been an over-tired-up-half-the-night-with-baby reaction, but when did my baby boy grow up? Did I miss it? In that quick moment, he seemed older than his 5 year.

A long pause. “That’s right Kiefer, he’s different than us.” How do you explain autism to a 5 and 3 year old? How do you make it simple enough, yet answer enough questions that they don’t ask 100 more?

So I taught them a new word...“Autism”. And tried to explain it as simply as I could. How Marvin’s brain works a little different than ours. How his body sometimes doesn’t listen to his brain or will tell him different things than ours would. How different things excite him than excite the boys. Like wind. Flashing lights. Noises. I taught them that even though Marvin acts different, he’s still the same as they are. We talked about things that excite the boys – swimming, new toys, going to the park…

“And what do you do when you’re excited?” I asked.

“Jump up and down!” they tell me. “Clap!”

“Flap my arms!” Keyon yells.

“That’s right,” I said, “and what does Marvin do when he’s excited?”

“Go EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and wave his hands!”

I think they got it. Though they are the same as Marvin, their brains tell them to do different things than his does. That kids with autism are made a little bit different than we. That though they may want to say something, their mouth won’t always let them. How their bodies feel things different than ours do. Like how wind gets Marvin so excited, it’s like he wants to fly with his hands and yell “eeeeeee” with excitement.

And as they sat in silence to contemplate these things, Marvin danced away.

Keyon couldn’t contain it anymore and let a giggle escape.

Kiefer cried out defensively, “Don’t laugh Keyon, he’s just different.”

Some more silence.

Another giggle escaped. The innocence of a 3 year old who’s eyes only see Marvin as a funny teenager.

“Don’t laugh! His brain is just different than ours, Keyon.” Kiefer tries to explain again.

Tears again. A little overtired, a little bit of sorrow at seeing a little of my 5 year olds’ innocence disappear, mixed in with a little bit of pride of my boy defending someone who needs defending.

I will explain to them later the difference between laughing with Marvin and having fun, or laughing at someone and making fun of them. For now, I will just hold this strange moment of pride and sorrow and let it be.

I watch Kiefer try his best to engage in conversation with Marvin. “How was your day?” “What did you do?” “What’s your favourite class?” “What food do you like?” And when Marvin responded “Pizza!”

I watched Kiefer’s delight as he exclaimed “PIZZA!!! That’s the same as me Mom! We like the same food!”

A proud moment to realize that at least some of what I said had sunk in. A proud moment to see my boy show such compassion and consideration.

A strange moment of pride and sorrow indeed.

*Note:

This was a day from last month, but I was reminded of it again as "Marvin" was over again today and Kiefer asked if we could take him outside "so he can feel the wind".

Adventures at 2 a.m.

Another blog post written back in the fall, which I forgot to actually post!

Scooping up the crying babe from the bassinet, we stagger towards the door. In my haze of sleep, I walk smack into the edge of the door, back up, rev my engine and attempt to get through again, like a bumper car repeatedly hitting the same obstacle, knowing that eventually, it will make it’s way through. After several more attempts, we finally make it through the door, into her room, and settle down in the rocker where she stops screaming. Through the haze of sleep and with my head drooping on and off, I stuff Winnie-the-Pooh beneath her and my arm so she doesn’t fall while she nurses. Finally, a use for all parents’ worse nightmares – those stupid stuffed animals. That useless toy that takes up precious space, the reason my kids needed a bigger bed, that annoying slobbered on animal that comes to “lick” you in the face and you just want to slug it across the room, then jump on it, and throw a temper tantrum fit for a 2 year old…

With that thought I jerk awake to kiss my little girls sweet head, only to realize she’s still nursing and nowhere near the vicinity of my kiss. Time to change the diaper and wake us both up – we’re nearing the danger zone of sleeping in the rocker. At least when changing a girl while half asleep, you don’t have to keep an eye on shooting geysers that always seem to strike when you least expect it – unlike changing a boy’s, whose aim seems immaculate for a dim lit room.

