I personally would have stuck with "Trick or Treat"

Yesterday was Halloween. I was working for the first time since the kids were born. I had debated on trying to trade a shift to get the day off, but realized that since there would be many Christmases where I'd have to work, and it wouldn't be possible to find someone to trade that shift, I didn't want to take the chance that the boys might get the idea that Halloween was more important than Christmas. I had hoped that I'd manage to get home in time to see the boys in their costumes, but by the time I left work and called home, they were no longer cowboys. So I had to rely on the pictures that Bruce took.




Well as I predicted it would be a bit of a fight to get Toby into costume because he didn't remember the whole you get candy for dressing up thing (but apparently he snapped out of his crying tantrum as soon as Bruce gave him a piece of chocolate). The boys looked pretty cute in the pictures of them in their cowboy duds, and that made me even sadder to have missed it. Then, Bruce got Luke to tell me what he taught him to say at the door when trick or treating, but it was hard to understand with his mouth full of chocolate. So Bruce showed me the video...






Needless to say, I thought it was cute, but I was a little disturbed. Yes, I guess shouting 'trick or treat' is actually quite rude, and if you think about it really is a threat, but it`s been tempered by years of tradition. However, 'give me all your candy and no one gets hurt' while holding a gun is slightly more threatening. As a mother, I can`t help but worry that some little old lady is still annoyed at the rude young cowboy that showed up on her doorstep demanding candy. As a father, my husband was proud of teaching his son something so "funny".
I'll never understand men.

My Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
like my droopy eyelids that always make my eyes looks closed when I smile, and the fact that I cannot stay awake for an entire DVD movie.
courage to change the things I can;
like allowing my son to mix play-doh colours even though every fiber in my being screams when I see him squishing them together and I have to resist the urge to yank the glob of doh out of his hands and separate it back into its original colours.
and wisdom to know the difference...especially when my husband points out that it doesn't have to be that way.

Living one day at a time;
but meal planning one week at a time, so I don't have to run to the store every day.
Enjoying one moment at a time;
because when the boys are grown I will miss the days of sitting together reading the same book over and over again...(even though I will probably still have the words memorized)
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace,
and a necessary part of parenting, (which rarely involves peace, even in the bathroom);
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
and sometimes rotten children
as it is, not as I would have it;
not forcing my neuroses on my family, but allowing them to enjoy life
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
(which is so hard for a stubborn person such as myself to do)
That I may be reasonably happy in this life,
so long as my bra and panties always match,
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next,
when none of my compulsions will matter.
Amen.

-Reinhold Niebuhr and Tanya

How does that saying go? You give a boy a fish, he eats for a day....

...give in to that boy's supermarket tantrums, he eats for a lifetime???



Like many moms, I try to do my grocery shopping sans whining mouths and small hands reaching from the cart to pull things off the shelves. For those mothers who lug their kids to grocery, department and clothing stores every time they go, I salute you. For me, I try to plan my meals and grocery shopping so that as many of those dreaded trips are during hubby's days off. But until I learn how to make a casserole solely out of assorted condiments and over-ripe bananas, some days we simply need to go buy food. There are also those occasions where everyone is home and occupied, when I believe I'm home free, and just as I'm grabbing my purse to head out, Luke inevitably spots me, and so starts the whining...er, bargaining. It's still better shopping with only Luke in tow, at least I don't have to constantly tell Toby to sit back down, before he takes a header of the cart. But like all who have gone before me...shopping with a preschooler adds up to a lot of "I want that"s. Unlike all who have gone before me, shopping with Luke would not be easier if I could manage to avoid the junk food aisles...we'd have to avoid the condiments, the deli, the produce and most importantly the fish counter. I realize that Luke enjoys sauces to dip his food, as most preschoolers do, and I even don't mind giving into the odd request for mock chicken or a pepperoni stick.
I'm sure you're all thinking "why would a child wanting fruits and vegetables be a problem?" Well, it's not that he wants carrot sticks or a different kind of apple...that I could understand. No, the screams from our cart are "I WANT AN ARTICHOKE!!!". I've given in and bought eggplant (which he didn't eat), brussell sprouts (which he didn't eat), dragon fruit (which he didn't eat), and so on. I've repeatedly been burned on produce like kiwis, avocados, green beans and parsnips which I seem to continually buy only for him to spit out with disdain. I'll admit, as we speak, there is a kiwi in my fruit basket headed for such a fate. But I wouldn't know what to do with a fresh artichoke...the only kind I've ever used are the jarred artichoke hearts...but the peppers are right by the artichokes, so I can't seem to avoid them, and the inevitable begging, which escalates to whining and then turns to yelling.
Remember I said "most importantly the fish counter"? Yes, there are things more embarrassing than a tantrum over an artichoke. Maybe he's watched the IMAX's "Deep Sea" one too many times, maybe it's because I used to stop at the fish counter and show Luke the live lobsters and crabs whenever we'd go to a store selling shellfish. But now, as we walk in the door Luke starts asking to go to the fish counter. Our regular grocery store doesn't have tanks with live shellfish thankfully...but it does have rainbow trout. Small and with head still intact must be what's so appealing, but that doesn't ease the embarrassment of a 45 pound, red-faced monster screaming "I WANT RAINBOW TROUT! I WANT RAINBOW TROUT! I WANT RAINBOW TROUT!!!!!" as he is dragged to the checkstands to pay for the food we do need. He used to eat salmon and pickerel, cod, and even halibut on occasion, but in the past year, the fish I serve tends to get pushed around the plate, so you can see my reluctance at buying the elusive Rainbow Trout. Last month, while I was sitting planning meals and making my grocery list I asked Luke what he wanted for meals that week. He diplomatically said rainbow trout, so although we had steaks marinating for supper, I added it to the list...surf and turf. We stopped at the fish counter, where I requested the smallest rainbow trout available. Before it was wrapped I asked the man to hold it up so Luke would actually believe me when I said we had a trout in the cart. The man, quite amused (possibly remembering me pulling a screaming Luke past his counter on previous visits), hammed it up, making the Mr. Trout swim through the air for a while before parcelling it. Although there was still an artichoke request logged that day, it was quickly quelled by threats to release his catch of the day.

