My Life with Boys

Berkeley learns to read.

School is in full swing. The kindergarteners are learning to read. They are quickly learning that the world is an open book.

Berkeley is happy to do his homework. He reads and writes everything that Mrs. Holt asks him to. But, dare you ask him if he wants to read a book or suggest he try to sound out a sign on the road: forget it. He is going to read on his own time. (read: strong willed)

Well, the other day as we were running out the door to drop him at the bus stop he was literally running to the corner. He stopped mid stride and stood there, staring at the ground. I remember thinking that there must be something really interesting on the ground. He was looking at it the entire time it took me to walk from our house to the corner. I'm not too fast in the morning when I haven't had my tea yet and I'm pushing two kids in a big double stroller.

As I get closer I am shocked to see what Berkeley is looking at. Why has he been looking at it so long? What is he going to ask me? What am I going to say? Where is Ian when I need him?

"Mommy, I'm trying to read this, but I just can't figure it out. T-T-T-rrrrrr- OOOOOO. What does it say?"

"Well, dear, it says "Trojan Magnum Large". Now, come along we are running a little late for the bus, darling."

My tired, uncaffeinated mind was delighted that he said OK and came along without any questions. I just wasn't ready for that at 8 a.m. I was even more delighted to see upon my return from the bus stop that someone had taken the liberty of removing the box from the sidewalk- a chore I was relieved not to have to do.

The Writing is on the Wall . . .

Anyone who knows Ian and I knows that we are really laid back parents. When you are raising three energetic, free spirited little boys having a lot of rules just makes life miserable. We ask ourselves often: does this really matter for today, tomorrow or in five years? If not, we probably don't make a big deal about it. We do expect our children to be kind and polite to others and follow the rules of whatever house they are in, but in our house if you want to jump on the bed and eat cereal for dinner, well, knock yourselves out.

This approach extends to things like potty training. We have never seen any reason to push the issue. We figure when they are ready they will do it and that will be it. We have no interest in lugging around three changes of clothes everywhere we go because our kids are sort of potty trained. They either are or they aren't and when they are ready, they are done.

Well, about a week ago, Griffin got the hankering. And gosh, we've had an interesting time with this child: one night Ian found a puddle on the floor. In the middle of asking Griffin if it was his puddle (NO, Daddy, no pee pee on the floor) he noticed something on the ceiling. Ian wondered aloud what was on the ceiling and Griffin immediately asked if he got pee pee on the ceiling too. Nice. Piddles on the floor and is a bad liar.

The other day I was informed that I was not allowed to be in the bathroom while Griffin went poo poo. Apparently he needs his privacy. Personally, as the person who gave birth to him I don't see any need for privacy but in keeping with my status as laid back mama I walked out reminding him that I needed to wipe his bum. He must have forgotten that tidbit because he sauntered out with every square inch from his ankles to his bum covered in poop. The clean up on this one was interesting because Parker decided that this was an appropriate time to turn purple and hold his breath. If you've ever held a purple baby in one hand while cleaning up poop with the other, well, I don't recommend it.

Yesterday he forgot that rule again. He's gotten significantly better at wiping his bum, but this time he bent over and managed to poop paint the equivalent of an ancient Aztec cave painting on the wall.

Being a mom really is a glorious job. Has anyone noticed that I spend a lot of time writing about poop? I can't wait until Parker discovers its joys.

We had a feeling . . .

It doesn't take long to figure out some of your kid's dominant personality traits. All of our kids are strong willed but they have very different approaches to life. Berkeley is cautious. He is safety conscious. He is a rule follower. Some might call him a "goodie two shoes." (Note: these things don't always apply when Mommy and Daddy are around to witness.) Griffin on the other hand never believes that rules, safety or otherwise, apply to him. Caution is always thrown to the wind.

In case we'd forgotten about these qualities of our children we were reminded a few days ago. Ian was out with the boys and they were doing something that he thought might be a bit dangerous. He cautioned them to be careful. Berkeley responded by saying "it's ok Daddy, I'm going to be very safe." Griffin then announced, "I'm not going to be safe, I'm going to be DANGEROUS!" and took a flying leap.

Uh. Huh. He's only three.

Parker, well, the jury is still out, but I'm afraid to admit out loud that  he seems to be shaping up more like Griffin. As if life isn't interesting enough around here . . . things promise to get a whole lot more exciting before they finally go away to college and leave Ian and I to sleep in again.

A Purple, Purple Birthday!

  Griffin just had his birthday. For weeks he's reminded me that he wanted his cake to be PURPLE. Since the day he first realized he could have a favorite color, it has been PURPLE. We spent all day crafting various PURPLE goodies to celebrate. PURPLE frosting and PURPLE filling for a cake. PURPLE jello. PURPLE juice. Griffin wanted to know if all these things would result in PURPLE poop. (Not really.)