Back in our chair, I pick up my latest magazine. I have a whole stack of them now – finishing one every few nights, soaking up every single word, every single article, inspecting every single picture. I’m not normally this attentive to magazines, and since I have all the time in the world at 2 a.m., I pause to wonder why…Ah yes – it dates back to that one specific time, during the last few weeks to my 7 months of nauseas hell (which is 150 stories for another time), where I learned about my pathetic amount of/lack of knowledge of ANYthing, while attempting to make conversation with my brothers’ cool and young girlfriend. 22 is young, right? Well, I was definitely NOT cool and not young. I had nothing to talk about, nothing to offer, nothing to share that would interest anyone - unless it was the latest ways to waste your money on remedies for morning sickness that don’t work, or the best position for puking, or the latest stupid & mindless games on facebook that could distract you from misery.

So now, here I was, soaking up every little piece of information I possibly could. Reveling at the stories of other people, what they have done, how they have done it, their photos, their experiences…for instance, did you know that there was a breast cancer survivor 5 years ago who started a mobile mammogram unit, who went door to door providing breast health awareness and tools to perform breast self examinations and to provide these services to low income and uninsured woman at low or no cost? http://www.flbreasthealth.com/index.html Amazing! Stories of women who do something with the pain they’ve been given! And at 2 a.m. I think to myself, well, I probably won’t get breast cancer…since I’d be too miserable and whiney to be an inspiration to others

And with that thought, I decided I should start a blog. Afterall, no one can beat 2 a.m. musings like THAT! Then, as I wonder if maybe I should save all these magazines to re-read at a time where I’m not so sleep deprived that I’d be lucky to remember a word I read once morning comes, I notice my new daughter has finished and fallen asleep, and a wrap that bunny up tight like a burrito and head off to bed, where I will be woken again in a few hours for some more early morning musings.

A twitch and a poop. (Yes, you read that right.)

Sometimes I write blogs, but then run out of time to edit them and post them. Here is one of them. They end up really really really long.

September 30th, 2010

Sitting in the van, we eagerly wait for the clock to strike 9, which commenced the opening of Zellers, which in Keyon’s mind, is the only true meaning to the word “shopping”.

Last night was Keyon’s award winning performance – his first B.M. on the potty. That’s right – the much anticipated event in the Hawkins house. It is talked about day after day - we pump up this event so much, it’s almost as good as Christmas! You see, that first little turd in the can is an event we celebrate. We shamelessly offer bribery of the biggest proportion…a (affordable) toy of your choice. Any (affordable) toy you could possibly want. Saturating them with every toy we can find on the internet, we show them every toy on the Toys’R’Us website and dangle it there with the possibility that this too could be your very own toy for the small price of one solitary marble sized poop in the toilet.

It all started with Kiefer’s refusal to evacuate himself in the proper porcelain receiver. We kept upping the anti until it finally ended at a “Hot Wheels Loopiy Loop” track – that glorious moment when he finally succeeded and we raced to Abbotsford in search of this particular toy! Lucky for us it happened before the anti became a computer!So when Keyon’s turn came around, we wasted no time at all in bombarding our child with every popular toy on the market, spending hours looking at toys in stores and on our computer.

So now, here we are, entering Zellers’ toy aisle. It must be stocking day, because there are about 15 carts and 7 flats of toys parked in all the aisles, blocking all access for easily viewability of the toys. I thought this would be an easy toy picking session, seeing as Keyon didn’t seem to have a particular toy on his mind…45 minutes later, I realized I was wrong. He had a toy he’d had his eye on…guess what it was! A “mushy grasshopper”. A What?!? Yes, a mushy grasshopper. At his insistence, it was at Zellers. He mentioned Toy Story at one point, which I dismissed because there’s no grasshopper there. I ask the 3 stocking clerks about a possible “mushy grasshopper” toy, who then pull out every mushy squishy toy available! But to no avail. This boy knows exactly what he wants.

After convincing him to check London Drugs and WalMart, we pick up Kiefer from school (after shopping for 2 hours!) and seek out the almighty Dad & Kiefer memory…a mushy grasshopper. They have no idea. I ask if there could possibly be one in Toy Story. 10 minutes later, they have a revelation. There IS an insect man in Toy Story 3! Success! There is hope! This amazing pooper shall have his dreamed of toy! We shall now search the aisles no longer in vain! This grasshopper has a name and his name is “Twitch” from Toy Story 3! Oh stores, do not let us down. My son has pooped and he has pooped well. Let us reward him! After naptime, it’s on with the Twitch search!

