Of COURSE you’re my favourite child!

I love all three of my children equally, all the same, completely alike, except totally different. And sometimes it feels more like frothing rage or teeming frustration but really, it’s love… great big shiny gulps of love taken in deep breaths or short gasps.

It ain’t always a picnic, as we all know, but damn, it can be fun.  I can’t get over how every phase for each kid is still totally newImage to me. I remember that from when they were little; when our second was born, we thought we knew what it meant to raise a child…we were pros. HA!! They keep teaching you, again and again, that you don’t know much after all.

And I keep learning. My eldest is off on a date…that’s kind of cool once I stop obsessing.  I can’t ask for the guy’s vital stats now that she’s 19, and technically an adult. My son is… well, I can’t give you a certain answer on that since he was gone when I got home from the movie but hey, he’s 17. He’ll be back soon as he can’t cook and has no money. Youngest gal, home on her own when I returned had cleaned the kitchen. Yes. That’s what I said… cleaned the kitchen. Did I ask her? Nope. Was there any form of bribery? Nope. She wanted to be nice… aaaaaaaahh. That was a great big shiny gulp, right there.

How cool is that?  Today was her turn to inspire that little glow of parental satisfaction. Maybe tomorrow she’ll be the one making me tear my hair while her brother makes me laugh like a fool and act like a dorky kid… he’s good at that. And big sister makes me shine from the inside when she talks about her plans for school next fall… where she’ll live and what she’ll do.

I can look any one of them in the eye on any given day and truthfully, in that moment, declare them my favourite. And they CAN all be my favourite, in their own way. My eldest is my perfect, cherirshed first born. My son is the best boy I could ever imagine having, and my youngest is my favourite youngest, the darling baby of the family.

And I know I am the best mother in the world… no really…that’s what the Mother’s Day cards all say, so I know they must mean it, right? I’m their favourite Mom, and that’s pretty great.

On Being Grown-up, Real Life and Happy Endings

ImageI was having a drink tonight with a friend, a fairly new friend who is deep in the trench I was in 10 years or so ago. She’s got little ones… 3 and 6 years old. Her life is all about breakfast, school, pre-school, laundry, shopping, her work, play time, sibling rivalry, toys, and bedtime. Her focus has gone so far away from her own needs that she can hardly remember what they are.  And she works from home.

That’s such an intense time, when kids are small and needing you so desperately. Never a moment to do much for yourself.

What I didn’t expect was how long the intensity would last. Mine are B.I.G. and I still feel consumed by their needs so often.  I work in my office from 8:30 ’til 5 every day, then come home for the second shift; the shift of preparing dinner, cleaning up, taking people here and there, soccer practice, drop off at so and so’s house, shopping, laundry, etc.etc.  That’s not unique, I know… Moms everywhere do the same thing every single day. We know it’s part of the deal.

What surprises me is how it surprises me, even after all this time. I’m still looking around for the grown up when life gets crazy or tough or scary…it’s still a shock when I realize it’s ME!

My friend and I were talking about all the things women friends talk about: kids, work, money, marriage, sex, life, health, time, stress, worry. Both of us have had lots of crazy things happen over the last few years; deaths, financial pressures, moves, transitions, illnesses, job changes, etc. etc.  Both of us have had what you could call a “difficult year”. The truth is, I don’t know anyone who HASN’T had a “difficult year”.  Every year has so much stuff in it, so much good we forget and bad that we remember, that we seem to mostly remember the bad (I am choosing to believe that so I don’t believe that the last few years have been solid bad stuff).

Suddenly it hit me that… crap… maybe it hasn’t just been a rough few years… maybe this is actually REAL LIFE! Maybe it’s just the way  it is…always.

I’m not saying every day is dreadful, only that every few months seems to bring another tremor of some kind, minor or right off the Richter scale. Sometimes there’s a chance to recover from one quake before the next hits, but sometimes the tremors just keep on coming ’til your knees are weak and your head’s spinning.

I think I’m going to stick with my first theory; it’s been a pretty rough few years. That way, I know there’s sure to be a bit of a break in the storm really soon. Maybe that’s my Hollywood movie upbringing….rainbows, silver linings and happy endings. Maybe it’s my innate optimism. Maybe it’s desperation…

But all this “stuff”… all these “challenges” that make me strong, make my family resilient & build my character?  They’re starting to piss me off.

So reality, take a hike…I’m going to Mexico. And you’re not invited.

*#$@!*!! Swearing

BANK-0105

I curse like a sailor. No, not quite true. In my HEAD I curse like a sailor, and occasionally, around a select few friends I will let the f-bombs fly with heady abandon.  Around my kids I would like to think I am more restrained. Yeah. I’d like to think that. Then I remember the swearing jar my then 5 year old daughter insisted I pay into…frequently. She ran a tight ship. “MOMMY!!! That one was 5 dollars!!” she’d say, hands on her hips and a stern look on her little face.

When my kids were younger and would use strong language (I don’t know WHERE she picked that up!), I would caution them that those are power words; use them too often and they lose their power. That worked, for a while. I strongly believe that upon stubbing your toe, nothing makes you feel better than a loudly hollered “DAMMIT!!”

Now, they’re all teenagers. I have a reasonable tolerance for moderate cussing, but I have never before lived with a boy who learned to curse on X-box live. Words I have only ever THOUGHT (with my eyes closed tight and my heart racing) drop out of his mouth like nothing, rapid fire, casually and without context or meaning. These aren’t power words… these are facial flatulence, and I’m tired of hearing them.

You could say it’s my fault, and you may be right. If you are lazy about swearing or have a potty mouth yourself on occasion, I guess you reap what you sow.

But there’s something new in this internet age, something so careless in our kids. Here they are, more open than ever to all kinds of exposures and influence and they are almost inured, immune to what shocks the living daylight out of me.

I guess that would be me too if my earliest exposure to “porn” hadn’t been a well worn copy of Judy Blume’s Forever , passed from girl to girl in my grade 6 class (falling open to the good parts of course). Words my parents never spoke in front of the children are all over the TV (and not bleeped like when I was a kid).  If I were a teenager now, I could accidentally trip over hard core porn searching for Christmas craft ideas online, or by following the friendly comment on my instagram feed.  Swearing is… well, so ordinary. No big deal.

I know my kids are smart. I know they’ve read books, traveled, been exposed to big ideas and thoughts but they still curse like fishwives. To me, it’s a sign of a really weak imagination…a small vocabulary.

Having said that, you can be sure I’ll have a purple glow around me the next time I crack my knee into the computer desk. Is it hopeless? I sure as #X@!** hope not.