Row, Row, Row Your Boat

So late last night I was marinating in a bubble bath, sipping on an iced latte, and reading a magazine- when I eyed an article that I had first skimmed over, which just might have altered my life. It was an article on Katie Spotz. Two years ago, at the age of 23, she became the youngest person to row solo across the Atlantic. That would be the Atlantic OCEAN. That 3,038 mile journey took her 70 days ( my first thought: "wow, I could really go for 70 days by myself. But not rowing the whole time. Maybe on a beach somewhere...") Since then, she swam across the Allegheny river (325 miles) and hand-biked across the country, from coast to coast. Seriously? I give myself a pat on the back when I manage to finish all the laundry on the same day. I think taking all three kids to Home Depot and then out to supper is ambitious. This silly 25 year old bitch just shamed me as I sat there in silence listening to my vanilla scented bubbles quietly pop all around me. Why am I not doing monumental stuff like that? (In my defense, I've never rowed before, and I didn't even know that hand-bikes existed. I could swim the river though- with a life jacket. And a sea-doo to catch a ride halfway across on.)

Today I figured out why I'm missing out on creating adventures and/or making a difference on a large scale; I get caught up on the small every day things. I bet our energetic Katie doesn't fret over spots on the floor, or weeds in her garden- she's too busy base jumping from the Eiffel tower and cooking organic meals from scratch for the Pope. Really, are clean baseboards, and an organized linen closet the most memorable and spontaneous things I can do?? I think not.

Today was "Get Shit Done Day." I cleaned the house like a mad fiend, in-between petting the dog and goofing around with the kids (Dryden watched silently as I dusted the furniture at a frenzied pace, then he scooted over to Noelle and whispered, "me finks Momma's mad.") I sent off FB msgs and emails that I had been too lazy to respond to immediately, did the dishes and some laundry, and washed the floors. (And the baseboards...I couldn't resist. I think there is something wrong with me.)

Tomorrow will be "Finally Finish Shit Day" where I plan to complete little projects that I have hanging around: some scrapbooking pages, some 600 pictures to organize and divide, a daily calendar board for Noelle to paint and hang, a pillow to sew, and finally finish weeding my garden and flower beds.

With all that stuff done and out of my head, I will finally be able to set myself up to be productive and effective and adventurous, creating something momentous in my life. Just what, I haven't figured out yet. I guess that will be for Wednesday's "Think Of Shit To Do Day."

Once upon a time, I used to be a great cook. I made elaborate meals, tried new recipes, labored over ingredients, and enjoyed the art of presentation. Then Nick and I would sit down, sometimes to candle light, sometimes with friends, and enjoyed our meal. We only got up to get more wine (in hind sight it was probably cheap wine) or to remove dessert from the freezer or oven. I took sitting down to eat, and complete, a meal for granted. No one ever tried to eat off of my plate; no one ever spit something they didn't like onto my plate; no one spilled their milk on my lap, or yelled bloody murder in my ear. These were the "good 'ol days" and I didn't even realize it.

Fast forward four years and three kids later. I hate supper time. It is the most stressful part of my day. It's worse now that Nick booked evening shift this booking so he's gone for meal time for the next six months. My kids are most unruly after nap time, which also coincides with meal prep time. And I'm screwed beyond enjoyment if I've forgotten to take something out of the freezer to defrost. Noelle and I follow a gluten free diet and Dryden follows an "I-won't-eat-anything-that-looks-icky" diet and Nick just keeps his fingers crossed that his left overs for the next day are edible. My meals are no fuss, nothing fancy, not really brag worthy in the Mom Group circles. It has literally been years since I've sat to eat supper (except when we eat at Nick's parents'. His dad insists on feeding Noelle and his mom distracts Dryden with pickles- allowing Nick and I to eat.) I get up constantly to pick up Noelle's spoon, to get her next course, to beg/bribe Dryden to eat something off his plate, to feed the baby, to change the baby, to get someone some milk, to clean up the milk once they've knocked it over, and finally to pop some Tylenol for the massive headache I inevitably get. A lot of nights I actually don't get to eat until they go to bed and my meal is a congealed pile of vomit looking crap on my plate.

It gets better right? There is a light at the end of this "wolfing down my food as fast as I can while standing in front of the stove" tunnel? I just want to eat all of my god damn spaghetti while sitting down- is that too much to ask?!

At least some things stayed the same from our pre-children years: I still love me some cheap wine...which is calling my name right now. Cheers!