Nov 23^rd UPDATE:

We did not find Twitch that day. Keyon finally settled for Buzz, as he didn’t want to wait a day to drive to Toys R Us. So the search for Twitch for Christmas was on. I found a tiny one left in Abbotsford, so I bought it. A month later, I found a bigger one in Langley, so I bought it too. This guy was hard to find! And oh joy of joys – I found the right one last week, in Shoppers Drugmart. The last one!!! So what if I had 3 by now, I had found the perfect and ever so scarce Twitch! A few days later, I saw five of them in one store. The only toys left. This past weekend in Walmart across the border, I found an entire shelf of him. Apparently, he’s not so scarce. No one wanted him. He was the only Toy Story 3 toy left. I call curses upon him now.

*The photo above is Twitch. This is the exact instant which made Keyon refer to him as a "mushy grasshopper". Something to do with Mrs. Potato Head squeezing Twitch's muscles.

Sears Wishbook

The other day we were able to stop in at Sears. Though they were all out of the Wishbook, they did have the toy wishbook available, which was all I needed for these boys! I managed to keep it hidden for a whole day before they discovered it. My reasoning behind hiding it - so it could be viewed only when I wasn't incredibly busy to stop any of the fights that would break out over it... I also wanted to be there to listen in on the discussion of this book, as I have no idea what to get Kiefer this year...any ideas for a 5 year old? But the best conversation that took place over the wishbook, or more specifically, the Buzz Lightyear tunnel/tent play thing, went something like this...

Kiefer, "Hey mom, I love this, can we get it?"
Me, "No, we have something like it and you guys never get to play with it because you always fight over it."
Kiefer, "Well I want to try it first."
Keyon "No, I want to try it first."
Kiefer, "NO, IIIII want to try it first."
Keyon, "NO I WANT TO TRY IT FIRST!"
Kiefer, "NO, IIIIIIII WANT TO TRY IT FIRST!"
Me, "See? You guys don't even own it, and you're still fighting over it!"

Maybe I should just start with crossing things off on the wishbook, and see what I'm left with at the end...

It's about time...

It is my official goal to start blogging about my crazy life - which would be, more specifically, about my now THREE children! I am constantly told that I need to write a book, which makes me wonder what it is that people find so humorous about my life! But then as I look back at my day and recall simple events and see it through the eyes of someone else NOT frustrated with screaming children or puke or spit-up on them or poo on the floor, I can find the amusement in it...somewhere deep inside it...

Originally, it was my goal to post once a week. Then I thought maybe every other week would be more realistic. Or maybe once a month. However, with all the nightly feedings I now have, I have a bit of extra time to think, so it just might be sporadic and random. Like my life.

The Thomas Catastrophe

What a great start to a Monday morning – the boys slept in which was great for my sleepless night! I got the bed made, the bathroom cleaned, Kiefer & I dressed and fed…I was on a roll! In my generous mood I told Kiefer we were going swimming today – my goal, 9:30 a.m.! (Anything before 10 is a huge accomplishment for us)!

Even when Keyon woke up and pooped in every which direction, I figured, “hey, his bedding and everything touching it probably needs washing anyway!” so we popped it all in the wash, used 50+ wipes to clean him up – didn’t bother with the bath – we were going to the pool anyway!
9:00 a.m…time to feed Keyon, do dishes, pack up the towels & gear and go swimming!...or not quite. Keyon, deciding to bring his sandwich into the living room, and me, putting him in his booster seat to prevent further such actions, had other things to say. And quite loudly too! I left the screaming tantrum child safe in his seat and continued my cleaning – only to come running back to the table at the sound of a giant “CRASH” as Keyon’s plate (why did I give him a glass plate anyway!) gets chucked across the table right into the fish bowl!! Thomas the fish is sliding across the table, water pouring every direction, glass everywhere, Kiefer standing there screaming and Keyon the Turd looking mildly smug and entertained at all the commotion he has created.

