A Brighter Light

Today is a special day here at the House of Leprechauns.

Today marks the last day of Mark's training: tomorrow, he will officially be a nuclear operator at OPG .

To say that I am proud of him would be an understatement. He has worked so hard since last September: studying, commuting, being tested - in so many ways - again and again.

And here he is - here we all are - at the end of one journey and the beginning of the next.

I am grateful to him for all of his efforts and for keeping the faith. The road to here has not been easy, on him or on our family. But it has all been worth it.

Congratulations, Husband! May the coming years be all that you'd imagined.

For Mark

 

When we married, pledging to love and honour for all the rest of our days, we had no idea what we were getting into. All these years later, knowing, it makes me laugh a little, at all we did not know.

 

Today, I know this:

 

I am proud of you.

I am proud of the courage you show every day and that you took a leap of faith.

I know that change is not easy, for any of us, but especially you.

But despite that discomfort, you took a deep breath and pushed on.

Pushed through.

 

And here you are, poised on the edge of  a bright, bright future. Go, you!

 

I know it has not been an easy journey to here, love.

For you, for me, for us.

And yet...we have fumbled through and you have carried the weight all this time, mostly without complaint.

 

For all of it, I am grateful. Know that.

 

Know too that, as our lives shift and change once again, I love you.

Despite the storm that is sometimes "us", I will always love you.

 

And I've got your back. As you have always had mine.

 

That's another thing we didn't know, then:

 

That we would still be here, in spite of ourselves.

 

I am so happy to be here, to see you shine.

 

Always,

Liz

The Stuff That Matters

*Today marks the official end of my first year of college, studying Developmental Services.

 I have learned so much these past nine months: from passionate, wise and dedicated professors who challenged me every day, and from passionate, empathetic and hilarious classmates who did the same.

A month ago, I began a work placement - a short one, offering a brief glimpse into what it ACTUALLY means to support people with disabilities, once books and tests and grades have been tucked away.

This is where I learned the most important lessons:

I've been doing a placement (work-study thing, for my American readers) for my college program. For the past four weeks, I've spent my day at a "Day Program" for adults with developmental disabilities.

Yesterday afternoon, I said goodbye to these incredible people  - some 50 men and women who've taught me so very much about developmental services. About resilience, courage, strength and life.

For the past four weeks, I've had my heart touched and broken, every. single. day, sometimes in the same moment. I cannot describe those I supported here, because it would be a violation of so many things. But I can share the lessons they tucked into my heart -  some by speaking, some by not, all by welcoming me into their lives, if only for a little while:

1. The power of a smile - be it wide, shy, beaming or toothless - is beyond measure:

I was nervous, that first day. Terrified, actually, until a woman I'd never met - and who does not speak - gently placed her fingertips on either side of her lips and pushed up, grinning. Understanding, I burst out laughing and stuck out my hand to shake hers in thanks. Instead, she brought my forehead down to her lips, kissed me soundly there and then, without a word, shuffled off.

Imagine the strife we might avoid if this was how we, as a society, offered welcome...

2. We are all of us, the tellers of our own story:

Some people will spill every thought in their head within minutes of meeting someone new. Others keep their stories close and dole them out slowly, carefully, with learned wariness. Some tell the stories of their lives without words.

All of them - indeed all of us - deserve to be heard by a rapt and loving audience. All of us deserve to be heard, even when - perhaps especially when - we are silent.

3. Connection matters:

Sometimes, the most incredible moments are the small, seemingly insignificant ones. Last Wednesday, I took a dance with M, who cannot hear and doesn't speak,  but whose eyes held mine intently as we swayed to the music together.

I do not sign, officially, but instead motioned for him to relax his hand in mine and to move my body with gentle pressure on my hip. Something sparked there, in his eyes, as he realized that I was asking him to lead me. I was trusting him to guide me, instead of the other way around and for once brief, brilliant moment...he smiled. Had I not been looking directly at him, I might have missed it. For that glimpse of his heart and that single moment of absolute grace, I am so thankful.

