Wishes with Luke

Some of my favourite days are "Luke Days" - when Matthew is at school and the day stretches long before us: Undone. Fresh.

These are dawdle days - when the walk home from dropping Matthew off takes an hour, because we've stopped to inspect every blade of grass or sat awhile petting "Snots", the fluffy, dog-like animal around the corner.

Yesterday, Luke was particularly charming and adorable: he'd run ahead, twirl around a tree and then race back to dangle from my hand, chattering non-stop.

At the edge of an otherwise immaculate lawn, Luke spotted a large and puffy dandelion - perfect for blowing into the morning air. He stopped in his tracks and I watched as pure delight bloomed across his freckled face.

"Mummy!" he breathed, his voice low with awe and wonder, "look at that wishing flower! It's HUMONGOUS!"

He plucked the weed from the grass with a grin and held it out to me: "Let's wish together, Mummy. This flower is so big, it will hold two wishes."

He closed his eyes, concentration marring his brow. I kept mine open, reveling in the moment.

"OK, Mummy? Let's blow!" And so we did, watching the fluffy seeds sail into the sky, filled with hope.

"Good wish, Mummy?"
"Good wish, Luke."

Indeed.

Wish # 1: Matthew

Wish Come True # 2: Luke


And you? Which of your wishes have come true?
What have you wished for lately?

30-Day Challenge

One of my oldest and dearest friends (Moe, whose real name is Tracy but no one ever calls her that. In fact, for close to two decades my mum thought her name was Maureen) rang tonight. With a challenge:

Every day, for 30 days, I will post something on my blog and she will write another page of theawesome and  A.MAZ.ING novel she's been working on.

By June 30th, at 10 pm, she will have two more chapters in and my brain will have exploded.

So, lucky readers, 30 posts from Bellymonster.

Ready? Set? GO!

Finding More Happy...Behind the Wheel

It must be the sunshine, but I keep finding things to be happy about. In no particular order, for no particular reason, I have been delighted by lawn mowers, traffic lights and strangers on the highway.

First, a conversation between Matthew and Luke, earlier today:

"Walk this way, Luke. Carefully. Carefully! Go slowly!"
"I am. I'm walking just  like Mummy!"
"Let's go outside...wait, Mummy locked the door. Let's just dance!"

As the "genderless baby" debacle debate continues, I reckon my sons have got it all sorted:

 When in doubt, just dance! Put on your black heels and dance!

Ahem. But I digress....

The List

It's mostly car and driving related, as this past weekend, we clocked almost 800km in two days:

Honourable Mention: On Friday, my across-the-road neighbour, Nick, mowed my lawn. Which means, we went into the long weekend with a decent-looking front lawn and he no longer has to look out his window and see the dandelion bouquets that dot the yard. Apparently, it also takes a village to upkeep the 'hood.

1.Advanced green traffic lights. Being the second car in the turning lane - there's no pressure to get moving the second the arrow turns green AND it's easier to gauge the turn when someone else does it first.

2.When the person in front of me in the Tim Horton's drive-through pays for my coffee. Why? Because it's Monday. God bless kind-hearted, coffee-loving strangers.

3.Full tanks of gas at the beginning of a long drive. Newly-created CD's for the drive (think "mixed tapes, only better!") We love duets - the cheesier, the better. Well, I love duets. Mark just sings along to get along.

4. Travelling with strangers: following/passing/waving at strangers in the cars around us on a long drive. We have been known to follow others into rest stations, wait for them to gas up, share a laugh and continue travelling with them along the 401. Is that weird?

5. When you pass a car and everyone in the car is laughing uproariously about something, so you laugh, too. Closely related: when a stranger in a restaurant or grocery store has an infectious laugh - watch the faces of those around you as they try - and fail - to remain impassive. Most can't. Sometimes, you just gotta join in, even when you've no idea what's goin' on.

6. Sunshine, windows down, hair slicked back, sunglasses on:  Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" on the radio. Bliss.