“Oh good, Thomas is still flapping around.” I thought as I ran to fill up a glass of water. “Save the fish, Save the fish”. If that fish died, I can only imagine the catastrophe I would have to deal with then! Running back with my cup of water, all I want to do is mop up my floor, thinking, “never let water sit on a wood floor…no, the fish, get the fish, oh no, he’s not moving…” as I attempt to scoop him up with my hands, “Oh good he IS moving…oh no, now he’s on the floor…and not moving…” Kiefer is getting hysterical now “MY FISH! DON’T HURT HIM!” Keyon’s still a little dazed yet quite impressed with his handywork. We got Thomas in the glass, and yay, he is swimming around! He’s already a slightly handicapped before from the LAST time he jumped out of my hands, and he’s not looking any worse for wear. Only time will tell.

Now what…deal with the child or mess… Child. I take his sandwich away, chuck him in his sheetless/beddingless crib for “time out”. He’s got to know this is serious now, afterall, Mom didn’t wash his hands after eating! I run downstairs feeling slightly satisfied with his screams and wails of a punishment being served well.

Check on Thomas – he’s still moving. Grabbing my two remaining dish towels, I throw them onto the puddle on the floor. They don’t even make a dent in the ocean of a floor. “Oh well”, I remember that Thomas needs his water conditioned, so I pull out a vase and the water conditioner while Kiefer freaks out, not knowing where Thomas is. I get Thomas’s water ready and then pour the poor fish through the fishing net and dump him in his new home. Maybe I should feed him too. That always works with my boys.

“How on earth does this thing get so dirty and smelly!” I think as piece by piece I pick up the fish pebbles from the broken fish bowl I’d just cleaned 3 days ago, then sift through them all with my fingers, looking for any loose pieces of glass, and wondering if I will ever get a medal for sacrificing my fingers for the sake of a fish.

“Do we still have to go to the pool?” I consider as I run upstairs for a third towel. Now my whole kitchen smells like a stinkin’ sea. My floor has just moved up on the to-do list from “should wash the floor sometime” to “How bad will this smell in 3 hours?” Kiefer asks me “What happened?” What, you mean what happened! Like you don’t know? I check Thomas again. He’s not moving. Just laying on the bottom of the vase. Poor guy – I shake it around a bit to make him move. He’s good.

Keyon is now happily playing in his bed, calling for his puppy, for his soother…I’m not impressed that he has forgotten his crime and punishment, so I take him out and give him a serious talkin’ to, to remind him of the deed he has done and elicit some kind of remorse. He asks me for a sandwich. The one I took from his hand and threw on the table that is now sopping wet and in a bazillion pieces. I should’ve just let him keep it. “No” I tell him, “You’re in trouble”. He cries. “Good” I figure as I wring out my towels. Now he is playing happily and asking me for help. “NO!” I tell him again, “You’re still in big trouble!” He finds something else to play with. On my way upstairs to dig through the laundry and find a clean washcloth, I innocently mention that Daddy is working downstairs…and when the boys ask if they can go see him, I say nothing and am quite happy to hear their little feet pitter downstairs and Keyon say “Thomas! Smash!” and Kiefer, just to be sure Dad understands, chimes in “Keyon is in trouble!” I smile, secretly satisfied as Matt extracts the entire story and gives his idolizer another talking to, starting with “You don’t hit Thomas!” A child with no idea of consequences to his actions and multiple tantrums..maybe he will learn soon.

I feel justice is served as I finish picking the last of the glass off the table, wash it down, and then think of the extra load of laundry I have to do now. I sigh as I wipe the last puddle off the ground, noticing how dirty the felt floor savers are on the legs of the chairs, I wonder what else they have soaked up besides smelly fish water, and add that to my to-do list as well, along with “buy a new fish bowl”. Now I have to take out the garbage – I was hoping to get at least 3 more hours out of that bag, but that broken glass filled it up the rest of the way, so now I’m going to have to tie it up and bring it out to the garage. It’s now 9:45, and my to-do list is now longer than when I started, and I still have to find the energy to walk to the pool, and make it back in time for lunch and naps. Oh yeah, and feed my son a new breakfast.

Moments...

Pondering existence. Purpose is driven to endless derisions.