4. Love matters:

Within days of beginning placement,  I was gobsmacked to realize that I could tell - from among these strangers - who had been well-loved in this life...and who had not. I have no words to describe how that looks, unloved-ness, except to report that it is common in many devalued groups, not just those who are disabled. Unlovedness is a state of being for many, especially foster children, people who are homeless, the desperately poor, our forgotten elderly...

Of everything I've learned, will learn or will ever otherwise know in this field, in this life, I have seen that love truly matters. It really does change the world - for better and for worse - one person at a time.

And you?

How has a stranger offered you a glimpse into their heart...and changed yours?

So, I Ran...

Ran my very first 5K "race" this morning. (By ran, you understand that I mean, "slogged along, snorting and snuffling", right?)

Anyhoo...I did it and despite my aching joints, I feel awesome. AWESOME!

42 minutes it took me...11 minutes less than it took me to traverse the same trail last week and only two minutes behind my friend Matt, who's a fellow Biggest Loser contestant and has been my slogging partner for weeks now.

Am I proud?

Hell, yes!

Do I like the photographic evidence of my still-too-heavy self, huffing and puffing, red-faced and sweating?

Uh, well...no.

But I'm still far, far too proud of myself NOT to post more of 'em here. Heh.

Plus, I'd like to offer up some of the more inane things that went through my mind as I took my first tentative steps into the Land of Fit:

As we warmed up, I glanced casually at blatantly sized-up the other participants, especially the super-fit ones sporting "fuel belts" and running gear, instead of maternity leggings and an old gray sweatshirt from Mark's Work Wearhouse, like me:

"I am a hippo. A hippo wearing a stupid hat. Have my thighs EVER been that slim? Heck, have my ARMS ever been as thin as her thighs?"



As we gathered in a lump at the starting point, jamming earphones in and swilling down more water, I thought:

"What the EFF is wrong with my left calf? Is it seizing, already? Why? WHY? I can't believe my leg is cramping already-freakin'-ready.....wait.....shit, we're starting! AGH!"

So, I ran.

As Miley Cyrus's "The Climb" filled my ears during the first few minutes of the run, I relaxed enough to enjoy her voice, gently urging me forward:

"This song was a good choice. What a great voice....I love this song....I love Miley's hair, too. Wish I had her hair. If I had hair like hers, I wouldn't care as much about being fat, I'll bet. Have I been running for 7 minutes already? Holy crap! I'VE BEEN RUNNING FOR 7 MINUTES WITHOUT SLOWING TO WALK!"

At 8 minutes, I slowed to a walk, having psyched myself out completely.


At the half-way point:

"I wonder if anyone would notice if I snuck across this giant expanse of lawn, instead of going around it, like they said to? Where's the water? Didn't they say there'd be water half way? I'm thirsty....dying of thirst here. I wonder if they'd let me win "Biggest Loser" posthumously..."

Mark pulled alongside me, tossed out a fresh bottle of water and a thumbs up, which propelled me through "Love the Way You Lie" by Rhianna and Eminen AND "F*ckin' Perfect" by Pink, before I slowed to a walk again.

Note to self: For next race, get fuel belt, in case Mark isn't always available for drive-by fill-ups.

Randomly, over the next 20 minutes or so:

"What the HELL is up with my left calf? Why, WHY does it do this?"

"Thank God there's a breeze, otherwise I'd look like a SWEATY hippo wearing leggings..."

"Effing hell,, this breeze is like a wall. How much slower am I going because of this wind? The wind IS the reason I'm going so slowly. It is SO!" (Nothing quite like arguing with myself, whilst trying to run and breathe at the same time)

"I suck. I suck so bad at this. This is stupid. I am going so slowly, I've lost sight of Matt. I am such a loser."

(Singing) "I know you've got a little life in you yet, I know you've got a lot of strength left..."

"Shit...was that out loud?"

"I see the park! It's the park....there's Matthew! Oh, Luke, are you swinging by yourSELF? That's so awesome! Crap, does Mark have the camera? SHIT...it IS the camera. Run faster, Liz.....run, damn it...there's a camera!"

