Birthday Girl!

Little Miss Almost Four is now Little Miss Four.  She was delighted to recieve two beautiful Disney princess dresses along with a myriad of other sparkly, glittery, pink, shimmery little girl things.  Nana got her a lovely yellow princess cake, just like LM4 asked for.

But the real excitement with turning four was the promise that LM4 would do poo-poos in the toilet.  All along, LM4 had come up with various excuses as to why she couldn't go on the toilet--she'd never seen school before, Nemo says crabs live in the bottom of the toilet, she was a big girl baby.  Even the promise (or bribery) of Timbits couldn't inspire her to do her business in the toilet.  So as her birthday approached, I seriously thought she was just going to make another excuse.

Bedtime last night:

Me:  "Ok honey, time for bed, and now that you are a big four year old, no more night time panties.  If you have pee-pees, you can go to the toilet, even in the night time.  If you forget and go in your bed, there is towel to catch it and here is a clean towel to put down after and go back to sleep."

LM4:  "Or poo-poos.  If I have poo-poos, I can put it in the toilet."

Me:  "Um, oh yes, yes, that's right honey, pee-pees or poo-poos.  Good night bubba, Mommy loves you."

And off I went.  Then, a few minutes later, it happened.

"Mommy, Mommy, come and see!  I put some poo-poos in the toilet!  Look, I really did!  I can't believe it!"

And she did.  And she proceeded to do it three more times before bed.  She is very eager to keep practicing cleaning her bum, and as promised, Daddy took her out for Timbits first thing this morning.

Another hurdle jumped.  For her and me.

The Sleeping Wars

I am trying to remember the last time I actually slept a whole night.  I think it was sometime about three years ago, when Little Miss 4 was a full-night sleeping one-year-old and I had gotten over the need to check on her every 20 minutes to see if she was breathing.  Those were good times.  Then the second pregnancy hit, and sleep eluded me again with killer cramps in my legs followed by the discomfort of trying to rotate a heavily pregnant belly from one side to the other.  The new baby, cute as she was, loved to wake up all night and feed and cry and do other things that were the opposite of sleep.  She was an unpredictable nighttime baby and I never knew how many times I might be summoned to provide a comforting boob.  Then my oldest daughter starting howling in her sleep and coming into our bed at all hours.  Though I loved the cuddles, it's not easy to sleep between a cute snoring three year old and her snoring bear of a dad.  

When we moved to Canada, and put the kids into new beds and new surroundings, I decided to be lenient and indulge the little darlings when they woke up in the night, with cuddles or more milk or whatever their sleepy demands.  That was eight months ago. 

Now the worst thing has happened:  Little Miss Almost Two is climbing out of her cot, and not settling into her Big Girl Bed. 

Bedtime has disintegrated into hours of continuously going into her room and putting her back in bed, Supernanny style.  She finally settles if I lie with her or someone yells, whichever comes first.  I climb into my bed, only to be woken by little feet coming down the stairs at ungodly hours of the night.  In her cot, she settled back quickly with a bottle of milk, but in the Big Girl Bed, it's another hour or two before she settles back.  Both her dad and I are going mental with lack of sleep.  I am already dreading tonight, but took an extra dose of Patience pills (aka Omega 3) in hopes of maintaining my cool as long as possible. 

I really wish crib-makers made the sides A LOT higher.

Some People Suck

So get this:  I went to get some groceries with the kids.  I suppose my first mistake was going to the shops with the busy, disorganized parking lot lacking any designated pedestrian crossing spaces instead of the calm, slightly more suburban grocery store I usually go to.  I got the kids, my purse and reusuable shopping bags out of the car and found myself standing at the back of the van clutching a child's hand in each one of my own, bags dangling from my shoulders and cars flying everywhere.  One car was cutting across the empty parking space in front of me, another coming up behind me and one more to the right.  They all stopped, so I quickly scurried across to the relative safety of the shops.  Then, the man in the car on the left, who was cutting across the parking space, rudely shouted at me, "You're welcome!  No problem!"

Really?  I realize I didn't give an obligatory wave, but surely this loser saw my hands were full with little kids and shopping bags.  It's not like I sauntered across the street, taking my sweet old time, letting everyone wait.  I was simply trying to get my kids to safety and get out of everyone's way.  I didn't shout thanks because I assumed his windows were closed, and again, just trying to get out of the way.  I am not the kind of person who routinely neglects to thank others for small acts of kindness, but does every act need to be greeted with copious gestures of appreciation, if any at all?  Can't we sometimes do something just to be nice, because it is the right thing to do, and not search for outward gratitude?  I was so shocked, so eager to get away from all the cars, I didn't even have the presence of mind to say something back.  I was so upset, I actually ended up getting back in the car and leaving.  What if this man accosted me in the shops?  I just had to leave. 

Have you ever yelled at someone like this?  Has anyone ever yelled at you?  Did you get to say something back?

My only consolation:  karma is a bitch.

A Most Embarrassing Moment

It happened to me today.  That incident all parents of young children dread--breaking something in a shop.  I was in Starbucks in Niagara Falls with Little Miss Almost Two and a friend waiting for the dads and the older kids to go on some rides.  LMAT was playing with stir sticks, pushing her stroller and harmlessly dancing about until she grabbed a coffee mug off a low shelf.  My friend and I gasped and went after her to  just snatch the mug back before anything happened, when my Little S took off at mach speed (as usual) and triumphantly smashed it on the floor.  So, so embarrassing. 

