Wednesday, 30 March 2016
That's a pretty strong statement. Is it true? Maybe. Is it scientifically proven? I doubt that. But it made me stop and think, if it is true, do I like the people I am the average of? In my case the majority of my five are my family, so I ran through their characteristics to see.
I am the average of a little girl, who is growing up way too fast for my liking. She is kind, compassionate and loves to help. She never complains when I ask her to do anything, even it is just to stop playing computer games and run upstairs to get me something because I am too lazy to do it myself. She loves beyond measure and never back chats. She is creative and although not a straight A student, she does enough to get through with ease, and just not enough that she is not stressed about it. Come to think of it, that trait she may get from me. Her downfalls? She is lazy and messy...both averages she may get from me.
I am the average of a young boy. He is both the most loving, empathetic kid I have ever met and the most frustrating too. He cannot not have the last word in an argument, he does not understand the value in just letting things go to keep the peace. There are times I would love to have a mute button. He is mischievous, he loves to play jokes and prank people, he sings and talks all day long. He is happy kid, not sulky unless crossed and will snap out of any bad mood within minutes of being offered a hug. He is addicted to computer games but loves to drop everything to come and cuddle and just spend time with me. He shares everything, from his Easter eggs to his money, and is a firm believer in following the rules, unless it means he's going to lose at a game - yes he gets that from me too.
I am the average of a man I have known since I was 16. He is without a doubt the most generous and giving man I have ever met. I'm no where near as generous so I don't think I got this average. He doesn't take bullshit from anyone. Yes, he has a short temper and can be a grump but forgives easily and laughs infectiously. He is insanely clever, a geek and yet also a man who enjoys the outdoors, camping, kayaking and hiking. He can chop wood, set up a camp and yet fix the most complicated computer problem or anything around the house. He loves me, has loved me for 29 years and has never let me doubt that for a minute.
I am the average of an 81 year old lady. A lady who has helped shape the start of many lives while working at a nursery school (PreK and kindergarten for those in a different schooling system). She raised 4 kids on a budget while never letting us feel like we we lacking in anything. She taught me the value of being frugal while ensuring that no one goes without anything. She always has a smile on her face and a kind word and hug for her grandkids. She loves watching sport, reading and just being able to spend time with us.
I am the average of a dog who loves to sleep, cuddle and drink from the toilet. Okay, I do love to sleep and cuddle.
My deep thoughts of the day after reviewing these? I could do a whole lot worse.
My question to you? Are you happy with who you are the average of? If not, do something about it.
Tuesday, 3 November 2015
Today's situation is a prime example.
As I have admitted before, on some days when I am running late, I will throw a sweater on and drive the kids to school in my pj's. They're cute pink, black and teal plaid pants and a black flimsy t-shirt. I always say a quick, "Please don't let me have a reason to get out the car," to the heavens though as I leave. Well today was one of those days, with a slight twist. We race out the door and climb into the car and as I sit down I feel the entire length of the butt seam rip. From right between my legs up to the top of my butt crack. Visions of Lenny Kravitz showing his bits to the world flash through my head (if you don't know what I mean, google it, or rather don't especially not at work.) Okay, it could be worse, I'm not commando on stage in front of people, so the similarity ends there...except it doesn't, they're pj's so there isn't even any underwear in sight to protect my modesty when I stand up. I'm faced with two choices. Make the kids late by going inside to change or drive them to school and pray even harder not to have a reason to get out the car. I chose the second one as I did not feel like giving the kids a reason to laugh hysterically at me and tell their friends what happened to their mom, before I have even had breakfast.
I would like to add in a disclaimer here. My pants are very thin, they have ripped multiple times before and I have repaired them as they are my favorite. This has nothing to do with the 10 lbs I have gained or all the Halloween candy. That's my story and I am sticking to it. However my disclaimer is also my flashing neon pink warning sign. They have ripped before...I knew full well they would not last long and have been waiting for weeks for them to rip again.
I am pleased to report I made it home without being stopped by the police or having a car accident. I parked in the driveway, removed my sweater and did a contortion act in the front seat of the car to get it wrapped around my waist, then climbed out the car while making sure my butt was facing the garage door and prayed the neighbours teenage son didn't walk out of his house. I made sure everything was covered and could turn and flee into the house.
These pants may be my favorite, but they're going in the bin today.
Friday, 11 September 2015
I was struck today how grateful I am that Diggle was born in this day and age and not 20 or 30 years earlier. I'm also immensely grateful for the Canadian medical system and Sick Kids Hospital here because without them I doubt we'd be where we are now.