Matthew joined me for about 15 seconds before waving me on

Moving so fast, I'm like a blur....heh.

I forged on, heading into the final kilometre feeling tired, but so happy to have seen my boys, had them see me doing something good and different. But parts of me hurt:

"I am going to saw my left calf off and toss it in the Bay, just as soon as I am finished this damned race. Ow, ow, ow, ow......"

"Is that the parking lot?!? It IS...the end is NIGH!"

"Ow, ow, ow.....why is breathing so freakin' DIFFICULT?"

Fumbling for favourite running song of all time, "Running Up That Hill" covered by Placebo"...

"Bring it, Bellymonster!"

Buoyed by the music and the breeze and the knowledge that within minutes, it would be over, I ran hard, feet and heart pounding, blood roaring in my ears.

Rounding the last curve, I spied the others:  I could see Matt and my friend Susan, who'd decided to join in this morning, waiting, cheering. Spotted my best friend, waving and hollering encouragement from the edge of the trail. I couldn't see the Reds or Mark, but felt them anyway and grinning, I pushed harder, waiting for the final surge of energy I'd been promised.

Alas.

I didn't have it, was too spent and instead sort of stumbled into the parking lot, only dimly aware of cheers and clapping and feeling a bit nauseous:

"Can't breathe. Can't speak. Must smile. There are cameras."

Heard, "42 minutes, 16!"

Looked at number pinned to my sweater: 16.

Blinked, trying to focus.

"That's ME! I'm 16! 42 minutes! Holy SHIT! I'm done! I did it! I'm done....ow, ow, ow, can't breathe, must breathe....can't.catch.breath.....I did it! Go, me!"

My friend, Susan.

Fellow "Biggest Loser" Matt Tweedy, who is an incredible
competitor and has kept me motivated. Thanks, Matty-Matt!

*       *      *

Maybe I'll keep my left calf after all.

I might need it.

There's another 5K run along the Waterfront in July and I think I can shave at least two minutes off my time...

Truth Hurts

Tonight, Luke shoved Matthew on the stairs as I herded them upstairs to bed. I told him to apologize, so he dutifully turned around and barked a decidedly UNapologetic "Sorr-Y!" at his brother.

Sigh. It would have to do.

But as we crested the landing, Matthew turned his sad, gorgeous eyes to me and said this:

"You always make ME say sorry nicely, Mummy. Why didn't Luke have to say it nicely? It's not fair."

Ouch.

"You're absolutely, positively 100% right, Matthew. It's not fair and beginning tomorrow morning, I promise to be more aware of it. OK?"

"Why can't you talk to him now?"

"Because it's late and everyone's tired and because I don't have the energy to fight with Luke, to be honest."

"OK, but Mummy, you have to promise to remember. Luke won't learn to say it nicely if you don't tell him right away when he says it wrong."

"I promise. I'll remember. Thank you for being patient and reminding me, Matthew."

Seriously. Seriously? This kid. He shows me every, single day who I am. Today, I am not a thing of parenting prowess, that's for darned sure. I am an ugly, shrewish witch.

So thhhhheeeennnn he says THIS:

"Mummy, can I tell you something else that's not fair?"
"You sure can, Bug."
"You call me names sometimes and it hurts my feelings. You tell US we can't call names and you do it. That's not fair."
"Uh....names like Bug and Silly Monkey?'
"No. Names like ,"Sneaky" and "Menace" and  "Little Boy" in your mean voice."

(As in, "Don't push your luck, little boy," in an admittedly sneering and nasty tone.)

"Boy, Matthew, you're really helping Mummy today. And you're right. It's NOT fair of Mummy to call you names that hurt your feelings, especially when she's grouchy. I'm sorry. I'll be aware of that, too."

"OK, Mummy. I'm glad I didn't hurt your feelings telling you. I just get sad and frustrated when things aren't fair."

OUCH. Oh, what a terrible agony truth is.

Every day.