Finally. He had won. He had his trout, and surprisingly, he ate some. Expecting a little more peace the following week I zoomed past the fish counter...make that attempted to zoom past the fish counter, only to discover, to my dismay,that I hadn't satisfied the beast, only whet it's appetite. Although...he did do even better with last night's rainbow trout, so maybe I'd better start looking for a good artichoke recipe.

Martha meets Roseanne

At work I have a bit of a reputation. It's a good reputation to have that I earned through years of bringing in delicious baked goods to share with everyone. I love baking....correction, I love baking without the aid of a toddler and a preschooler. Once you have little helpers you need a lot more time, ingredients (because of inevitable spillage) and patience. Although an extra set of eyes (or at least a keen sense of peripheral vision) to make sure those freshly washed hands stay out of mouths, noses and other not so clean places during food handling is also a bonus. Needless to say, in an attempt to keep what's left of my sanity, the frequency of my marches through the tunnels from the parkade toting tins and tupperware has been on a rapid decline since returning from my first maternity leave. But still, the reputation persists...and I can't say I'm sorry about that. Somehow the reputation of being a good cook/baker comes along with the belief that I live in a spotless house with an elegantly decorated living room and a table of fine china and napkins folded into swans. I think people believe that while my rack of lamb is in the oven I sit in my crafting room teaching the children how to embroider their monograms into pillowcases. I do enjoy crafts...although my completion rate shows that I enjoy the idea of crafting more than the actual crafts themselves. So at work, when I make a comment about the mess I choose to call home, I almost always hear one of two comments..."yeah, right..I'm sure it's REALLY messy" (said sarcastically, if you haven't figured that out), or "well, you have kids". Truth be told...Yeah...Right...it REALLY is messy, and although the toys are new since having children, the general feeling of clutter, mess, and the dog hair tumbleweeds are hardly a new experience for me. If the girls at work spoke to my highschool friends they'd find out how my childhood bedroom was a gigantic pile of clothes, papers and junk - with only the bed clear of debris, and the only visible floor being a small winding pathway past the closet and to the bed. I am simply not a neat, tidy person. I do enjoy disinfecting things and having things clean, and I would also LIKE to put things away so that they're neat and tidy, but I have a hard time putting those wishes into action. So, I am happy to have the reputation of being a Martha, but if anyone were to stop by my house unannounced they'd be shocked to discover I have much more in common with Roseanne...although I don't grab at my crotch in public.

A Life of Frogs, Snails and Puppydog Tails.

