To My Silly Munkin-Bum on Your 3rd Birthday

Dear Molly,

Time sure flies, eh? Four International Women’s Days ago, I went from this:

Me with pregnant belly
March 8, 2010
©PicklesINK 2013

to this:

Ian, me, and baby Molly – March 8, 2010
©PicklesINK 2013

…and now suddenly, somehow, you’re turning 3! Really – 3, even though I know you sometimes fudge the truth a little. I’ve heard you tell other kids that you’re 4 or 6, and you say it with such conviction that despite all evidence to the contrary, they actually believe you. Because really, who wouldn’t believe this face?

Grinning Molly in 80’s dance outfit
©PicklesINK 2013

I think it’s fitting that you were born on March 8, the day that we celebrate the achievements of women around the world as well as remind the world how far we still have to go. You are well on your way to becoming a strong-minded and empowered woman and I sure hope the world will be ready for you by then, whatever you decide to do or be!

Molly fixing the sink
©PicklesINK 2013

As it is, by your 3rd birthday, I’ve already experienced your single-minded determination – like last summer, when you refused to wear anything that didn’t match, which meant that you left the house every day dressed from head to toe in pink (except for the one day a week that you wore your green outfit).

Pink-tastic Molly on rope bridge in Germany
©PicklesINK 2013

Or all those nights you decided that instead of going to sleep when you were tucked into your nice warm bed, you would read some books, rearrange your furniture, and make a couple of wardrobe changes before falling asleep in your favourite pink dance outfit and tights. (Thanks for that, by the way. I enjoyed that middle-of-the-night strip-off-your-leotard-and-tights-to-put-your-diaper-back-on-fiasco. We’ll call it mommy and Molly bonding time.)

Molly asleep on her Dora couch in her dance outfit surrounded by the evidence of a wild night
©PicklesINK 2013

Yes, my funny bum, you may look cute, but your impulsiveness may one day get you into real trouble. Take this morning, for instance, when you were downstairs making a craft and I heard Ben say, “Molly! You’re not supposed to do that with TOYS! You have to go show mommy!” and then you came upstairs, seemingly abashed (although I could still see that gleam in your eye) as you showed me what you had done.

Molly’s “craft” – a black toy car, now with hearts, glitter, and a face.
©PicklesINK 2013

We will have to keep working on the principle of “look before you leap.” At least we know that Ben has always got your back. He loves you SOOO much – and I know you love him too!

Ben and Molly – BFFs!
©PicklesINK 2013

I love hiding around the corner and listening to the two of you play together. You can play and chatter for hours, and even if you sometimes disagree, your arguments blow over as quickly as they started with both of you apologizing and working out a solution together.

Ben and Molly drinking their fuzzy water on our Valentine’s dinner out
©PicklesINK 2013

I should probably apologize in advance for the nicknames you’re going to endure as you grow up. It started out so innocuous, with “Molly-Moo” and then “Monkey,” which you quickly grew to answer to more consistently than your given name…then it devolved to “Monkey-Bum,” even given your Auntie Caitie’s dire warning that It. Would. Stick. After that came “Munkin” (I have no explanation…it’s kind of a combo of “Monkey,” “Munchkin,” and “Pumpkin” that slipped out one day…), “Munkin-Bum,” “Molly-Magoo,” “Funny-Bum,” “Silly-Munkin,” and I’m sure a multitude of others that have slipped my mind right now but will be equally traumatizing when they slip out in front of your middle school friends. I apologize in advance for being that mom.

My favourite newborn Monkey-Bum!
©PicklesINK 2013

So, as you move on to the wild world of 3 years old, whether you’re getting your hands dirty…

Molly in the garden covered with dirt (that Ben was shoveling over her head)
©PicklesINK 2013

…or keeping them clean…

Molly at playgroup playing with shaving cream
©PicklesINK 2013

…just make sure you keep on being your awesome self, even if that means sometimes being a square peg in a round hole.

The dental floss that Molly discovered would fit perfectly in a toilet paper roll.
©PicklesINK 2013

Dance to the beat of your own drummer…

Molly in her own production of “Blackbeard Takes Swan Lake”
©PicklesINK 2013

…show the world that there are two sides to every story…

Molly wearing her Santa costume over her ballerina dress
©PicklesINK 2013

…and when life gives you pepperoni sticks, lie down on placemats and eat them on the floor!

Molly enjoying a snack of apple, pepperoni stick, and pretend tea lying on the floor
©PicklesINK 2013

Mommy, daddy and Ben love you millions and millions and millions, our favourite Molly-Moo! To quote your favourite song, “Molly is my favourite monkey, favourite monkey, favourite monkey! Molly is my favourite monkey – She says, ‘Ooo-ooo, ah-ah!” We hope you have a very, very happy 3rd birthday and that you are always as happy as you are today!