Bless the staff--after I strapped Little S into her stroller, I asked them what I owed them for the mug but they just shrugged it off and said, "Don't worry about it."  Mortified, we headed out. 

Now does everyone understand why we do not want to go anywhere resembling a restaurant or cafe with the kids?  It is just too hard!  

Has something like this ever happened to you???

The School Play

Last night was the school play.  A whole bunch of little ones from toddlers to senior kindergarteners, clustered on a tiny stage singing and dancing--well, doing something with their arms and legs, perhaps calling it dancing is a bit of a stretch--and being tremendously cute, while all us eager parents clamoured for a decent spot to take a priceless photo or video of the precious little darlings displaying their remarkable talent.  Of course, my kid was the best singer, dancer and all-round performer, and by far the absolute cutest.  To be honest, I couldn't tell you what the other kids did because my eyes were glued on her. 

Sad thing was, she was stuck behind other kids and way on the far side of the stage so we could barely see her.  And the school made a huge muck up of the event by having more people attend than they could accommodate and thus deciding at the very last minute to have two shows.  Rumour had it someone called the Fire Marshall and the school was threatened with fines if they allowed too many people in the hall.  And to top it off, the grandparents and great grandparents had to leave after the first show, I couldn't find my little giraffe, so they never got to see each other.  First thing my disheveled safarian said to me was, "Where's Nana?  Did she see me?  Where's Nana!?"  Disappointment.  Huge.  For all of us. 

Are my expectations too high?  Is it too much to expect the school would check fire regulations?  Can't they insist tickets are pre-bought?  Am I being too demanding to think the school should have sent an email telling us when to bring the kids, what the kids needed to wear, where to drop them off and pick them up, without me having to call and ask?  And lastly, if I were to call and complain and bring to light the myriad mistakes the school made in putting on this performance--one they apparently do every year--would anyone give a rat's arse what I think.  Probably not.

But the sparkly giraffe had fun and has been singing her song all day.  Perhaps I should take a lesson from a 3 3/4 year old in seeing the bright side of things....

Confessions of a Food Addict

Several months ago, I did it--I achieved my "goal weight" by losing about thirty pounds (also known as 16 kilos).  After years of being pregnant and breastfeeding, the old physique was looking rough and flabby, so I joined a gym, a diet program, learned how to eat again, and lost the unwanted weight.  

Man, was I hot!  Skinny jeans took on a whole new meaning because I was, well, skinny!  My clothes were so big on me they were no longer wearable and I had to buy low single digit sizes. Gone were my chubby face and arms, replaced with chiselled features and muscle definition.  Even my legs were bearable, and I have always hated my legs.  I never knew I could ever look like this.  It was totally awesome!

I thought, "Great!  Problem solved!  Weight lost!  Next challenge, please!"

Shortly before moving to Canada, my food addiction reared its ugly head and the bingeing started.  Eating anything and everything in sight, I would make myself feel sick on the sheer volume of junk--cookie dough, nuts, peanut butter, cookie dough, chocolate, sugary cereals, pasta, cookies, donuts and did I mention cookie dough?  I managed to keep my weight reasonably under control so I could fit (just) into my new thin clothes.  When we got to Canada, the bingeing continued to where I gained back at least 20 pounds and pushed myself into the "overweight" range again.  Back into the fat clothes that I had ominously kept--maybe I knew the new body wasn't to stay???  Bingeing was certainly nothing new to me, but it had never gone on this long.  My food addiction was at its worst.

It's not like I didn't know heaps about nutrition, because I did, but I seemed to have lost all control over the food I was eating and couldn't keep myself "in the zone" of healthy eating.  Desperate times called for desperate measures--enter weight loss hypnosis.  Professional hypnosis isn't in the financial cards, so I am started listening to a few online recordings to see what effect it has.  God bless YouTube.

Worst case scenario--I have a relaxing 15 minutes in the middle of my day. 

Best case--I can beat my food addiction by changing the negative and screwed up way I think about food, get thin again and feel awesome! 

And with any luck, break the food addiction cycle so my girls don't grow up using food as a reward, a punishment, a comfort, a medicine, a treat, a consolation, a drug. 

Get Thee to a Cross Trainer!

Whoa!  Finally dragged my ever expanding backside to the gym and had a decent workout.  Came home and was amazed at how patient I was with the kids and how calm I felt in general, depite it being dinner/bath time which is always hectic. 

A very reliable source once told me that three days of moderate exercise a week is equivalent to a mild anti-depressant.  Now if that doesn't get me to the gym regularly, I don't know what will! 

I used to be a gym rat--I loved the smell of the rubber mats, the bashing of the metal weights, the buzz of the treadmill.  When I was single and childless, I could plan my day around going to the gym.  Ahh, the good old days.  I wish I could just spend all day at the gym--I reckon I would be a much nicer person to be around!

And with any luck I will fit back into my skinny jeans before my birthday rolls around--and stay that way until Christmas.  Just need to conquer the food addiction.  Looks like it's going to be a busy year.

Come on, skinny me!