Yesterday Luke's friend (and next-door neighbour) came for a few hours. She's a mere 6 months older than Luke and very outgoing, which is good for my little introvert. She loves coming over to play, mostly because ours toys are different, but I also think because Luke lets her be the boss. She flies around the living room from toy to toy, and game to game. When she settles on something, she calls Luke over to do her bidding and play with her. I had a craft at the ready, snakes made out of toilet paper rolls cut and strung together, covered in construction paper and painted scales....yes, not a girly craft, but my first craft choice fell through and this was what I could come up with. From my last visit to her house I learned that she had recently spent birthday money buying toy dragons and monster things that weren't particularly girly, and she had toy snakes at home, so I figured she'd go for it. After the dust settled from her first round at the toys, I showed them the craft. Luke got excited and started to work right away. But he was the only one excited...no, she didn't want to make a snake.
"How 'bout we make a hedgehog instead?"
I couldn't figure out how to make some cut up toilet paper tubes into a hedgehog.
"What about making a snail?"
I was puzzled with that one too. So with a promise to Luke that he and I would finish the snake later, we settled on a board game. After that, the flurry of toys resumed.
While I was in the kitchen working on lunch, I was listening and peeking at them playing...
SHE: Let's play birdies
HE: ACH! ACH! (screaming and running around flapping his arms/wings)
SHE: I'm the mommy bird and you're the daddy bird (sitting on a leftover plastic Easter egg)
HE: chomping noises
SHE: what are you doing?
HE: I'm eating you...I'm a bird and you're a dirty worm
SHE: Stop! I'm the mommy bird and you're the daddy bird!
HE: chomping noises
SHE: Don't eat me! I don't want to be a dirty worm! (regathering her composure and changing the subject off worm eating) Look the egg is hatching! (opens the plastic egg and pulls out a Mr.Potatohead ear) Look at the baby chick!
HE: That's not a chick, that's an ear! (my son, always the realist).
A bit of arguing over the identity of the chick/ear ensued, until both lost interest and moved on to something else.
As I stood in the kitchen I realized that as an outgoing (sometimes bossy) girl, I had a shy introverted boy friend that I cajoled into playing house with my cabbage patch kids, and we'd have picnics in the yard as a family, usually ending in me caring for the babies whilst "daddy" climbed a tree. And like an epiphany, albeit an obvious one, I realized the big differences between the sexes have always been and will always be, regardless of the changing roles in society. We were created differently, and despite Luke's love of dressing up in his "dress", I was living in a house of boys, where we have one toy baby as our only doll, who sits in the toy box 99% of the time. I'm not saddened by this enough to try for another baby (it would likely be another boy anyways), but I do have to grieve for the loss of my dream to have a girl who I can do girly things with. I love my boys dearly, and I am teaching them to be men who can cook and bake, and hopefully clean and do laundry, even if they'd rather eat worms than play house.

We're not "Carnies". We prefer the term "Circus Folk"

I've said it before, my home feels like a circus most days...my husband and I transient shift workers, coming and going at all hours. Loading and unloading our children into the roller coaster we call a minivan. Anyone who has experienced my driving can attest to the roller coaster comparison...although I guess roller coasters would be more of a carnival or fair thing, than circus-y...but we do have hyper children screaming, and whining for treats, so I guess a carnival isn't too far off either. But still, the circus is the best way I can think of to describe my household. So I was thinking I could take this metaphor a bit farther and introduce you to my family, although my profile has already touched on it.
BRUCE
My wonderful husband...as much as I want to tell you all he's the ring-master, if I had to pick a single title...I think that I picture him more as the strong man. He is the head of the household, but he's a fairly quiet, shy guy, so the title of ring-master seems a little off. But, "Strong Man", that seems perfect. He's great at opening jars and lifting heavy objects, and physically he's the strongest man in the house...but it's much more than physical strength. He's a strong, solid, stable man, which suits my drama queen personality quite well. He's so strong, that having him beside me makes me stronger.
LUKE
Luke always talks non-stop. If he has nothing better to talk about he just starts a play-by-play of what's going on. That would make him a pretty good announcer, except that I think that in circuses, that job belongs to the ring-master, (which I'm sure he thinks he is). Although lately if you asked him what he is he'll tell you he's the snake charmer, but that's just because he is into a snake phase. But I think he's best suited to being a clown. Dressing up, being funny...yeah, that's Luke...so long as he's a clown who can talk. He's already so interested when I put on my make-up, so I'd better watch out. He would have to work on overcoming his shyness to be a clown out in public somewhere, but in our circus home, he's a total clown.
TOBIAS
There's no humming and hawing over Toby...he's an acrobat. No piece of furniture too high, no high flying move too risky. Unfortunately, he performs without a net. Energizer bunny meets chimpanzee meets mountain goat. Baby-proofing has nothin' on this kid. We're lucky that so far that his only permanent damage is a chipped tooth. Want something guaranteed to make Toby smile no matter how miserable he is?... fling him around, or hold him up by his ankles, or any move like that. If we had a giant cannon, he'd be climbing in it right now.