Rules to Live by

I broke an alarming amount of Mom Rules today. What are "Mom Rules" you may ask...they are rules I have put into place to ensure that my day goes smoothly. And by "smoothly" I mean so I don't snap and loose my shit.

Rachel's Mom Rules

1. Never, ever, EVER remove a dirty diaper unless you have a new one unfolded and ready to slip under the bare bum. Trust me, the moment you forget this rule will result in your child pissing on your best friend's goose-down filled duvet, or having a disgusting green baby crap on the in-laws' micro suede sofa.

2. Never let your container of wipes go lower that 1/3 full. Some of these baby craps are fantastic feats of nature and the last thing you want is to be half way through a change and run out. Then you either have to pick up a still poop covered child to go hunting for more wipes, or you risk strapping the babe in and returning to a shit smeared change table.

3. Pack your diaper bag as though you might get lost in the wilderness for a week. Things I've learned to include in our bag: plastic bags, Kleenex, Swiss army knife, bum cream, tempra, thermometer, compass, back-up pacifier, bear spray, chap stix, flare gun, spork, blanket, sippy cup, kneedle/thread/safety pins, lighter, water, formula, flint, snacks for kids, snack and emergency mini Pepsi for mommy.
How big is my diaper bag? Enormous.

4. Pack a change of clothes for everyone and leave it in your vehicle. This has saved us. I've had to resort to my back up outfit of yoga pants and bright red T-shirt to finish my errand once. Oddly enough, I was still a contender for best dressed shopper in Walmart that day.

5. Keep an incredibly well stocked pantry. Snacks will shut up almost any grumpy, tired, hungry, bored child.

6. Never underestimate the power of the Backyardigans. They just might save your life.

7. Yoga pants are for yoga. The day you wear them past 9am is the day unexpected company will drop in.

8. Don't tempt fate- or toddlers- keep breakables out of reach. Sure, my house will look kinda stupid for the next few years, but nothing will shatter and no trips to the ER for stitched will (hopefully) be made.

9. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee!

10. Choose your battles wisely: kid wants to play with the dog's toys- let her. Kid wants to wear two different shoes outside to play- let him. Kid wants to chew on the handle of my designer purse- let her.

11. Do not schedule anything between the hours of 1 and 3; this is prime nap time and it is non-negotiable. Death to anyone who interrupts this sacred period. I would rather snuff them out and serve a prison term than spend and afternoon with numerous kids who have not napped.

12. Yes, those platform wedges look amazing on the shelf, but remember that while you are wearing them you will be lugging around a 30 pound baby carrier, and more than likely, a 30 pound toddler as well. Flats are pretty too.

13. Have some wine chilling in the fridge at all times. Not a big drinker? You will be.

Some like it hot

Who doesn't love a heat wave during our short, much coveted summer? Right now, me- that's who. Our house has two central air units, one that cools the addition on one side of the house, and another that cools the kitchen/dining room/upstairs bedrooms. Last Thursday I was home alone with the kids doing stuff in the kitchen and I could hear this annoying grinding, whirling sound coming from somewhere I just couldn't locate. Sure enough, it was the sad sound of something or another dying on our ac. It would have been better if the ac that cools the addition had died- we could have just closed the French doors and avoided that hot box until the unit was fixed. The Universe, however, hates me and killed the ac that allows us to sleep in comfort. Apparently I seriously pissed off Karma too along the way, because our broken ac neatly corresponded with this latest acid-reflux-from-the-pits-of-hell weather. The furnace guy is coming tomorrow to fix it (a) yay! (b) what the hell do I do tonight? The last few nights the three kids went to bed in their diapers after a bath to cool them down. I bought each of their bedrooms little fans to circulate the 35 degree air in their rooms (their rooms have gorgeous, ornate, crystal fixtures...and now giant less ornate fans. Function over form right now lol.) We've also been lucky that it has either cooled down at night, or there has been an amazing breeze so I can open all the windows upstairs and offer everyone a measure of relief. We were careful to screw in the screens on the windows in the kids rooms- I had horrible visions of our new neighbours calling to informs us that Noelle was dancing on our tin roof. We weren't so careful with our windows. I was passed right out, thanks to the powerful breeze blowing through my room. The dog was snoring away, curled up under the window. Suddenly a big gust of wind popped the screen out of its frame and it landed right on the dog- who in turn thought someone was attacking him and he freaked right out, barking and howling, looking around half-asleep for his assailant. It was funny...until I realized that he woke the children.
It's frigging hot up there tonight. I can't wait to open the windows. I told Dryden earlier tonight that it was time to get ready for bed. He ran around collecting his trucks, his sippy cup of juice, and then pushed a chair up against the fridge and opened the freezer door. "Cold please", he said cryptically. After a lot of guessing I figured out that he wanted to take a bowl full of ice to bed. Smart kid. I let him. Hell, I might even copy him.
Stay frosty my friends

???