Sometimes it takes an 'in your face' kind of moment to make you realize just how good you have it. My friend and I have started walking in the mornings, and after our walk we were sitting having a bottle of water by Tim's (that's a coffee shop for you non Canadians). I saw a man in his 50'd shuffle/limp up to the counter to buy coffee and when he walked away realized that the reason for his exaggerated limp/gait was his one foot was clearly turned completely in and he was walking on the outside of his ankle. Clearly born with a club foot just like my Diggle, I took a minute to look at the man and the way people looked at him and treated him. He had an air of rejection, he was unkempt and came across like an outcast to society. My heart broke a little. What sort of life could he have had with today's medical advantages with his deformity? Surely he would've been a different man?
I look at Diggle, jumping around with so much energy and it brings me to tears. He's determined to try out for the volleyball team again this year and last year managed to get a ribbon at Track and field day. Yes his leg and foot get sore if he overdoes it but he hikes and climbs trails with us that leave me barely able to walk afterwards. He can do anything he wants with his life and society will never look at him and say there goes someone who was born with a birth defect or think of him as any different.
Today I am grateful.
Thursday, 13 August 2015
Is it the end of summer blahs? Is it that I am tired of running around taking the kids and my mom to appointments, library, shopping, prepping for camping, more appointments and simply having very little time to do anything for myself without guilt setting in? I'd love to go shopping by myself for clothes, or for a pedicure or even to a movie, but then I will get the why did you not invite me/us from them.
My house is a mess and I know that does not help motivation. I guess I will start there. Small steps, baby steps, set myself a small goal to accomplish something each day and maybe I can pull myself out this funk. Todays goal was to write something, so this is it. I am also going to put that damn laundry away before this weeks load of washing goes on top of it. I will post this, get everyone lunch (because that's apparently my purpose in life) and then get the laundry done before I watch anymore Doctor Who or get back on Twitter. If I'm never seen again, I'm drowning face first in a pile of laundry, someone come look for me please.
Monday, 22 June 2015
The first few years were insane. Trying to breastfeed two at a time, even trying to bottle feed two at a time. Two crying babies, two sets of diapers. Two babies to comfort at the doctors office after injections, two cranky kids when grocery shopping. I can honestly say those first years were a blur, either that or I have blocked them from my mind completely.
It got easier as they got older, as did most of the questions people tend to ask when they realize they are twins. I thought I'd cover a few of the dumb questions and statements here so that maybe when faced with a parent of multiples someone somewhere will stop and think before asking.
Which one is the boy/girl?
I obviously don't get asked this any longer, but this was one of my biggest irritants when they were little. If they were dressed in neutral colours sure, but stop and look. One is dressed in blue and the other in a cute white onsie with pink roses all over it. Now ask the question again, because I'm going to answer it and tell you the boy is the one in flowers, just to see your reaction.
Are they telepathic?
Why yes they are, right now they are telepathically discussing what a moron you are. I wish they were telepathic, just imagine they could fight without needing to scream at each other and I could ask the one to silently call their sibling for dinner without needing to block my ears at the resounding yell from right next to me.
Have they always been close?
No, they hated each other from the time of conception, it was a real fist fight in my uterus from day one and they came out not talking to each other, in fact it was only after about age 2 that they decided they loved each other.
Do twins run in your family?
Okay, I'll break this question down. Firstly this one is my pet peeve, the biggest reason for this is I find it intrusive. Basically what you are asking is are they hereditary or did I use IFV or IUI. There are three ways I can answer it. I can take the easy route and say yes, (its not a lie, my brother in law has twins.) It provides a quick end to the conversation and stops someone from prying further. I can say no and simply refuse to elaborate, although I've had the "Wow, how freaky that you got twins" comment at that. Or I can be truthful and tell you what you are really asking. Yes, they are IVF babies, we had help getting pregnant as I have suffered from endometriosis all my life which made it near impossible to get pregnant. But really, think about it. Do I ask you how many times you fucked to get pregnant, what position you used or even if your kid was planned or a condom breakage. No, I don't. So stop prying. I would like to add here. I have no issue discussing or sharing my story if someone is going through infertility and needs help or to chat with me, I am in no way ashamed of needing to use IVF either. It's more the fact that complete strangers feel like they have the right to ask this question, sometimes in front of my kids that bugs me.
Are they identical?
I'm always tempted to answer this one with just a look, you know the one, it simply says you dumb-ass in one easy look. I started answering this by patiently saying "No, they're fraternal, you know, boy/girl, they can't be identical." But I'll admit to getting short on patience these days and having occasionally answered it with, "Well one has a penis..." and just leave it there.
Two for the price of one or million dollar family:
This one always makes me roll my eyes. Yes, they're going to cost me a million dollars I'm pretty sure of that. But two for the price of one. Well, how much did it cost you to get pregnant. I'm betting for most of you maybe a dinner out and a bottle of wine? I paid $25 000 by the time I got pregnant after multiple attempts and various ways. Then factor in that I couldn't reuse my cribs, car seats, high chairs for the siblings like you can, I needed two of everything right away and you'll see how ludicrous that statement is.