7. Having sons who cannot wait to experience all of the above:

What's making you happy these days? Any driving shenanigans?

Land of Lost Sounds

When trying to write something serious, there is always room - nay, there SHOULD always be room - for procrastinating. Today's offering:

Which sounds, linked to your childhood, are ones your children will likely never know and/or immediately recognize?

Go!

1. The chink-chink-chink-whhiiiirrr of a rotary-dial phone.
2. Zzzzzppphhhhtclickbeeeeppppp of dial-up internet.
3. TV "snow"
4. Simon: The Game
5. "Flip" sound on digital clocks as each minute passes.
6.  The sound of a Big Wheel on the sidewalk.
7. "Press play on Tape 1"
8. "Click-click-click" of a video projector
9. The Voice - Mark Dailey (Ontario only)
10. Dinner bells from the back porch
11. "Goodnight, John-Boy..."
12. The anticipatory scratchy fullness of a needle on a record (We have a turntable and hundreds of records - plan to one day, someday, set 'em all up and have ourselves a party.)
13. The "ding" of a car pulling into a family-owned gas station.
13b. "Ping-ping-ping" of a gas station air pump.
14. Typewriter pings.
15. Cash register rings.
16. "Chuuut-chhhuttt" of a credit card imprint machine
17. Mail sliding through a slot in the front door.
18. "AOL's" iconic "Ping! You've got mail!"
19. Creaky-squeaks of a merry-go-round.

Play along! Which sounds do you remember?

"The Rodeo Song" aka "Happy Birthday, dear Andrew..."

Woke up today - my brother's birthday - expecting to be overwhelmed with missing him.

Instead, even though my heart is heavy and tears hover, I am mostly OK. Sad, but OK.

And I have decided that instead of filling this space with my own grief, I will instead share some of the reasons that I miss Andrew, so that those of you who never knew him, might.

He was a funny guy, my brother. An irreverent, potty-mouthed, laug-till-you-cry kind of dude.

Andrew helping celebrate his nephew's 1st birthday.

When I had to compile songs to put on a CD for the funeral home, I struggled with the task: I found it difficult to include songs that soothed and reflected my parents' tastes as well as mine and my brother's.

In the midst of it all  my husband provided me with a much-needed moment of sheer hilarity. When his uncle passed away several years ago, Mark's family horrified and amused mourners by playing this song at the service. It was Uncle Jim's favourite, and Mark thought it would have been Andrew's too:

"The Rodeo Song: Piss Me Off, You F*ckin' Jerk" could have been Andrew's theme song and once I'd exhaled my initial gasp of shocked surprise, I fell apart laughing.

I could - and still can - hear my brother's voice, singing these lyrics. I can see him, driving his truck, smoke in one hand, speeding like a demon and cursing other drivers.

God, I miss him. And I am laughing so hard right now I am crying. Or maybe I am crying so hard, I am laughing?

I hope he is too.

Fuckin' jerk.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and....

Held a tiny four-month old baby this morning. A boy baby, at that. His name is Landon and I not only held him, I changed his diaper, fed him his bottle and watched, cooing, as he fell asleep in my arms.

Oh, my.

I've held dozens of babies since giving birth to mine. Felt nothing, past the "so-cute-smells-so-good" feelings that accompany the relief that comes with handing them back to their parents. Done, I say, when asked if we'll have more children.

Done, I snort at my husband, the one who's never here and whose pining for a third is based upon his desire for a daughter. Frankly, I find that a bit odd and often make a point of reminding Mark of his misspent youth:

"Babe, remember high school?"
"Yeah." (Stupid, goofy grin)
"Remember YOU in high school?"
"Yeah." (Nostalgic, stupid leer)
"Now, imagine a boy like YOU dating your daughter."
"No effing way!"

That's what I thought, I say. Now, can you please pop by Shopper's on your way home? There's a sale on condoms. Buy 'em all.