Love,

Mommy

Update – Momminus horriblis has returned to hibernation

Feb25

Last week I posted about having one of those days when you feel like the most horrible mommy ever and everyone around you knows it and thinks it too….

I got so much wonderful support and feedback that I felt comforted and embarrassed all at the same time (I’m not good at being reassured — I’m the reassure-er, not the recipient!!). Anyway, you guys are fabulous and it was greatly appreciated!

I mentioned at the end of the post that my plan was to drop Ben off first for the rest of the week to get him used to the idea. Most of my commenters felt that was a good call, and that preparing him for it in advance would help. My mom dissented, suggesting taking the “path of least resistance” and avoiding a power struggle. Now, my mom has had a lot of experience raising inflexible, headstrong children (Not me, mind you. I was perfectly pliable and obedient. My brothers, on the other hand…well, I’m sure you can imagine… and if they want to dispute that, they’ll have to start their own blogs) so she knows what she’s talking about, but in this case I felt that it was a power struggle worth having.

A note on power struggles – I think sometimes we give “power struggles” a bad name. There are parenting philosophies and experts that espouse responsiveness and equality between parent and child but these do not sit right with me. I believe that there is (and should be) a power imbalance between parent and child, and like in any relationship in which there is a legitimate power imbalance (employer/employee, teacher/student, therapist/client, etc.) the onus is on the more powerful party to use and not abuse that power.

It is the parent’s job to guide their child’s development, encourage appropriate and discourage inappropriate behaviour, enforce safety rules, etc., just as it is the employer’s job to support their employee’s professional growth and monitor their productivity and the teacher’s job to impart knowledge and test the students’ retention and understanding of that information. Using that power in a way that violates the bounds of these relationships, such as to humiliate a child or force a sexual relationship with a student however is abuse. Finally, within these relationship it is also important for the powerful party to create opportunities for the other to experience autonomy and power over their own decisions.

I have a little bit of an obsession with child development reference books – one that I acquired a while back (long before I had children of my own) was The Explosive Child, by Dr. Ross Greene. This is an excellent book and well worth a read. Dr. Greene gives good advice for parenting and for life (and agrees with my mom) when he posits

inflexibility + inflexibility = meltdown

and outlines a framework for choosing your battles. He suggests figuratively placing your child’s behaviours in 3 baskets: Basket A contains decisions that must be enforced and are worth enduring a meltdown over (power struggles worth having); Basket B contains behaviours and decisions that are important but that you are willing to discuss and problem-solve with your child (opportunities for compromise); and Basket C contains behaviours that you are willing to simply ignore (opportunities for your child to experience complete autonomy).

Dropping Ben off first was a Basket B issue – I had decided that it needed to happen, but was willing to discuss with him how it would happen. When I picked Molly up at lunchtime on momminus horriblis day, I had a quick word with Ben’s teacher to explain the situation, and she agreed to be at the door to help bring him into the classroom if necessary (and I agreed to be on time!).

On the way home that afternoon I explained to Ben (this time calmly!) that sometimes I would have to drop him off first without him getting upset, so we would be doing that for the rest of the week to get him used to it, and once he was not getting upset about it, we would take turns dropping him or Molly off first. Then we talked about why he likes dropping Molly off first – it makes him feel special to be the one to bring her to her classroom and kiss her goodbye – and what he could do that would be special when he gets dropped off first. He decided that he would give her hugs and kisses for her pocket (I give him hugs and kisses on his hands to put in his pocket before he goes into his classroom so he has them during the day if he needs them).

The next morning I reminded him again in the car what we were doing when we got to school, and it all went perfectly smoothly. Naturally, I assumed it was a fluke, but Thursday went well too, so I think we’re on a roll! Momminus horriblis has returned to her cave to hibernate indefinitely, and this particular issue seems to have been resolved successfully. I will remember in future to examine my Baskets A, B and C regularly, and I have learned that with a situation like that, in the moment it’s probably best to toss it into Basket C and deal with it in advance next time.

~ karyn

Of course, several days of pathetic sickie children has made it all the easier to banish momminus horriblis and welcome back momminus cuddlius protectivus on an indefinite basis!

Pathetic sickie Ben
©PicklesINK 2013

Pathetic sickie Molly
©PicklesINK 2013

Confession cam time again – Momminus Horriblis rears her ugly head

Feb19

Confession cam time again: This morning I feel like the crappiest mommy ever. You know the one – that mommy that all the other mommies stare at thinking, “Boy, at least I’m not that bad!” Worse than that, actually. I’m the mommy that the other mommies stare at thinking, “What a bitch. How can she be that mean to her kid?” Tantrumming kids, I can handle. Sad kids – no problem. Tantrumming kids who LOOK LIKE sad kids? That’s my Kryptonite.