Every, SINGLE day I have the opportunity to mold and shape this wonderful little boy into a compassionate, kind and thoughtful man. And every day, but especially today, he shows me that he is already all of those things.

It is I who needs lessons in compassion and thoughtfulness.

Thank God I have Matthew to show me - to teach me - what my best should look like.

My best? Is him.

A few days after this lesson, I guest-posted over at Six Ring Circus. It's a follow-up to this post, and is called "Truth and Forgiveness." Check it out!

Love, Belly

How Not Parenting Makes Me a Better Mum

My parents took the Reds camping this weekend - without me. In their absence, I stayed up late, slept in until mid-morning, cleaned the house and hung out with Mark. I also learned a few things about parenting.

Specifically, I learned a few things about parenting my kids:

1. I have great kids. I knew that, of course, before the weekend. It's just that sometimes, that truth gets lost amidst the sameness of being with them every day, all day long. I get so caught up in teaching them manners, and nagging reminding them to pick up their toys, to get along, to poo in the toilet, to stop unbuckling their seatbelts while the car is in motion...that I forget.

I forget to praise them for being kind to one another, for putting the cap on the toothpaste, for coming when called, for spelling words correctly, for remembering their hats, helmets and to stay out of the sand pile.

Without them here, I remembered.

2. I must rediscover my sense of silly. On Saturday, I had the rare privilege of watching my niece and nephew for a few hours. I have never had them all to myself before and I was delighted to read them a dozen books, using all my "silly voices". I laughed aloud when they did, loving the happy sounds they made. I spent 10 minutes kissing invisible boo-boos up and down their limbs, making them laugh harder and twirled my fingers into their curls, holding them closer, gently, for as long as I could.

As I did so, feeling my shy, prickly niece relax into my side and sigh with tired contentment, I tried to remember the last time I got goofy with my own kids. Seems I don't do it often enough, because I couldn't recall a recent "Funny Five Minutes" and vowed then and there to change things for the Reds.

Without them here, I remembered.

3. The Reds are my everything, but maybe there's room for others, too. It has been many, many years since Mark and I have spent more than 24 hours alone. And the three-day weekend sans kids is the first one we've had since before Luke was born. It was also the longest stretch of time alone together that didn't end with a door-slamming, curse-hollering fight. Sad, but true.

I had forgotten the quiet pleasure of  sitting together on the deck with only our books and our coffee. I had forgotten how much fun a trip to the hardware store, to window-shop and dream - could be. I had forgotten what brought Mark and I together years ago and this weekend, I was given a glimpse of the people we used to be.

For a few brief days, I allowed myself to be the wife I've never been and focused my attention solely on Mark. I was rewarded with a relaxed and cheerful man with whom I peacefully shared meals, coffee and forgotten laughter. And I realized that, in putting the Reds first, always,  I do our family a great disservice.

Without them here, I remembered.

I am so grateful to my children.  Even when they're not here, they teach me the biggest, most important lessons in life: Let go. Be silly. Forgive.

And you? What have your kids taught you lately?

Post # 30 of 30 - What I've Learned and a Challenge for July

Last month, my friend Moe (who's penning an incredible story, which I hope she'll one day publish because it's just that good) tossed out a challenge. I was to write 30 blog posts, one a day, during the month of June. She was to write or edit one page per day for the same period of time.

Here's what I've learned:

 1.As much as I chatter on all day long, not all of what I say has relevance or even meaning. Who knew? I know, I know. Some of you out there are snickering into your drinks right now, because I do tend to blather on, but still. Trying to write something meaningful or worthwhile EVERY day? Is hard.
.

2. I love comments. I can't help it. When I first began blogging, I wrote solely for me and the Reds. I wanted a place to record their journey out of babyhood and into childhood and to record my own journey as a "work-in-progress" mother.

Somewhere along the way, I became aware of a larger audience and since the Reds can't read, my stories began to reflect that realization. Even as I post blog links to Facebook and Twitter, I hit the "Stats" button feverishly, waiting, hoping, praying for someone to comment.

 I don't know what that says about me, actually, but there it is.