This is how it's been for almost four years. Mark wistfully gazing at little girls and fawning all over his niece, remarking especially on her curly locks and long, pretty lashes - much like his own. For that same amount of time, I've been firmly shaking my head whenever the question of a third child is raised:

1. We have a two-bedroom house and I like it, so no more babies.
2. I want to sleep through the night again before I'm 40. If I have another baby, it'll never happen.
3. As much as I loved pregnancy, I am not in any shape or condition to live through another one.
4. Not one single part of me - physically or otherwise - longs for another baby. Not. one. bit.

Until today.

Today long-lashed, tow-headed, making snuffle-sounds-whilst-falling-asleep, finger-wound-around-mine baby boy Landon changed all of that and for the first time in my life, I understood the phrase, "my ovaries ache."

I could totally have another son - my Jonathan. My bookend. My final chapter. My youngest apostle.

Not that I'm going to act on it. The ovary-ache thing, I mean. Nope. Not gonna do it. Will, in fact, completely disregard that biological, deeply-primal, practically-impossible-to-ignore instinctive and basic human female drive to reproduce.

I am woman. Hear me IGNORE!

But first I need to stack the deck against my hormones and the sweet siren's song belonging to phantom boys called Johnny. In order to gird my treacherous loins, I have enlisted the help of  Reds.

Well, Luke.

Matthew is so eager to please and agreeable, his is an existence that virtually BEGS one to make more of him. His birth was the one I would have happily repeated mere hours after bringing him into the world. True story. Epi headache and all.

Luke's birth, however, was quick and so painful, I must still distract myself during sex, lest my brain somehow make the connection between what we're doing and a similar position that ended in screaming and hemorrhoids the size of oranges.

How will Luke ensure that I have no more children, you ask?

The answer is two-fold:
1. Luke is impossibly cute and sweet when he chooses to be, but he can scream the dead from their slumber when he's pissed. And he is presently sitting in time-out, screeching as loudly as he can because I wouldn't let him hit his brother in the eye with a hockey stick.

Read that sentence again.

LUKE is pissed at ME because I won't let him maim/permanently disfigure his brother. If that's not enough to keep me from bringing another McLennan child into the world...

2. A surprisingly cheerful, though random conversation with Luke this afternoon:

"Mummy, can I have a dog?'
"It would be nice to have a dog, wouldn't it? But I don't think so, Lukey."
"If I'm a good boy and stop breaking everything, can I have a dog?'
"No, Lukey. That's not how it works. You need to stop breaking stuff because it's not right."
"But I like it. It's fun and makes good sounds."
"Hmmm... yes, but..."
"So do dogs, Mummy. Dogs are fun and make good sounds."
"True, but they also poop a lot and people need to pick up their poop."
"Like you clean up my poop when it falls out of my pants?"
"Uh, sort of like that, yes."

Big pause while my ovaries stop their aching, having somehow recognized a  potentially life-altering moment-in-the-making:

"If I poo in the toilet, can I have a dog?"
"Only if we can name it John."
"John?"
"John."
"OK."

Future Blogging Ideas:

How to Blame Your Ovaries For Just About Anything
Finding the Perfect Pet for Your Family: A Helpful Guide
Manipulative Children and the Mothers Who Love Them

And you? Did you heed your Johnny's call or get a dog?

Snippets of Life with The Reds

The Reds have been in a heartwarming, love-to-be-together phase lately. I wish I'd taken more photos:  years from now, when they haul each other to the ground, fists flying, I can show them documented proof of brotherly affection. Ah, well.

 Meet Mop-Top and his little brother, Menace:

 Freshly-shorn Reds. I love their hair like this. They love to dress alike, which is handy, since they can practically share clothing, despite the two years between them:

 This morning, I ended up at the foot of bed, curled into a blanket-less ball. Hmm...I wonder why:

Holy crap, does Matthew (the taller Red) ever look like my father-in-law. He has done for most of his life, but every once in awhile, it catches me unaware and I am amazed all over again.