Over the years, there have been a number of things that will lead to Ben throwing what Ian calls a wobbler. As he has matured, most of these things have dwindled off, leaving just one: Ben is very much a creature of habit. One of the most common objections he will make to things is, “But I wasn’t expecting that!” Example: “But Ben, you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” *whined* “I know I do, but I wasn’t expecting it. Why did you give me it??” When it comes to school, we are in the habit of dropping Molly off at her class first, then Ben, and if I try to differ from that routine, he completely loses it.

Which brings us to this morning. At Ben and Molly’s school, in the month of February, they invite parents to observe their children in class. You sign up for a time slot, they set up a video camera in the class, and you watch on a TV in the hallway, then join the class for circle time, and the child being observed doesn’t know that his or her parents are there until then. Other parents are asked to make an effort to get their children to the classroom on time so that they don’t interrupt the observation or spoil the surprise.

Well, we are notoriously late, and this morning was no exception, so when I realized that there was a mommy sitting down to observe, I explained to Ben that today I needed to drop him off quickly and RIGHT NOW so we didn’t interrupt his friend’s mommy or spoil the surprise. And meltdown in 5…4…3…2…

The trouble with Ben’s meltdown in this particular situation is that it’s not a screaming, flailing temper tantrum. That would be way too easy. I could be authoritative, other parents would smile sympathetically, and a teacher would nod understandingly and take him into the classroom. No, the trouble with Ben’s “wobbler” is that his face crumbles, he bursts into heart-breaking tears, he begs, “But mommy…please…I just can’t go in while I’m upset…I just have to get not upset…I’m trying to take deep breaths”, and I hiss, “Ben, this is ridiculous. Just get into your classroom,” and try to grab him and drag him in while he dances away, keeping just out of reach. To the uninformed observer, he looks like a heart-broken little boy who is trying his best to pull himself together while I look like the angriest, most icy-hearted parent ever to walk the earth.

So now instead of quickly zipping him into the classroom so the other mom could continue her observation undisturbed, we have the spectacle of sobbing, begging, deep-breathing Ben, and hissing, muttering, grabbing me, and let me tell you, the TV screen is no longer what’s being observed…*Voiceover in Australian accent* “And if you look to your right, towards the edge of the savannah you will see a prime example of momminus horriblis with her young. Ain’t she terrifying?”

What could I do? I walked away to take Molly to her class. Ben followed and we continued the back-and-forth, “Just go to your class.” “I just need to get not upset.” “Go back downstairs.” “I’m trying to take my deep breaths.” (Again, you have to imagine this conversation with angry me and pitiful Ben. I really, really sound horrible.) And now here we are outside of Molly’s classroom, and guess what? Ben is hugging Molly, saying goodbye, dropping her off first, and suddenly he’s not upset any more. “It’s okay now, mommy, because we dropped Molly off first.” WELL IT’S NOT FRIGGING OKAY WITH ME.

So I took him aside and explained in very, very angry terms, that it was NOT okay. It is NOT okay that he is now fine because he got what he wanted. “But mommy, it is. I’m not upset now because we dropped Molly off first.” “But mommy, it IS okay. I’m happy now.” “I can’t always just give you what you want to make you happy.” “But mommy why not? I am happy now because I got what I wanted. So it’s okay!” “But Ben it’s NOT OKAY with me.” “But mommy, all we have to do is drop Molly off first and then I won’t be upset.” “But Ben *through clenched teeth* that is not how the world works.” And he Just. Doesn’t. Understand. Because. He’s. Five.

And I’m furious because he did get exactly what he wanted, with no consequences whatsoever, and all that he has taken out of this whole interaction is that as long as he stalls long enough, he will get his way. And I am embarrassed and frustrated because I know that to the outside observer, I look like a jerk, and deep down inside I feel like a jerk, because how can you not feel like a jerk when you’re are angry and yelling and lecturing with the actual purpose of MAKING your child upset because IT’S NOT OKAY that they are not upset.

So in my fury I told him that from now on we would drop him off first – “But MOMMY!! Then I would be upset! Why don’t we just always drop Molly off first and then I will be happy?” and he cried. And I was okay with that, because I damn well wanted him to cry, because then he didn’t walk away with knowledge that “Yay! Now that I made a big scene and held out for long enough I got my way and everything is fine!”, but I also feel horribly guilty that I deliberately made my child cry and felt good about it. (“Yes, momminus horriblis has been known on occasion to eat her young, but researcher say that she always feels really badly afterwards…”) And then I told him I loved him and sent him into his class and went out to the car and I cried.