3.This challenge has been humbling. And such fun. And addictive, though not enough to continue churning out a new post every day. There's a weird, though not unpleasant pressure to actually WRITE when I know that somebody's waiting on me. It's sort of like having a few dozen editors sending gentle email reminders about a pending deadline. Turns out, I don't actually write well under pressure.

Note to self: Blogging requires discipline. And proper sleep. And maybe more less coffee.


5. I was supposed to write about soother fairies and clapping for babies. Or something. I can't quite remember, since June 1st was so long ago. 29 posts ago, to be exact. I WILL write about them, because I promised that I would. It's just gonna take me bit longer to keep that promise. Moe, I know you understand.


6. I am more confident about my writing and more inclined to TELL people about my blog, than I was a month ago. I'm not sure why the shift happened or when, but it feels pretty darned good. For as much as I crave comments and feedback, I am just as happy sending my thoughts out into the ether, if only to get them out of my head.


7. July's Challenge: 30 minutes of exercise EVERY day. I'm terrified. But game.

And you? Are you game and willing to join the "Belly Get Fit(ter) Challenge?"

A Message From God

Yesterday, I wrote this to God:

Dear God,

No doubt, the universe is unfolding as it should and according to Your plan. I am doing my best to let go of my controlling ways and trust that You know what's best. As always, my lessons are about patience and letting go.

I'm listening. I get it. But if You could hurry things along, just a teensy bit, that would be great.

Love,
Me


This is Life With Bellymonster  today:


I waited and waited and waited for the plumber who showed up full of contrition, explaining that he can't come today, due to an emergency elsewhere. 

Next Thursday it is.

I've been waiting and waiting for  S. from Loyalist College to call me back and she finally did, with good-ish news. My acceptance letter, though written, cannot be officially submitted until next week.

Thursday, as it turns out.

Just received an email from Luke's coach. She needs to change the date that I'm responsible for snacks, even though the date that I originally chose was the one that worked best for me and our schedule. So, instead of bringing snacks on July 14th as planned, I'll be bringing snacks next week.

Next Thursday, to be precise.

That God.

He's so funny.

And you? Heard from God lately?

To Whom it May Concern II

Dear Summer Holidays,

 Please be sunny and warm, but not too warm. Please let there be long days spent frolicking near water and cool nights, perfect for snuggles before sleep. Let there be frog songs while camping, more fruit for the picking, new parks to play in and cool caves to explore.

These halcyon days are so fleeting - I want to remember them all. Please remind me to take the camera but not to spend so much time capturing the moment that I forget to be IN it.

Thanks in advance,
Mama to the Reds


Dear Matthew,

I promised you that tomorrow is a sleep-in day. Please do your part and sleep in past 7 a.m. In return, I promise to take you to do or see someplace new and different at least once a week, all summer long. I can't wait to see the world through your eyes.

I hope that you'll enjoy our adventures. If not, I promise to drag you along anyways,because it's for your own good/educational/I paid for the experience/I promised Luke.

Even when you don't love me and you accuse me of loving your brother more, I love you with all that I am.

Love,
Mummy


Dear Luke,

Thank you for trying your big-boy best to stop pooping in your underpants and for finally accepting that it will not be your teacher's job to potty-train you come September.

 I'm very proud of your efforts, though I do wish you'd refrain from peeing on the big pile of dirt in front of our house. I don't mind so much, but I think the neighbours might and the construction crew whose dirt it is keep giving me funny looks.

 Even when you punch my knee for fun and blame every naughty thing on the ghosts who live in the closet, I love you with all that I am.

Love,
Mummy


Dear Friends and Family,

Thank you for giving me your queen-sized sheets, your best advice and Baileys before noon. Thank you for lending me your shoes, your ears, your husbands to help me move stuff and for driving my sons around in your car simply because they asked.

Thank you for reading my blog, retweeting my stuff,  folding my laundry, fixing my hair and for watching my kids while I run errands, run off a mad or just run, period. Thanks for coffee in to-go cups and for leaving grapes, chocolate milk and hummus in my fridge.