And finally, my favourite Spring shot:

When did they grow so big? Weren't they just born?

Bitch For a Day

A few months ago, encouraged by my friend Lloyd, I reached out to a stranger, asking for advice about writing. Leanne Shirtliffe (aka  Ironic Mom, blogger extraordinaire) wrote back and nothing has been the same.

Since then, I've been stalking tagging along behind Leanne all over the Internet, following her peeps and being awed by talent of bloggers everywhere. Inspired, I've been pushing myself to write more, more often, and have been delighted to see my own blog traffic change and rise.

More importantly, my confidence is rising. I've made a huge (scary, exhilarating) effort to shove aside my insecurities and put my writing out there - come what may:

Leanne co-blogs with two other amazing writers at Word Bitches. It's a blog about the writing life and the challenges therein. It's sassy. A little bit snarky. Full of wisdom and insight, too.

It's also where I am guest-blogging (How cool is that? It feels very professional and hip to be all, "Oh, I"m guest blogging over at Word Bitches today....Jeeves, bring the car 'round, please!")

Check it out! Go on.....GO!

Love,
Belly

Fetal Alcohol Syndrome: The Invisible Heartache

Had he lived, my brother would be turning 32 next week.

We might have gathered at my parents' house, to celebrate with a BBQ and beer on their deck. Instead, I will call my parents and picture them standing on the deck gazing out at Andrew's Memorial Garden, where a bench sits waiting and flowers are beginning to bloom.

This afternoon, I had a brief but intense conversation with a stranger about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. This woman, newly adopted-former-foster mother to "TJ" was almost painfully forthright about her son's diagnosis. Taking my cue from her, I offered up my own memories of life with a person who suffers permanent, irreversible brain damage.

"If he had Down's Syndrome or something more visible, the world might have cut him some slack," I said as TJ's mum nodded emphatically. She knows. She - and her son, shrieking happily with mine - live with that frustration every day.

"The challenge for you," I told her, "is not your son. It's everyone else's perceptions of him AND you."

The truth of that hung in the air between us and for a moment more, we clung to it: two strangers bound, ironically enough, by broken cords and damaged angels.

A few minutes ago, I read an article about a couple whose THREE adopted children have been diagnosed FAS/D and the toll the raising of their kids is taking - financially, emotionally and otherwise.

Coincidence? Ha. No way. And so I glanced at my brother's photo, raised my eyes to the sky and began this post. Okay, Bamboo. I get it. I GET it. I shall make your story, mine.

Gentle Warrior, Gone

Coming soon...

Playground Politics - A Rant

Yesterday morning, at a local park: Kids were everywhere, mamas and day-care providers, too. Everyone was soaking up the glorious sunshine and basking in the glow of our brand-spanking new playground equipment.

Luke headed directly for a giant climbing rock and began putting his Croc-clad feet into child-sized toeholds, grinning. Matthew was soon shrieking down the slide, Isabella fast behind him, both of them laughing. All was well.

I turned to greet some mothers I know, cooed over a five-month-old princess, let my gaze scan the park every now again, seeking the children, one by one. Luke = rock. Matthew = swings. Isabella = slide.

Check. Check. Check.

A few minutes passed and I again eye-swept the area: Luke is still on the rock. Matthew is playing soccer, while nearby, Isabella builds sandcastles. Wow, Luke must love those rocks. He’s been in that same spot for about 5 minute….

Crap.

I jogged over and was mortified to discover that Luke hadn’t been gazing about in wonder, as I’d assumed. Instead, he’d gotten stuck and then scared and, unable to move had been crying the whole freaking time.

Feeling awful, I quickly scooped him off the rock and into my arms, shushing and bouncing his heaving little body. I then glanced over to the three mothers standing a few steps away, let my jaw drop as they merely glanced back and walked away.