Now I’m calmed down, and I’m typing this out, and I’ve moved into problem-solving mode, and I think that the first think I’m going to do is I am going to make good on my promise to drop him off first from now on. Not, as before, because I want to make him sad, but because I think the answer is breaking that habit. This will mean a) Explaining the situation to his teachers and asking them to help at the classroom door; and b) Actually getting to school on time so his teachers are available when we get there.

And if anyone has dealt with this type of tantrum before and has any ideas of what to do in the moment, please let me know!

~ karyn

I’m sorry, but I believe in “sorry!”

Feb1

In yesterday’s guest post on the Mabel’s Labels blog, psychotherapist and parenting expert Alyson Schafer discussed her views on forcing children to say “I’m sorry,” after an incident. She feels that making your child simply say the words creates a power struggle and invites a sarcastic, “I’m saaawry.”

I encountered this view at a highly-regarded child care centre where I did a university placement and it didn’t sit right with me there either. We weren’t really given an explanation at that time beyond, “It teaches children to lie to get out of trouble,” without any insight as to what to do instead, which cemented my dislike of the policy.

Alyson Schafer gives a much better explanation than that in her post and I agree with all of her recommendations of “what to do instead” – but instead of “instead” I would do them “as well.”

I talked briefly about apologies in my post on empathy and compassion and described what we are teaching Ben and Molly to do when someone has been hurt.

Today I was faced with exactly the sort of situation Schafer is talking about: Molly shoved a broom I had asked her to put away, hitting Ben on the forehead. Ben cried and Molly ran away when I asked her to apologize. Chaos ensued as Ben, feeling better, started to chase her, I told him to stand still and let me handle it, etc., and finally Molly returned, said a grudging, “Sowwy,” and made a break for it again. This was the teachable moment – I could have accepted the lip service and ended it there, but I chose not to.

I showed Molly the red mark on Ben’s head and said that she needed to find out if Ben was okay and if there was anything she could do to help. Molly said, “Are you okay Ben?” and he said, “Yes, I’m okay now.” Molly said, “I’m sorry,” this time meaning it, and they hugged and Ben said, “I forgive you.” Molly said, “Can I do anything?”, Ben replied, “Well, I could use some ice,” and they ran off together to get an ice pack from the freezer.

So yes, Alyson Schafer is right – if I had simply required Molly to utter the words, “I’m sorry,” and left it at that, Molly would have taken away from the experience the understanding that saying, “Sawwwry!” is a magical get-out-of-jail-free card. By not letting her off the hook there and delving deeper into the meaning behind the words, I encouraged a moment of healing and connection for both Ben and Molly that taught them the power of apology, reparation, and forgiveness.

“Sorry” is just a word, but it is a word that has deep meaning in our society, and apology is a two-way street. When I make my child say the words, whether they mean it or not, it eases the other person’s pain. By switching the focus to the other person’s feelings, I help my child understand that impact and make the interaction doubly meaningful this time and in future.

Gratuitous adorable picture of kids in Halloween costumes: “I’m sorry I tried to eat you, Molly!” “That’s okay Ben – I’m sorry I’m a strawberry and you’re a carnivore!”
©PicklesINK 2012

~ karyn

What do you think? When we make a child say “sorry” or “thank you” are we teaching them to lie to avoid getting in trouble, or are we teaching them empathy?

A Passion for Compassion

Jan24

I heard once that the a sociopath is someone who is born without empathy while a psychopath is someone who uses empathy to his/her advantage. In one of my university social work class there was an intense argument about nature versus nurture – Is empathy innate or learned? As I recall, I took the innate side of the argument then but I’ve since changed my tune. I believe that empathy can and should be taught starting at a young age.

Baby Ben and my nanny Carol (Carol is disabled from a brain aneurysm and mostly non-verbal)
©PicklesINK 2012

The Oxford Dictionary defines empathy as, “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another,” and Wikipedia notes, “One may need to have a certain amount of empathy before being able to experience compassion.” I think of empathy as the ability to recognize how another person feels and compassion as the drive help them feel better. Both empathy and compassion have been important parts of my life and I feel that they are two of the most crucial interpersonal skills I can pass on to my children.

Photo of two boys standing on a bench looking at a tree
©PicklesINK 2012

I have a lovely friend who is a much more of an attachment-parenting, Dr. Sears-reading type than I am, and I remember on one of our earliest playdates thinking, “Wow, she’s got it so together – she talks to her kids about their feelings when they misbehave and never raises her voice with them!” As it turns out, at this same time, she was looking at me and thinking, “Wow, she’s got it so together! She doesn’t mess around when her kids misbehave and they listen to her when she uses her ‘mommy’ voice!”