We paid a visit to our local "Build A Bear" for both Berkeley and Griffin to, well, "build a bear." It was a really hard choice for Griffin: the PURPLE bear or the PURPLE hippotomus? What did he name his new buddy? PURPLE, of course. When it was time to give PURPLE a heart, we had to pay $1 extra for the big PURPLE heart. I got a little worried when I surveyed the store for our choices in PURPLE bear clothing. How exactly was it going to go over with Daddy when his son returned home with a PURPLE teddy bear wearing a PURPLE tutu or PURPLE cheerleading outfit? Thankfully, Griffin chose the shiny PURPLE wizard costume.

Were there other PURPLE presents, you ask? Yes. Noteably, Granny found PURPLE pants and a PURPLE hat and a PURPLE Buzz Lightyear figurine. "I love my PURPLE pants, I'm going to wear them forever!"

In the end, it was a very PURPLE day. And, in the end, Griffin wanted PURPLE bear in the room but his trusty old, smelly Blue Bear regained his rightful place in the loving arms of his boy.

Another conversation with Berkeley . . .

It is always delightful to get Berkeley on his own and have a real conversation with him. He just tells it like it is.

Last Friday, I took Berkeley to his soccer game. On the way there I was reminding him that Daddy's friend Terry would be visiting us the next day.

"Terry's coming on his motorcycle."

"Ok."

"We'll have to take a look at it. It's a Harley. That's what kind of motorcycle Mommy wants to get."

"WHAT! Mommy, you want a motorcycle? But they are only for boys."

Note to self: It doesn't matter what you do, boys are sexist PIGS!

"No, honey, girls can have motorcycles too. Wouldn't it be really cool if Mommy had a Harley?"

Really, really long pause . . .

"But, Mommy, you aren't cool."

Thank you very much. I happen to think I am very cool.

For those of you who are just now learning about my secret obsession with getting a Harley Davidson, please know that it is not something that I will be doing anytime soon! I'm saving it for a rainy day when a having a mom with a Harley really will be cool!

Normal? Well . . .

Things haven't exactly been normal at our house this year and that's ok. But, I have to admit that one day last week I got a secret rush on my way into the grocery store. I had Griffin and Parker with me and they were both sitting in the kid seats of the cart giggling away. I looked down at my two youngest children, the sun streaming into their faces and I couldn't help but think that despite everything we were functioning pretty normally at this moment. We head on in to grab a few things and zip around the store, even stopping to chat with a mom who had three boys that were all born within two weeks of my three.

Just as we were headed to the checkout lane I happen to look into my cart. What did I see: Rice Milk, Fruit Flavored Tofu "Yogurt", Cashew Nuts, Cucumbers, Chlorine Free Bleach and Scent Free, Super Sensitive, Biodegradable Good for the Earth so Good for You Laundry Detergent.

Ok. I will admit I panicked a little. When did we become such weirdos? Is this REALLY what I came to the store to buy? I ran immediately over to the cereal aisle and threw some Lucky Charms into my cart. Whew. I immediately felt a little more normal . . . until Parker started gagging and coughing and needed to be suctioned. Those of you have had the fortune to see Parker's portable suction machine can attest to the fact that there is nothing normal or discreet about it. It is so loud it wakes people in the next province!

So, after causing our little scene I decided that normal is overrated anyway and who cares if just to go to the park I have to take a suction machine, suction catheters, foley catheter, spare trach, surgical gloves, saline nebules, gauze pads, scissors, sterile water, asthma puffers, two different kinds of aerochambers to administer puffers, epi-pens, two sizes of diapers, wipes, bottles, and snacks just to keep all three of my kids healthy and well fed!

I can honestly say that there is NEVER a dull moment in my house.

Da Boyz . . .

                                    

Seen and Heard on the Streets of Toronto

I love the innocence of youth . . .

Last week while walking into the hospital for a visit with Parker, we walked by a woman smoking. Berkeley blurted out with full volume:

"Gross, mommy, what is that smell? Is it a skunk?"

Of course, I couldn't resist the opportunity to respond at an equally loud volume that the gross smell was not a skunk, it was something far more dissatisfactory - someone smoking a cigarette.

"You mean, like a smoke stick? That is disgusting."

I couldn't have put it better myself.

The Places You Go, The People You Meet, The Things You learn . . .

In a lot of ways, Parker has experienced more in his short life than most of us will in 80 years. You never know what life is going to throw your way.