RITA
Nobody knows what kind of dog Rita is. She was found as a starving stray puppy. She's not ferocious, and can withstand being a participant (sometimes willing, sometimes not so much) in both Luke and Toby's performances with surprising poise and patience. She has tiger-like stripes and sometimes has a wild look in her eyes. If she wants something (like breakfast or a trip to the dog park)

she starts growling and howling, although neither could even give the illusion of an untamed beast. But she's our only animal act, so you can enjoy her act, or picket outside our home for having an animal act...although the only animal cruelty here is from Luke wanting to pet her too often, or when Toby tries to ride her like a horse (but to the activists from all the animal groups out there, we stop them as soon as we see it, so please don't start picketing).
ME (a.k.a. TANYA)
I try to stay on top of plucking the odd chin hair I find growing, because I do fear becoming the bearded lady both figuratively and literally. However, I do realize that once most kids become teenagers they begin to gawk at their mother's uncool, "freakish" ways. That and not knowing how hard or fast menopause will hit, I could potentially be the bearded lady in a decade or so, both figuratively AND literally, once the boys' hormones kick in, and mine peter out. Until then, I choose to keep my tweezers handy and enjoy my children always believing that I know everything...or at least something.
Some days in this house I feel like a concession stand worker, trying to "sell" the boys that banana that is fast developing spots..."Bananas heeeerrreee! Get your bananas heeerrreee!", but I can't charge the outrageous prices which makes me more like the cafeteria lady than a concession stand worker.

I guess I'd be best described as the juggling act. No, I can't juggle flaming batons, swords or even bowling pins, but I try to juggle my family and work, and for me that's plenty hard to do.

What I did (and didn't) say to the crowd at the church.

My grandfather died on Monday. He was a month shy of 89 years, and had been pretty much slowly dying with congestive heart failure since his heart attack in 2004, so it was neither surprising nor terrible that he passed away. I'm sad to lose him, but he was a wonderful Christian man who has been ready to die for quite some time now, so I know he's happy. As both my grandparents are/were especially proud of their grandchildren, we were asked to do something at his funeral, which was yesterday. It was a beautiful funeral, but I laid awake in bed for many hours last night thinking of what else I could have said, that would make people understand how wonderful he was. And it bothered me until I thought I could use this blog for therapeutic purposes. For those of you expecting a smile from a lighthearted blog, you'd better skip this one today. So all eight of us grandchildren, ages ranging from 34 to 6, got up to the stage as a group, my brother went first talking about how when our other grandfather was dying in the hospital, my Papa (that's the one who just died) spent hours talking and praying with my Grandpa bringing him back to Jesus, whom he had left so many years before, and because of him, they are both in Heaven today. One cousin talked about how Papa could fix anything and how he was the reason that my cousin wanted to have a job where he could work with his hands. Another cousin talked about the wonderful times at the lake and my grandfather water skiing at 75 years of age. Someone read a poem, someone played a piano solo, and a couple we too distraught or too young to speak, but we all went up together. I mentioned sitting in my grandparents' basement listening to him play Red River Valley on the accordion. We always loved when he'd pull out the accordion, which he taught himself to play, because that meant my grandma would let us sneak sugar cubes out of the china cabinet to suck on while he played. Lucky for my teeth he didn't play too often. Now I can't hear Red River Valley played without thinking it sounds better on the accordion, or without getting a sugar craving. I didn't tell the congregation of how embarrassed I was one day when my Papa and I walked up to the nearby mall for some groceries and he noticed an old cot in the dumpster. After we had brought the groceries home the two of us rode bikes back, and he pulled the cot out and we brought it home. I was probably about 8 then, and was mortified that my grandfather was a garbage-picker, and even more worried that someone might see us. But, I was sure proud that Christmas when my brother got a red metal hockey net built stronger than anything you could buy, probably even in the NHL, and my grandfather told everyone how we brought the cot home together, and then downplayed the fact that he was the one who transformed an old cot into a hockey net.
I had so many fond memories as we would often stay with my grandparents' when we'd come into the city, but probably the most important was the Godly example they set. From a young child I remember sitting at the breakfast table, everything ready to eat, waiting for my grandfather to finish reading devotions. I remember hating the wait which seemed like forever on the mornings that my grandmother served cracklings (which is like tiny bits of pork fried in lard until they're crispy then strained out to get the dripping lard off and scooped up with bits of bread...I know amazing my grandfather made it to 88 eating like that). As I got older I'd try to listen a little more to the devotions, sometimes more successfully than others, but it taught me the importance of spending time with the Bible instead of letting it go dusty on a shelf. My grandparents both lived as Christian examples, but I told the congregation that the best Christian example was the love my Papa demonstrated for his grandchildren. He not only loved us unconditionally, he treasured us. And it didn't matter what we did or where we went, he was always so happy to see us. And he was so proud of all of us. When I was in Junior High I flew out for a week to meet them in Arizona where they spent part of the winter, and all week he walked about bursting with pride about his granddaughter in for a visit. In recent years, whenever I'd visit him at the care home, or the hospital, anyone who walked in the room would be subjected to "this is my granddaughter Tanya, she's a nurse", and many of them had obviously heard about me from him before I arrived. He bragged about all his grandchildren that way, because he was so filled with love for us, that it overflowed. And no matter how long it had been since we'd been to see him we were always welcomed with an "I'm so glad you came". I can't think of a better example of how God feels about us, and that God not only loves you, He treasures you.