One of the things I learned from this friend and incorporated into my own parenting style was the use of the word “kind” when I praise my kids. There is an awful lot out there about the pros and cons of praising your children (read for yourself: I just Googled “pros and cons of praising children” and it’s like a table-tennis match – “Praise your children!” “Don’t praise your children!” “Dos and don’ts of praising your children” “Are we setting our children up to fail?” etc.). I disagree with the extremes on either side (perhaps the parents who chant, “WOW GOOD JOB!!” 18,000 times a day and the people who read and write articles accusing those good-jobbers of manipulating their children and creating “praise junkies” should be locked in a giant arena to fight it out so the rest of us can get on with life).

The middle ground is:

Yes, we do use praise to “manipulate” our kids. It is one of the tools that we have to teach our kids to act appropriately and be productive members of society.
True, too much empty praise sets kids up for disappointment (“But mommy, you told me I was a great hockey player and I DIDN”T EVEN SCORE A SINGLE GOAL!!”).
Praise is the most effective when it is specific and descriptive (but sometimes we parents are busy and distracted and the odd, “Good job!” never hurt anyone).

I was thinking recently about how I use the word “kind” and I realized that the reason it appeals to me is that it fits that third criterion as it is much more specific and descriptive than the usual “nice.” “Nice” is something you just happen to be whereas “kind” describes a choice that you have made to make another person feel good. When I use it I usually pair it with a description of the other person’s emotions – “It was so kind of you to share your cookie with Molly, Ben. Look how happy that made her!” or conversely, “Oh dear, Molly – that was not very kind. Look how sad Ben is because you snatched his toy.”

A tool that I use (that this friend admits borrowing from me in return!) is that when someone has been hurt, I ask Ben and Molly to apologize and then to ask the injured party, “Are you okay?” and if the answer is “No,” to ask, “What can I do to help?”

Papa lends baby Ben a helping hand climbing up
©PicklesINK 2012

There is a lovely program called Seeds of Empathy that has been in place at Ben and Molly’s school for many years (you may also have heard of its older sibling, Roots of Empathy, which works with school-aged children). These programs introduce a baby to a classroom as a “Teacher” to foster empathy and compassion in the children over the course of the program year. A trained “Family Guide” helps the children to observe the baby’s development and label his or her feelings.

Cuddles for Ben and baby Molly
©PicklesINK 2012

The other day, Ben shared one of those everyday 5 year-old boy heartaches that makes my inner mama-bear rear up on her hind legs and start pawing the air the: “Mommy, Daniel* called me a baby. He said that Diego is a baby show and I shouldn’t watch it because that makes me a baby…and that made me feel little and I don’t like feeling little.” He paused for a few seconds and then added, “But then Joey whispered in my ear, ‘I think you’re really big.'”

Photo of polar bear
©PicklesINK 2012

This mama bear wants to find Joey, his parents, and the Seeds of Empathy creators, buy them several bottles of wine, and dole out hugs all around, because empathy and compassion are clearly thriving in that classroom!

The outcome of all this so far is that although their impulse control (or lack thereof) frequently gets the better of them, if either Ben or Molly does something that upsets the other they’re often comforting each other before I have a chance to say, “What happened, guys?” – which in turn makes me feel pretty good!

~ karyn

* Names have been changed.

Dear Neighbour (Ben’s Thank-You letter)

Jan22

There is a house in our neighbourhood that is just…no other word to describe it…spectacular. It is on a massive corner lot and is known as “The Mayor’s House” due to its history, and every year the owner puts up the most amazing Christmas light display.

The first December that I noticed it, I raced home to get Ian and by the time we got back to the house they had been turned off…and off they stayed for weeks. “Karyn’s imaginary Christmas lights” became a running joke and I endured weeks of teasing before I finally dragged him over to the house in the daylight to triumphantly point out the thousands of tiny LED bulbs scattered over the many trees and shrubs on the property.

They finally turned on again for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and for the next 11 months we mused over whether this was going to be a yearly tradition – Was this incredible display meant to be a secret known only to those select few who happened to drive by on one of the three days it was randomly turned on?