The Places You Go

Parker hasn’t earned enough frequent flyer miles to get him anywhere, but he’s certainly made the rounds of the NICU and Pediatrics. To spice things up he has taken three day trips to the operating room and one special trip to image guided therapy to replace his feeding tube that he’d ripped out the night before. Today, he made his first trip out of his room without a fully armed medical transport team: Mommy, Daddy, Berkeley and Griffin took him to the hallway! It doesn’t sound like much, but from the hallway he got to catch his first glimpse of the tall buildings of downtown Toronto. He also watched the glass elevators ascend and descend the nine story atrium of the hospital. While examining the architecture of the city through a floor to ceiling window, we got our first look at Parker under sunlight and his hair is red; really, really red!

The People You Meet

Parker has met a lot of people. Some of these people have names: like his favorite nurses (Janice, Robin & Allison), and his favorite doctors (Dr. Whyte, Dr. James & Dr. Peer (aka: that long haired guy). Some of these people were “ologists” who came by frequently to poke him and prod him: neonatologists, radiologists, cardiologists, neurologists, otolaryngologists, anethesiologists. And let’s not forget the respiratory therapists, dieticians, occupational therapists and a steady stream of residents, interns and fellows. If Parker could keep a little black book, his would be filled up by now!

The Things You Learn

There is a lot to learn while spending time in a hospital. Parker has learned that nothing is “for sure” until it really happens. He’s learned that mommy likes to do research on the internet, so doctors sometimes come talk to her with the big words already written down so they don’t have to spell them to her. He’s learned a lot of acronyms, like: ENT, IV, OR, RT, OT, NGT and IGT. And, he’s learned that the nurses at SickKids really don’t care about style when they are cutting your hair to find a good vein for an IV. This results in many kids around the hospital sporting something we all know and love called “The Sick Kids Special.”

Here's to livin' life. Meetin' people. And learnin' some things along the way!

Berkeley Loves School! (Well, Pretty Much.)

     Berkeley started Junior Kindergarten last week. No, I didn’t cry! I was excited. Excited for him and excited for me. This might place me in the “bad mommy” category for some, but I think of school as a right of passage and part of growing up and definitely not something for me to cry about.  Plus, I’ve spent a lot of quality time with the kid over the last four years and it is time for him to get a little time away from mommy!

     So far, he seems to enjoy his teacher, his classroom and just about every aspect of the whole thing. He particularly enjoys telling me each day what some of the kids did wrong: some kids shared their snack when they weren’t supposed to, some kids had to sit on a chair because they were hitting and kicking and biting, some kids aren’t quiet during quiet time . . .

     Hmmmm.

     “Berkeley, I sure hope you aren’t one of the kids that hits and kicks.”

     “No, Mommy. That is very bad. Mrs. Collier would be very upset if I did that.”

     “Then why, may I ask, do you think it is ok to hit and kick your brother on occasion?”

     “That is different.”

     Though I fail to see the difference I sense that this conversation is going nowhere and leave it at that.

So, what is it about school that Berkeley doesn’t love?

     He is a little unsure about the school bus. In fact, his second day on the bus was really interesting. I had no clue that anything was amiss until the bus pulled into view in our neighborhood. All of a sudden he lost it and said he didn’t want to go to school and that he was going to go home and play with me all day. I hugged him, reminded him that he loved school and told him he could be the last person on the bus and I would walk him up to the door. So, he seemed fine. We waited while about 20 kids got on the bus and then I told him it was time to head up there.

     Well, he chose this moment to turn around and run as fast as he could through the park. Of course, I’m 7 months pregnant and I’m no speedy runner anyway. The grass is really slippery with dew- this only seems to have an effect on me, not on him. Plus, the kid is really a gifted runner. He is gaining distance on me and all the while I’m hoping that I don’t go into labor and that he falls because I can’t see anyway that I’m going to catch him. Fortunately, he started to run out of steam and I caught a small grip on his shirt.

     There is nothing like the sight of an out of breath, pregnant lady running with her 40 pound, screaming 4 year old trying not to delay the bus any longer. I carried him on the bus, sat him in the first empty seat I could find, kissed him on the head and walked off the bus to face the chorus of parents who just witnessed this fiasco.

     “Boy can that kid run!” was pretty much all they had to say. No kidding.

What else doesn’t he like?

     He doesn’t like to bring his stuff home. So far, in attending about 5 classes he’s forgotten his snack containers, his outdoor shoes and his jacket. What exactly he does at the end of the day when the rest of the class is changing their school shoes for their outdoor shoes and putting on their jackets, I have no idea.

     I’m vaguely reminded of the thousand or so times my own mom told me that I might forget my head were it not attached to my neck, so I try to be patient and remember that not only did he come by this trait honestly but that he is only four!