I couldn't do this - any of it -without you all and I am very, very blessed.

Love,
Liz


Dear God,

No doubt, the universe is unfolding as it should and according to Your plan. I am doing my best to let go of my controlling ways and trust that You know what's best. As always, my lessons are about patience and letting go.

I'm listening. I get it. But if You could hurry things along, just a teensy bit, that would be great.

Love,
Me


Dear Elizabeth,

You are still a work in progress, but you are finally hitting your stride and baby, it's a sight to behold. These are halcyon days, my girl - remember to BE in these precious moments and remember to give thanks for them all.

Trust me. The best is yet to come.

Love,
Bellymonster

Goddess Off the Rails...

The life of a domestic goddess ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Don't get me wrong - I dig being home with the Reds and watching them move -swiftly, leaving mess in their wake - through their days and I love being the first person to see them master a new skill or use the phrase "Fer CRAP's sake!" in the right context.

It's the OTHER stuff that sort of gets me down. Meals, I've got sorted - I like cooking and the Reds aren't as fussy as they once were. We eat simply and on a schedule, which leaves me time for other stuff.

Or should.

Mostly, I ignore the pile of stuff on the kitchen table until it threatens to topple. My junk drawer is actually a "junk counter" and while I try to keep it tidy, it drives my husband loopy.

On Sunday, I learned that practically all aspects of our life drive him loopy and that the house, in particular, overwhelms him. Dude's got a lot going on, life-wise, between his job and wanting to spend more time helping out his parents. I get that.

But because he was home last week, he got to witness the cheerful, everyday chaos of life with two kids and it sort of freaked him out:

 The phone rang incessantly, friends and neighbours popped by unannounced, friends came asking if the boys' could come out to play, our street is filled with the noise and mess of construction, workmen toiled at the bottom of the driveway and needed into the basement to mess around with the water pipes or something, toys lay strewn from kitchen to front door and the boys played hockey in the house....

It overwhelmed Mark, who leaves for work when the boys are still sleeping and trudges home long after they're in bed. By the time he comes through the door the house is tidy, the toys are away and his supper is waiting on the stove. H e has control of the remote because I am usually blogging and all is quiet. Peaceful.

But not, apparently, peaceful enough.

Our house is small and old - there is very little in the way of storage and there are LOTS of things that ought to be stored away. Mostly toys, books and paper - bills, pictures, notes, etc. I think part of Mark's issue is that even the things that are put away are still visible, as our shelves are open as are both bookcases.

The boys' room looks best when I close the door and I'll admit that I am crap at putting laundry away. I could live out of a basket forever, actually, if it meant never having to put clothes in drawers again.

The kitchen, even when completely tidied up, still looks cluttered and...too full.

I am pretty good about making the bed every day and the bathroom is always getting cleaned because I live with three boys and only one of 'em has decent aim.

But that boy is NOT happy about Life with Bellymonster and the Reds.

Not. one. bit.

So, beloved readers, I need advice. And a garbage truck backed into my driveway so I can scrap it all and start fresh, but since that's unlikely, I'll take suggestions:

How do YOU control the clutter monster in your house?

Do you and your partner have completely different ways of doing things?

How do you balance the needs of everyone in the family?

Do you schedule certain tasks or tackle things as they come up?

Would you please come and heeellllppp meeeeee?

Goodbye to Guckies

Matthew has been using a soother since birth. He has steadfastly clung to a handful of beloved and well-loved "guckies" for his entire life.

I have argued with practically everyone about his use of them - a thumbsucker myself, I KNOW the immense comfort he draws and will never willingly take it from him.

Then today happened.

Matthew's care nurse - once she'd properly arranged her features after expressing shock and derision at his soother use - has expressly forbidden the use of soothers, straws or anything that involves sucking. It would render today's painful surgery futile and in all likelihood, cause more discomfort for Matthew.

Matthew kind of overheard this conversation, as it took place over top of his precious, snoozing head. So tonight, when I told him that bedtime will no longer include his gucky, he simply nodded.