One view of the property showing lights on trees, a wreath on the gate, and the lighted eaves. ©PicklesINK 2012

Happily, the following year and those subsequent have seen the lights on far more frequently! I’m afraid the pictures really don’t do it justice because it’s impossible the capture the extent of the display in one shot, but all of the trees and shrubs on the property are strung with tiny LED lights in all different colours, the eaves of the multi-peaked roof are hung with white lights, the two large driveway gates are adorned with huge pine wreaths, and one tall pine tree by the house is decorated with baubles and ribbons. Above it all shines a large star, seemingly suspended in mid-air but in reality mounted on a pole atop the tallest tree. When driving up the hill from downtown, all you can see is that single star suspended in the sky and the effect is truly breathtaking.

Second view, showing the tallest multicoloured tree, lighted eaves, and the star on the right.
©PicklesINK 2012

Needless to say, Ben and Molly are pretty enamoured of the whole display, and throughout the Christmas season any time we came home in the dark the anticipatory conversation took place: “Do you think the lights are going to be on?” “I hope so!” “I love those lights!” “I see the star!” “Yay, the boo-ti-ful lights are on!” We have been talking a lot this season as a family about the idea of gratitude and Ben is a big fan of thank-you notes, so when he suggested that he could write a thank-you card to the owner of the house with the lights, I agreed that it was an excellent idea (Woo-hoo! Voluntary practice for my reluctant printer!), and away he went.

Ben, hard at work writing his letter, with the list of words he had requested spelled beside him.
©PicklesINK 2012

The finished letter, Ben’s original composition, read:

to Neighbour

Thank you for the beautiful lights.

Me and my sis love to look at them when we drive by.

Do you use a remote to turn them on?

From Ben and Molly

Completed letter and card.
©PicklesINK 2012

When he was finished, we folded the letter into a Christmas card, walked down to the house, and dropped it in the mail box. Who knows if we will get a reply, but Ben was very proud of himself and hopefully he brightened someone’s day!

~ karyn

PS – Readers who are Angie Nussey fans should have this song in their heads by now and readers who are not yet Angie Nussey fans should definitely check her out!

How do you feel about thank-you cards? Do you write them? Do you expect them?

Chalet trip: Black Diamonds are forever and Happy New Year

Jan13

Ben went away after Christmas for a “special trip with Nana and Grandad.” We perhaps should have prepared Molly better, because she was absolutely devastated when he left:

The saddest Molly face EVER.
©PicklesINK 2012

She cried for hours – “But I need BEN! I can’t go to sleep without BEN! No, you can’t sing me a lullaby – ONLY BEN CAN SING ME A LULLABY!” She finally rolled over in bed and poured her heart out to her doll, Charlie – “Charlie, I miss BEN! Will you do a craft with me tomorrow, Charlie? With pink, and sparkles, and then we can call Ben and tell him about it?”

Ben and Molly’s reunion three days later was a sight to see. Unfortunately I didn’t get a picture of it, but he threw open the car door and jumped in and they embraced and cheered and gushed, “I missed you, Molly!!” “I missed you too Ben!” “I love you, Molly!!” “I love you, Ben!!” and you couldn’t pry them apart for the rest of the day.

Ben and Molly sitting in a chair watching a show
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben and Molly sharing a chair and dessert
©PicklesINK 2012

For days after we got home, Molly would occasionally smile and say, “Now Ben is back where he belongs – with Molly.” I know they’ll have their sibling ups and downs, but as one friend put it, we must be doing something right!

The purpose of Ben’s special trip, aside from having a fun time with Nana and Grandad, was to give him the opportunity to learn to ski. In my family, we traditionally are put on skis pretty well as soon as we can walk reliably and there’s snow on the ground, so we started both Ben and Molly on skis the winters before their 2nd birthdays. At that age, though, you’re mostly just holding the child up and getting them used to the idea of sliding down the hill standing up.

A friend who is an extremely talented pianist and piano teacher (shameless plug – if you’re in the Toronto area and looking for piano lessons, check her out) suggested that in most cases it’s good idea to hold off on private piano lessons until a child is old enough to have the fine motor control to physically do what they want to do on the instrument or they will get frustrated. She suggests starting lessons at 6 and notices that in general children who start piano lessons at that age very quickly catch up to their peers who started at a younger age.

I suspect that the same is true of sports like skiing – I think that each child has a threshold for when they are physically capable of learning the sport, and while introducing them to it earlier will help them become comfortable with the sensations, once they hit that threshold they will literally and figuratively take off.