     I have a small confession to make: I have no idea how much I currently weigh. The batteries in our digital scale are dying and it won't give me a readout. It's been well over a month since they craped out and I have yet to replace them. Part of the reason is because they are those flat circley ones (how's that for pitiful Girl Lingo?) and we don't really keep those in the house- what the hell else runs on those? Another part of the reason is maybe, perhapse just a little bit, I was enjoying the ignorant bliss of not having to acknowledge how little weight I was losing. Or not losing. At all.

     So this week I went for a walk up and down our driveway every day; either pushing Raegan in the stroller while the other two kids were napping, or pulling Dryden and Raegan in the wagon while Noelle was at school, or by myself at night, watching the fireflies blinking morse code in the feild across the road. Tonight I downloaded the "Couch to 5k" app and went for my first run in...2 years? Blarg. I miss the days when running was easy for me. I also miss the days when my bum didn't jiggle when I ran...

     My legs are sore, but I fel good. Top of my "To Do" list tomorrow is to get new flat circley batteries and face the music. I hope at the very least it's music I can jog to.

And yes, you can all be insanely jealous of my flip flop tan lines.

Play Doh: Uniting Mortal Enemies Since 1956

Dryden had a play date yesterday. My niece Olivia is five days older than him and was in dire need of a babysitter. My mother, who usually watches her, dropped her off on her way to Ottawa to visit my brother in the hospital. I got Noëlle prepped and ready for school, got Raegan up - fed and changed her- and dressed Dryden and Olivia for the day. Toys were out, ready to be fought over, a cartoon was on, ready to be watched periodically, brownies were cut, ready to be used as bribes, and a bottle of Pepsi was chilling in the fridge, ready for my potential meltdown.

Everything went well for the first 15 minutes until D & O realized that my mom was gone. Dryden was crying, saying, "Nanny no stay and play?!" And Olivia was crying, saying, "her just left me!?" Ummm, first round of brownies.

The next 30 minutes went smoothly, until Olivia's stuffed monkey tragically lost his arm in an epic game of "Swing The Monkey." I couldn't for the life of me find my sewing stuff and had to admit helplessness. Olivia was crying, saying, "if you was Nanny you could fix him" and Dryden was crying, saying, "hers monkey is dead!" Jesus, round two of brownies. I told Livy that Nanny would fix him tomorrow and put him on the counter next to the bananas. "There," I said, "he said that he's happy. What's your monkey's name Honey?" She looked at me square in the face and said, "him's name, Auntie Ray-Ray, is Monkey and hims can't talk." Her tone of voice and body language clearly said that I was an idiot for even asking. Dryden frowned and shook his head at me, confirming that my question was tactless. I shoved another brownie into my big mouth.

Saku was no help all day either; he was so excited to have another toddler to play with that he caused more trouble than they did. He stole Livy's cup of milk, he ate Dryden's neat pile of crackers, and sneezed on the baby- severely pissing her off. I kept hearing "Kuku sniffed me!", "Kuku licked me!", "Kuku farted!", "STOP IT KUKU!" Round three of brownies to keep the peace. I called the dog into the kitchen and had a heart to heart with him over a shared brownie...I should have baked a double batch.

Minutes late D & O were locked in a death grip over a toy. I knew by the look on their faces that violence would erupt soon so I used the ace up my sleeve: Play Doh. Thankfully we have an extensive cache of Play Doh and no sharing was necessary; each kid got one blob of each color, they each got one Fun Factory set, one knife, set of stamps, rolling pin, scissors, and one Play Doh bomb making set (patent pending.) The next 90 minutes were divine- they played nice, the baby was cute, and I locked the dog outside. Noëlley's van arrived and she was already snoring softly in her seat, and stayed asleep as I tucked her into bed. When I came downstairs, Raegan was zonked out, snoring in her swing. I ushered D & O into the living room and served lunch in there.

Nap time: hissy fits were thrown and I backed off. Instead, I pulled out the futon, lined it with thick blankets and pillows, closed all the blinds and lights, and put on a movie. The deal was that they didn't have to nap, but they had to sit quiet while I ate and tidied up. They snuggled in on either end of the couch and the dog plopped on the floor in front of them. Five minutes later I could hear a symphony of snores from all of them.