My son had been BAWLING for close to 5 minutes and they did nothing. Not. One. Bloody.Thing. No helping him up or down, no motioning me over. NOTHING.

This has irritated and saddened me so much. I cannot seem to let it go:

First of all, I am angry with myself for not noticing sooner, but I refuse to beat myself for it any longer. All afternoon is enough. But am also angry at three –count ‘em, THREE – mothers who could not step out of their own comfort zone long enough to wind an arm around a crying child and help him to safety. 

It takes a village, my ass.

A friend suggested that it’s society’s fault – that people are too afraid to reach out for fear of being sued or misunderstood or worse.

I guess I get that. I don’t actually accept that – especially not for me or my children – but I get it. But it saddens and angers me, all the same. Is THIS what we’re teaching our children - to be afraid to offer a helping hand? To know that strangers are not friends we haven’t met yet?

Surely, that can’t be right.

Is it?

 If you were those mothers, what would you have done? Any similar stories out there?

Modern Tools of the [Parenting] Trade...

Read an article this morning about parenting during the 1970's vs today. For a plethora of reasons, most of the women featured believed the '70's to be the halcyon days of mother(parent)hood.

I'm not gonna argue, as I was born and raised in the '70's and have lived to tell about it. But it got me thinking about how grateful I am to be raising the Reds now. Not necessarily in terms of society, but rather, in terms of stuff. Stuff to make life easier, specifically.

In no particular order, and my own neurosis(es?) aside, here are the things I'd rather not live without:

1. Baby wipes.

I've got baby wipes on every floor of this house, stashed in Zip-loc bags in the glove compartments of both cars and shoved into every purse I own. I've used them for poopy bums, snotty noses, make-up removal and cleaning the inside of the car, hands, feet and silverware. I use 'em as dust rags, washcloths glasses cleaner and toilet paper, in a pinch.

I  reckon I'll be stashing baby wipes well into the Reds' teens and I'm OK with that.

2. Baby Monitors

The Reds are 3 and 5 and our house is tiny. There is no longer a pressing need for a baby monitor, but I still get a great deal of use out of ours:

a) "I'll look out for Mummy. If she catches us, she's gonna be so mad, so be quiet."
b) "Wanna play "House?" I'll be the Mummy, you be the Daddy. Now, let's get into bed...
c) "Luke! Where did you get that necklace? That's Mummy's special one from her dresser. She'll be so mad if you put it down the vent. DON'T PUT IT DOWN THE VENT!"
d) "Mummy? Muuuummmmmmmyyyy! My tummy hur....blllaaargghhhcoughgagbarf!"
e) Wanna play swords with our pee-pees?

I imagine I'll be using the monitor well into the Reds' teens and I'm OK with that, too.

3. Microwave Ovens

I don't  actually cook in mine, but I am the Queen of Reheat/Defrost. On a typical day (like today, when I actually kept track) I use the microwave to do the following:

*Reheat last night's coffee
*Heat water in bowl for Weetabix.
*Defrost frozen juice because Daddy downed the last of  the real juice and left empty container in fridge. Jerk.
*Heat small bowl of lemon juice to rid microwave of Weetabix/coffee smell.
*Reheat cup of newly-brewed coffee, gone cold because I was busy dusting with baby wipes.
*Make popcorn for snack.
*Make second bag of popcorn for snack.
*Defrost chicken for supper.
*Cook peas for side dish.
*Reheat this morning's coffee.

You can have my toaster, kettle and the dishwasher but I'd weep without the microwave.

And the gratitude list goes on:

Drive-through fast food joints
McDonald's Play Place on a rainy day.
Mummy Groups
Kids CBC
Drive-through bank machines
Borrowing strollers from the mall.
CD players in the car
I don't have one but hear that DVD players for the car are bliss, too.
Fruit bars
No-spill sippy cups
Sun shields for the kids' car windows
Dollar stores
Glitter glue
Value Village for cheap costumes
Online banking/gift-buying
Digital cameras
Flip-top toothpaste
Bulbous snot-remover thingy
Pint-sized nail-clippers
Velcro
Disposable diapers/pull-ups/wipes
5-in-1 car seats
Bike helmets
Cordless phones
Parenting message boards
Google

I could raise the children without all these luxuries, but thank God I don't have to!