In Ben’s case, that threshold was age 5 1/2! He left with Nana and Grandad on Boxing Day to go up to the chalet, and Molly and I joined them on the 29th. He left a non-skier who hadn’t even been on skis in a year, and this is what I found when I went up:

Ben zooming downhill without a care in the world
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben, in the lead, racing Grandad
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben and Nana stopping for a chat
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben, just a dot in the distance
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben riding the chairlift like an old pro
©PicklesINK 2012

Ben showing off his helmet hair in the bar…er…cafeteria.
©PicklesINK 2012

He was skiing down the freaking black diamonds!! In skiing speak, those are the “Advanced” slopes, as compared to the green circles (Beginner), blue squares (Intermediate), and double- or triple- black diamonds (!!☠☠!! and !!!☠☠☠!!!). This is all, of course, relative – Ontario black diamonds are not the same level as BC or Quebec black diamonds, let alone others found worldwide. But still – pretty amazing stuff for a 5 year-old after 4 days of lessons!

Please also note my prodigious talent at photographing a moving target whilst skiing myself – I may not excel at many sports, but when it comes to skiing I got mad skillZ! And if you don’t believe me, take it from The Evil Snowman:

After skiing, it was back to the chalet for some (EVIL) snowman-building followed by warm chocolate with marshmallows (Ben and Molly feel that hot chocolate would be too hot) and a dip in the hot tub.

Ian and I reprised the dip in the hot tub on New Year’s Eve and participated in the classic chalet tradition of making snow angels in bathing suits. Before you say anything, let he among you who can resist a double-dare cast the first ~~stone~~ snowball!!

Ian went for a wander with his camera and took some great pictures:

And along with Nana, we managed (just) to stay up until midnight, raise a glass, and then collapse into bed.

I know it’s a little late, but from our home to yours, I hope you had a very Happy New Year and that your hopes and dreams for the coming year all come true!

~ karyn

Confession Cam

Jan9

I feel like I should have a little video camera set up on a tripod in a closet in front of a bare wooden stool for this. Okay, here goes – Confession time – A big old truth-storm coming right at you, just between you and me:

I Hate Kids.

*phew*

That was a weight off my chest.

Now for the explanation: I love my children. I love your children. I am fascinated by child development, both normal and exceptional. I have always connected easily with children, and I spent most of my adolescent spare time babysitting and helping out with the children’s programs at my church.

It logically followed that I skipped off to university starry-eyed and determined to become The Very Best Kindergarten Teacher Ever. By the end of my very first day of my very first placement in a preschool classroom, I found myself (figuratively) rocking back and forth in the fetal position muttering, “Oh god. I hate kids. I hate them. What on earth made me think I wanted to do this?”

Some soul-searching later, I realized that a love of children does not necessarily equate a love of working with children, and even a love of working with children does not equate a love of working with lots of children. In mathematical terms, ∴ I love kids ≠ I should be a teacher.

I have many, many wonderful friends who are amazing teachers, and I have so much respect for their being able to do and love a job that I would rather stick needles in my eyes than pursue. They make it seem so effortless when all I can think is “But HOW? How do you get them to all sit down at once? What do you do when one of them runs off? How do you get them to all listen to you? HOW DO YOU DO IT WITHOUT YOUR FREAKING HEAD EXPLODING??”

Last year, I started up a Cherub Choir at my church. This was rather a frustrating exercise, due I think to a combination of lack of enthusiasm/participants and the fact that it coincided with the height of my (untreated) depression, and throughout last year I felt a constant push/pull within myself between “If my friends really cared, they would bring their kids out to support me!” and, “I am choosing to provide this service and it’s not my friends’ responsibility to populate it!”

I was on the verge of calling the whole thing off one Sunday morning as I arrived, yet again with just my two kids in tow, only to find a strange 12 year-old girl waiting, alone, in the church – her name was Aimee, she said in teenaged upspeak. “I saw your sign downtown? I’m here for the kids choir? To be a youth helper?” She had come with the grudging consent of her mom, who had given her permission to go for choir practice but not to stay for church because she wasn’t dressed properly for it. Aimee’s arrival ended that push/pull in my head with a swift kick in the butt of, “Okay, now I get it – I’m doing this for that shy, lonely 12 year-old who took a chance and found a place where for half an hour every Sunday she felt like she belonged.”

This year, my choir grew from two (Ben and Molly) to three and now to FIVE kids. Can you believe it? MORE THAN HALF of the choir is now NOT the fruit of my loins!! I’m torn between delirious excitement and abject terror – which brings us back to the part where I Hate Kids, because this is starting to feel suspiciously like a teaching gig. But weirdly enough, it’s also feeling kind of fun. And rewarding. And not as hard as it used to be.

Maybe the times, they are a-changin’, just a little bit.

~ karyn

To a time when “coming out” doesn’t exist

Nov10

I had a lovely visit the other day with my friend David (also known as The Guy With BPD – when you have a moment, mosey on over to his excellent blog!). We got to chatting about all the usual topics – heterosexism, homophobia, religion, marriage equality – you know, typical dinner-table conversation! He asked what my kids knew about the idea of sexuality and being gay or straight and how I explained it to them.