The day went really well; we didn't run out of brownies, no major fights, numerous Play Doh sculptures are air drying on our windowsill, and yes, I drank my Pepsi in blissful silence while everyone napped and re-energized.

iLove

     Last Friday I went out to lunch in Barhaven with three friends from university; one of these lovely ladies is moving back to NFLD and this was our last get-together before her migration East. I took Raegan with me so everyone could meet her, and left Nick at home to entertain the two older kids. All said and done, I was gone for almost 6 hours. When I maneuvered our van down the driveway and parked in my spot, I was slightly startled to see Nick already standing at my door, waiting to help my unpack the baby. I walked into the kitchen and was greeted loudly by Dryden (wearing inside-out shorts, one sock, and Nick's toque) running by me yelling like a wild banshee- the dog was in hot pursuit. I turned to look at Nick, only to see that Noelle was engaged in a full body wrap around his left leg as he shuffled awkwardly across the room. She was yelling "Up! Up!" over and over again. I scanned the kitchen quickly: it was a hot mess. I knew instinctively that the rest of the house would match. Nick leaned in real close and whispered, "who's fucking kids are these?! They were horrible today. I don't know how I don't come home from work to a note on the door saying that you quit and have run away forever. How do you get anything done during the day with these three sucking the life out of you all day long? I'm happy you're home- please don't ever leave me."

     A few days later Nick bought me an iPhone. "Ooooo! Is this my Mother's Day Gift?" I asked (I was almost positive that he had planned on getting me something else.) "No," he said. "This is your reward for not running away. It is also a bribe for you to keep doing...everything. I'm serious, please don't ever leave me." It has been a few days since then and a huge abyss of guilt has formed in the pit of my stomach: I need to come clean to Nick, and hopefully after that, he'll still let me keep the iPhone.

1. It usually takes me 12 hours to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher and reload it with the dirty stuff- longer if the kids help (and by "help" I mean break shit and scatter and/or hide dirty dishes all over the house.)

2. Peanut butter toast for supper? Every Wednesday night actually...

3. I hide dog treats all over the house, especially in the corners. Saku's fur acts like a giant swiffer cloth. When the treats are gone, and my floors are clean(ish) I let the dog outside to shake it all off.

4.Showering is always optional on hectic days. So is eating. Coffee, however, is mandatory.

5. Given the option to nap or be productive while the kids are sleeping, I always choose nap. There are other lives at stake here.

6.Beds do not get made in our house yet. Closing four bedroom doors takes 6.2 seconds.

7. Noelle and Dryden take a ton of baths. Why? Are they filthy? No- they like playing in water and they leave me alone for a good 30 minutes. I sit with the baby outside the bathroom and close my eyes, pretending that I'm somewhere else. Anywhere else really...

8. I almost never read the real words to any story books at bedtime; I insert my own story line for personal entertainment. The Cat in the Hat had a meth problem in our books and Horton Beats A Hoe. Whatever, I only have a few short years to mess with them like this before they can actually read.

9. They also can't tell time, so bedtime varies according to how bad they are. Death and bad karma to whoever teaches them to tell time.

10. I hide in the bathroom a lot. I'm hiding in there right now.

11. I allow myself one "postal" moment per day. I like to think that being perceived as slightly unstable keeps my kids honest and on their toes. "What do you mean you don't want to finish your goldfish crackers? ARE THEY NOT GOOD ENOUGH? I DON'T THINK SO MISTER! RRRRRAAAARRRR!!!"

12. I have mastered selective hearing. I can filter out 95% of their whining/gibberish. Being shit faced in the middle of the day also helps this skill.

13. There are many, many days where nothing gets done. Nothing. Everyone stays in their jammies, they get to eat whatever shuts them up the fastest, and the house is disgusting until they go to bed.

14. Whenever Noelle has therapies at home, I clean like a mad fiend and stuff as much as I can into the dining room and shut the doors- praying that they don't want to use that room.

15. I repeat quite a few mantras in my head to make it through the day. Examples:
9 more hours til bedtime
9 more hours til bedtime
9 more hours til bedtime...

Being a parent is awesome being a parent is fun
Being a parent is awesome being a parent is fun
Being a parent is awesome being a parent is fun...

It could be worse- you could be cleaning up shit
It could be worse- you could be cleaning up shit
It could be worse- you could be cleaning up shit...

I'm going to go drink some beer and play with my new phone now....