And you? What modern product/device/contraption/idea makes parenting easier for you?

Conversations With My Mother...

My Mum is pretty incredible. If you've never met her, then you'll have to take my word for it. If you have, then you know what I'm talking about. She's my best friend and I love her to bits.

But sometimes, the two of us together? Make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

I've just had the funniest series of phone calls with her about Mother's Day, which is this coming Sunday.

Monday:

Nanny: ...(S)o, your father and I will be at Viamede all weekend, as the house is being painted and will be in a tip.
Belly: Oh. All weekend?
Nanny: Yes.
Belly: Ok. So, shall we plan for Mother's Day another weekend?
Nanny: Yes, I think so.

Wednesday:

Belly: So, you and Dad will be at Viamede for the weekend?
Nanny: No, just on Sunday.
Belly: You're not staying overnight there, because of the painting?
Nanny: No, the painting should be done. It's the mess.
Belly: But are you staying at Viamede at all?
Nanny: No, we're just going for brunch on Sunday.
Belly: The Mother's Day Brunch?
Nanny: Yes.
Belly: The brunch I've taken you to for the past three years?
Nanny: Yes, that one.
Belly: Um....how come you're going with Dad?
Nanny: Because you said that you weren't coming up.
Belly: No, I didn't!
Nanny: Do you WANT to come up?
Belly: Of course!
Nanny: Oh, lovely. You can join us for brunch!


Pause for me to bang my head against the nearest wall, take a deep, steadying breath and smile. This is how it is, sometimes. I don't know if it's me or her, or the both of us but I think it's why my Dad often drinks in our company.


Today (Thursday)

Nanny: I was just thinking that I don't want you to feel obligated to come up. You're a mother too. Don't you want to spend the day with your children?
Belly: Well, no, actually. I want to see YOU. It's Mother's Day. I see my kids every day.
Nanny: But I don't want you to feel obligated. Is it REALLY what you want to do?
Belly: Yes.
Nanny: Won't the kids be disappointed and wondering where you are?
Belly: Well....yessshh. Maybe. Crap. Probably. They made cards.
Nanny: Are you SURE you want to come up here?
Belly: Well I was, until this phone call.
Nanny: You're a mother now, too. I would love to see you, but we can celebrate anytime.
Belly: Ummm...you're right....
Nanny: So, why don't you think about it and call me?
Belly: Crap. Ok.
Nanny: Love you, darling. Looking forward to hearing from you.


God, I love her. This dance we do - it's magic. Crazy magic, but magic nonetheless.

And you? What are the steps of your mother-child dance?

Counting My Happy...

Slept 12 hours last night - cannot remember when that happened last. So today, I am loving the world and everything pleases me. Here's my happy list, so far:


1. Falling asleep with a boy tucked under each arm.
2. Waking up this morning with a boy tucked under one arm and the other draped over my head.
3. Open windows/open doors.
4. Frogs singing.
5. We all slept so soundly, my bed practically made itself.
6. Pee that makes the potty.
7. Broccoli salad.
8. Working out with the Reds. Matthew takes it very seriously and how I love him for it.
9. Daffodils.
10. Getting my hair cut/brows waxed.
11. Bare feet on hardwood.
12. Coffee, made by someone other than me.
13. New books.
14. Blog comments.
15. Opening a new bottle of washing up liquid.
16. Actually printing photos instead of saving them on my hard-drive. Bonus happy for cute frames from the dollar store.
17. Crock pot suppers.
18. Twitter peeps.
19. Cozy blankets, folded over the arm of the couch.
20. Random love from the Reds.

And you? What makes you happy?