My educational background is in child studies and social work, which means I have a pretty good understanding of child development and a strong interest in social justice. When it comes to my kids, I’ve answered any questions that they have had (mostly Ben, but Molly listens carefully to all of it!) in a way that I hope will reduce the impact of heterosexism (the idea that being heterosexual and cisgender are the only “normal”) in a way that they can understand.

When it comes to sexuality, at this point, Ben understands that when he grows up, he will hopefully fall in love with someone, a man or a woman, and might decide to marry that person. He understands that a lot of grownups are married, some to people of the same sex and some to people of the opposite sex, and also that some people who have been married have decided not to be married anymore and have gotten divorced. I have deliberately chosen not to explain “queer” or “gay” yet because they require an understanding of sexual attraction that Ben and Molly do not yet possess. As far as they are concerned right now, love is love. There is no difference between the love they feel for each other, me and Ian, their friends, boys and girls – in fact, Ben was devastated when I had to explain that one of the few people he would not be able to marry eventually was Molly, since she was his top choice.

When it comes to making babies, he understands that you need the seed from a man and the egg from a woman to actually make a baby grow inside a woman’s uterus, so if a couple is the same sex they need some help from someone of the opposite sex to make a baby. Babies and children can also be adopted, which is when a baby’s birth parents aren’t able to look after him or her and so they place the baby with an adoptive family.

Finally, when it comes to gender norms, and this has been the one that has impacted Ben’s life the most so far, he understands that he can wear or play with whatever he likes, and that people will sometimes laugh or tease when they see something that they don’t expect (like a boy with a ponytail or a Dora lunch container). I also taught him the word “stereotype” which is when people thinks that someone can’t do, wear, or like something because of what they are, like “boys can’t like Dora” or “girls can’t play with trains.” Now I’m just waiting to overhear the argument between Ben and his friends – “Don’t say that! That’s a STEREOTYPE!!”

Going back to the visit with David, as we were nursing our delicious coffees from the Mulberry Street Coffee House and discussing this, he said, “Wow. I have so many friends raising their kids like that…if more people would do it, can you imagine? We will end up with a world when coming out is superfluous!” Wouldn’t that be amazing – to have our kids grow up in a world where they can just say, “Mom, dad! [or, of course, ‘Dad, dad!’] I’d like you to meet the person I’m in love with!” and know that the response would be, “Oh, sweetie! We’re so happy to meet the person who makes you so happy!”

~ karyn

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow – Part 2

Oct10

(did you see what I did there with “part”? heheheh…)

Well, it’s been just over a year. Ben started with a buzz cut, then decided (on hearing that boys could have ponytails) to grow his hair out indefinitely. He has tried out ponytails in various places on his head, french braids, hair bands and bows. Any time over the last year that we have asked him if he wants to cut his hair or when he wants to cut his hair, his answer has been, “Nope, not yet. I’m not done having ponytails yet.” At first I wasn’t a fan but over the year it grew on me (heheheh)..and seriously, can anyone rock a shag and a fedora like Ben?

But this weekend it all came to a head <—- I’m on a serious roll here! Ben complained that he couldn’t sleep because something was tickling his neck. Ian said, “That’s your long hair tickling your neck, bud.” Ben replied, “Oh. Well, I guess it’s time for a haircut then. I will have my haircut on Monday.” When we pointed out that Monday was a holiday he conceded, “Okay, Tuesday then.”

When Ben makes a decision, he sets his mind and that’s it. For a year it wasn’t time to cut it yet, and then all of a sudden it WAS, and rarely has been been as excited about something as he was about this haircut!

As long blonde strands fell to the floor, he watched in the mirror and started chanting, “No more ponytails for Ben! Ben is never going to have a ponytail again!”…

…while I stood by gritting my teeth and waiting for it to all be over. (It all happened too fast! I need more time to prepare!)

And then it was all over and Ben was ecstatic!!

He looks adorable and about 2 years older, and he absolutely loves it. He has informed me that on days when he wants to wear it spiked up, I’m not allowed to pat him on the head, and I’ve told him I’ll try my best.

~ karyn

PicklesINK

Parenting. Learning. Caffeinating.

Archives

To My Silly Munkin-Bum on Your 3rd Birthday

Update – Momminus horriblis has returned to hibernation

Confession cam time again – Momminus Horriblis rears her ugly head

I’m sorry, but I believe in “sorry!”

A Passion for Compassion

Dear Neighbour (Ben’s Thank-You letter)

Chalet trip: Black Diamonds are forever and Happy New Year

Confession Cam

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow – Part 2