Sadly. Tears shimmered. And then my wee man squared his little shoulders, stuck out a brave chin and said,

"It's ok, Mummy. I know."

And it has broken my heart. I find that I am grieving -  not just the loss of his gucky for him, but also  the loss of his little boyhood...for me. It's not that he's not ready to leave these precious days behind.

He is.

He has.

But me? I am not ready. Not yet.

Not yet.

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?

These are the days...

Belly: Luke, where are you pants?
Luke: They got wet.
Belly: How'd they get wet?
Luke: The pee wouldn't listen.




These are the moments, my friends. The moments that make me laugh out loud and fall in love with my son all over again. Yes, indeed. These ARE the days.

A conversation with Matthew, shortly after the pee stopped listening:

Matthew: Did you know that I kissed Alison 7 times?
Me: Really? Seven times?
Matthew: Well, only two times today. She wasn't too into it today.
Me: Yeah, girls are fickle like that.
Matthew: Does fickle mean they're hard to understand?
Me: Yes. Yes it does.
 

To Whom it May Concern:

Dear Baileys,

God bless you, inventors of bliss-in-a-glass. Thank you for tiny, perfect, quiet moments at the end of those days which are neither perfect nor quiet.

Sincerely,
Belly


Dear Bell Canada,

There are only 337 days left until my contract with you expires. To say that I am delighted about this would be an understatement.  Hallefreakin'luhiah!

Sincerely,
Elizabeth


Dear Murphy's Oil,

This morning, my son coloured on my oak desk with marker. This afternoon, he coloured on the hardwood floor with a different coloured  marker. About an hour ago, he took two markers to the coffee table.

Your product not only removed every spot, my house smells amazing. God bless you.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth


Dear Crayola,

Washable? I beg to effing differ.

Signed,
E.M.


Dear Sons,

This week is NOT a no-yell one. That was LAST week. Just because last week's no-yell efforts were dismal failures, that does NOT automatically mean that the following week will be about making up.

This week is about getting through.

Despite the yelling, colouring, hitting, shoving, tattling, throwing, jumping, whining and inability to get through a bath without splashing water, I love you both with all that I am.

Remember that. Forget the rest.

Love,
Mummy


Dear God,

Thank you for today and for my sons. Without them, I might never learn the things I should: patience, consistency, letting go. Hope to pop by this Sunday.

Love,
Me

P.S. Please bless the Baileys and the Murphys. They saved my floor and my sanity.


Dear Elizabeth,

You are a work in progress. Remember that. Forget the rest.

The best is yet to come.

Love,
Bellymonster

20 Ways to Say, "I Love You!"

I am not a particularly romantic person.

I don't care for candlelit dinners, although that's not to say I won't happily eat by candlelight. It's the eating bit that I like best, not the loving words or seductive background music.  To me, the trappings of romance made popular by Hallmark society feel false and contrived and I resent the expectations - unspoken or otherwise - that come with store-bought sentiment or champagne flutes on a beside table.

I cover my face during cinematic kissing scenes, late night phone-chat commercials and ones advertising Viagara. I am easily flustered by things like rose petals, anything piped by Yanni and lingerie. By easily flustered, I mean "completely freaked out."


I am not a cuddly sort of woman, either - at least, when it comes to people other than my children. Once my husband and I have finished..erm..."being close" I  don't crave cuddles or soft words. Instead, I crave space, the cool side of my pillow and no one's feet touching mine. That's  it. That's all.

Mark on the other hand - he is a romantic fellow, in spite of my best squashing efforts. He likes sitting close on the couch, soft lighting and lingerie.(Me: "I'll take off my flannel and socks as soon as the room is pitch black.") and would whisk me off for a romantic (read: child-free) weekend once a month or so if,

a) we could afford to and
b) he somehow tricked me into it.

Alas, money, time and his wife defeat him. My poor, poor husband.

Despite ourselves, we have survived 7 years of marriage and have been driving each other crazy since 1999. (Sooner, if attending the same high school counts. He drove me crazy then, too. But I digress...) During that time, I've come to realize that we express our love for one another in ways that makes sense only to us and that Hallmark will never be able to sucessfully market.