Lucky you, you got it all done at once:
Yes, lucky me. I got to juggle two babies, both at the same time with very little time to sit and bond with either one. I got to have a high risk pregnancy, multiple doctor visits never knowing if something was going to go wrong and be able to relish in the fact that I was pregnant.
Wow that must have been hard work:
I normally just smile sweetly and nod at this one, resisting the urge to thank them for being obvious.
So you had a C-Section?
Why would you assume this and even more perplexing, why would you think that I would want to discuss out in public what I pushed out my vagina with a complete stranger? The answer is no, I gave birth to my twins naturally, with the aid of lots and lots of drugs.
How did you cope when both babies cried at the same time?
I did what any mother would do, I ignored them and poured myself a large glass of wine, then I looked at who needed me more urgently and attended to that kid first. Crying never killed anyone, you deal with it the same way you would if it were two different aged siblings.
I know I'm not alone in being asked these questions, it's a recurring theme, ask any parent of multiples, they will tell you word for word they have been asked the same things. Yes, we do have a club and yes we do sit around and compare notes and judge the stupidity out there.
I'm sure some of you are reading this and know you are guilty of asking someone these questions, perhaps even me. Please know, you're my friends I don't mind answering questions from friends, but I reserve the right to silently mock you if you say something stupid.
Friday, 24 April 2015
Yesterday while marking the kids spelling homework I accidentally pressed down on my phone lying under the book. Siri beeped her questioning beep. I muttered, "Sorry, Siri" as I moved the book to the side. Siri springs to life with her, "Here's what I found on the web for..." and Diggle grabs my phone. He loves to ask Siri silly questions and tell her she's dumb.
The next words out his mouth were not what I was expecting. Keep in mind, to Siri I have an accent and half the time she doesn't understand me.
An incredulous, "Mom, you said pussy?"
Now I'd like it to be known that while he does know that's a bad thing to call someone, he hasn't yet figured out why. Dick, he does know, only because he asked me after hearing someone use it so, since I believe in honesty and not ducking questions if they're asked, I explained.
I look up in alarm, stammering, denying I said anything of the sort and wondering just what he's seeing on my phone. The next words out his mouth had me nearly vaulting the kitchen counter to get my phone back.
"Siri says for pussy you can go to Big Al's..." He starts to laugh saying pussy really loudly over and over because now he can sense my panic. Am I going to have to give an impromptu sex ed lesson while cooking pulled pork? (it's amazing how the most innocuous things can seem dirty if you think about it, I promise I really was cooking that.) My mom this whole time is standing behind me, very quietly, head down, concentrating on the onions in the frying pan.
I grab my phone and wrestle it from his hands to see what I have to explain. Scanning the screen I find yes, Siri does think I said Pussy, she thinks I'm in the market to go pet shopping and is directing me to the closest pet store, Big Al's Aquarium.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
After some panic over not finding his sweater and the fact that he cannot undo the knots his shoe laces are tied in, we are ready. Princess in this time has brushed her hair and is quietly waiting by the door. We rush out to the car and as I walk down the front path I realize I'm wearing sock type fuzzy slippers. I haven't even put on shoes. This is a first. Should I turn back and change, then we'll be late. I drove to school, prayed for no reason for me to need to climb out the car and raced back home. Once back in the house, I took a look at myself in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Unbrushed hair, well I ran my fingers through it, does that count? My cute nightshirt with a sleepy owl on it tucked into a pair of baggy sweatpants. No underwear to be seen. My mind flashes over those motherly words about not leaving the house without clean underwear in case you get in an accident. I guess this would circumvent that issue. But then again last time the nurses had to cut my clothes off me in hospital I don't remember anyone commenting on my pretty undies as they tossed my jeans and underwear in the garbage. Back to my state of attire. I had completed today's stylish ensemble with a sweater of DH's thrown over the top and zipped up, and of course let's not forget my multicoloured slipper socks.
Who is this woman and what is she doing in my body?
You'd think from the above description there's no place to go but up right? You'd be wrong. Shortly after this I seriously considered using the dog shampoo for my hair. What? It says it leaves the coat shiny, tangle free and moisturizers the skin...that's more than mine promises. I was soaking in a hot bath when I realized I'd left my shampoo in the shower. No I didn't use the dogs, I mentally took control and decided not to sink that far.
They say you have to hit bottom before you claw your way back up. I might be there. Time to get my life back in order and get some stuff done. Once I have the taxes in, which I can't finish yet until I get some paperwork emailed to me from South Africa, I have some major projects I need to start here. I will get busy, I will get organized...I will not promise to get out of my pyjamas before driving the kids to school though.