It's an everyday, ordinary romance...and I wouldn't change a thing.

Top Ten Ways My Husband Says "I Love You!"

1. "I filled up your car with gas and there's a new jug of windshield-wiper fluid in your trunk."

2. "Go get a new dress for the party. New shoes, too."

3. "Sorry, I'll just move my feet over here."

4. "Here's a coffee. The kids have eaten breakfast."

5. "Is this the right brand of tampon? I got confused in that aisle..."

6. "I love your ass."

7. "Thanks for dinner, it was great!"

8. "If I was too tired to drive, I'd feel safe going to sleep while you drive."

9. "I saw this J.D. Robb book at Shopper's. You haven't read this one, have you?"

10."I'm sorry."

Top Ten Ways I Say "I Love You!"

1."It's only receding a bit - no one will notice."

2. "Dinner's in the oven."

3. "Here's your coffee. The kids have eaten breakfast and lunch."

4. "I shaved my legs."

5. "I saved $15 on groceries this week, just by clipping coupons."

6. "I called your mom, emailed your sister and your aunt and sent our replies for Rob's wedding. The hotel room is booked and my parents are taking the kids. I plan to shave my legs."

7. "Want me to rub your back?"

8. "I tagged you in my Facebook status."

9. "I shovelled the drive."

10. "I'm sorry."

And you? How do you and your looovvvaaahhh say "I love you?"

Operation No-Yell: "And on the seventh day, Mummy...."

yelled.



You were expecting something different, perhaps?

Ha!

In my defense, Mr. Super-Sassy-Pants and Mr. I'm-Not-Listening-Nah-Nah-Boo-Boo had it coming.

It's 6:30 pm, a full half hour before their bedtime and they are in bed, lights off. Matthew didn't get a story and even though neither boy has brushed his teeth, I am not going back up there.

Weirdly, I don't feel TOO badly about the yelling. What a change from the beginning of this week!

During the past seven days, I have reached a number of interesting conclusions about parenting,  the nature of discipline and myself:

 MOST of time, if I'm yelling, it has nothing to do with the children and everything to do with me. I am learning to recognize that and correct it before the vocal fireworks begin and all around, things are much better.

My children respond much better to praise and quiet voices than to hollering and anger. Huh. Go figure, eh?

Everyone has a opinion about Operation No-Yell. Some roll their eyes, some nod sagely, others want to know every detail of the past week, eager to either learn from my experience or to tear it all to bits. I am both thin AND thick-skinned about this: I know that I am good mother - my changing how I parent (or attempting to) is not an admission of defeat - it is an effort to be better. To be MORE.

To be better more often.

Not surprisingly then, I bristled at the assumption that I am trying to Super Mom, or that I am most concerned with being friends with my children instead of their guardian and protector and teacher. After chewing, bristling and spluttering indignantly, I realized an important truth:

I am not attempting to be anything more than the kind of mother  that I am absolutely meant to be and more importantly, the kind of mother that my children deserve.

I feel empowered and invigorated by this realization. I don't think that there is any shame in admitting that I need help or guidance. A friend of mine is horrified that I blog about my failings (perceived or otherwise) and can't understand why I feel compelled to reach out to the world at large - leaving myself open to criticism and judgement.

What I know for sure is this:
,
I reach out because that is who I am. I overshare, too. I feel too deeply, talk too much and seldom stop to think before I speak, emote or act. I reach out because I trust that those who know me best will understand and support me. I trust that those who don't know me will be drawn to my honesty and imperfections. I hope that they will recognize something of themselves in me and feel comfort. Kinship.

I write about who I am - as a wife and as a mother I am a work in progress.

I write about who I want to be: more often than not, a better wife and mother.


These parenting waters are tricky to navigate and as the boys grow into themselves, they take me into uncharted territory. Seems to me that by reaching out and admitting that I am lost, I stand a better chance of being found. Or of someone handing me a map.

Thanks to all of you for being part of the journey!