Tag Archive | gratitude

The day I forgot my son

I think it’s safe to say that everyone has parenting moments they’re not proud of. For some, those moments have tragic consequences – like the larger-than-I-ever-want-to-wrap-my-head-around number of children who are forgotten in cars every year. In almost every one of those cases, the culprit is a change in routine – it’s not the usual parent taking the child to daycare, or not the usual grandparent looking after them, or they’re being taken to a different babysitter.

*time out, because it makes me sick to my stomach even to write about this*

Even so, when we read about one of these tragedies in the news, we collectively draw a sharp breath in and then reassure ourselves that it would never, ever happen to us. Because the alternative – that at any given time, any one of us could be that parent – is simply unthinkable.

Until yesterday.

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I would NEVER say, “I would never.”

Feb2

“I would NEVER…”

Of all the phrases I wish we parents…heck, people in general…would stop using, this one tops the list.

Back in the day, when I worked for Children’s Aid, I heard this from clients all the time: “You don’t get it because you don’t have kids. You haven’t been in my shoes. You can’t possibly understand. How can you tell me what to do?” SO annoying, amiright?”

I would nod sympathetically and patiently explain yet again that I completely understood their misgivings, but although I might not have children of my own, I had a lot of experience and training, not to mention a university degree in child development and specialized training in child welfare and assessment.

If I had a time machine, I would go back and apologize to all those clients and give the smug little university grad I was a smack upside the head because I Just. Didn’t. Get. It.

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Babies: Some Assembly Required.

Nov10

I have a new baby nephew!!!! Well, not so new any more….he’s almost 2 months old.

He got off to a bit of a rough start. “Some assembly required,” my brother joked. We can joke about that now. We couldn’t make that joke then – and you know things are bad when there are no jokes, because that’s what my family does in difficult situations. It was over a week before the first one came along – the first picture of the baby in a hat inspired his first nickname: “Master has given Dobby CLOTHES!”

Sometimes it's not that easy: When your baby is Some Assembly Required

So little Dobby had a rough start, but things got better. The word “miraculous” was tossed around, always modified by “almost” because we don’t like to risk overstating the situation. That’s another thing we do. Along with ironic sound-effects when we show physical affection or back into parking spaces and M*A*S*H references.

Oh, and sudden changes of subject, expecting our audience to just keep up. That too.

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Sometimes the universe nudges you onto the ‘write’ path

Jul10

I haven’t really said much about this yet – maybe because I’m still not totally sure it’s actually true – or maybe because there just haven’t been enough hours in the day (damn you, mesmerizing Facebook newsfeed) – but I have a new job! And when I say, “New,” I mean I’ve been doing it for over 6 months now (HOLY CRAP, I just counted that out!).

Why yes, this is a gratuitous smokin’ hot firemen picture. Why, do you ask? Read on…

I was never, ever going to be a writer. Never. I was going to be a doctor very briefly, until I realized that doctoring was the reason my mom didn’t get home until 8:00 every night.

I probably entertained some vague thoughts of geology or mining engineering, but those were quelled by the 3-foot tall poison ivy my dad casually pointed out on a field trip to look at interesting rocks (“Yep. Right over there by those rocks. No, not those rocks. The other ones. No, the ones to the left. Nope, not those. Even more left.”). Molly intends to carry on that proud family tradition by pursuing a career as a rock scientist who’s also a fairy princess and possibly Katy Perry. Note to self: Purchase stock in calamine lotion.

From a long time I was going to be a marine biologist, until I learned that I could never get a scuba licence because of my asthma. “Glub,” went that dream down the drain.

After that I went to school to be a kindergarten teacher until I realized that I can’t stand kids. (Not your kids though. They’re great. Really).

I toyed for a while between social worker and professional barista, which, when you think about it, are pretty similar: You talk people through their problems, figure out what they need to make it through the day, and help them get it. And you make about the same amount of money. Frankly, the only real difference is the quality of the coffee.

Now that I think about it I may have made the wrong choice.

But writing? Never even crossed my mind. Writing was just something you did because you had to, you know, because the filter basket on your coffee-maker is broken and the company wants you to pay for a replacement. Or because your professors look at you funny if you present a research project in interpretive dance. It just happened that when I put words to paper or computer screen, I generally did get my free replacement or reasonably good grade (The same cannot be said re: interpretive dance; never earned me anything but awkwardly averted gazes. Philistines.).

Then I decided to put off going back to school after Ben and Molly were born and started this blog out of sheer peer pressure – people on Facebook kept saying, “You should start a blog,” so finally I did, and then I said, “OKAY FINE I STARTED A BLOG!!! ARE YOU ALL HAPPY NOW??? WILL YOU STOP BUGGING ME ABOUT IT?? GOD!!” which, now that I think about it, would be AWESOME through interpretive dance. *GASP* I HAVE A IDEA!! Challenge issued: Get me to 1000 Facebook followers, and I will post a video. And GO!

Anyway, I started a blog, realized I was writing when I didn’t actually have to and kind of liked it, and people were reading it and I kind of liked that too. Yada yada yada (that’s for Ian and all of you other weird folks who enjoy that awful show that makes me want to stab myself in the earsdrums Seinfeld) was serendipitously offered a job writing for a marketing agency.

Perks of said job include getting paid to do something I’ve discovered I love, stretching my creative muscles, not just writing but also photography and interviewing, and getting up close and personal with smokin’ hot firemen. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it!

Smokin’ hot firemen group shot.

I guess what I’ve realized from this journey is that sometimes, even if you think you have a handle on exactly what you want, the universe comes along and gives you a little nudge onto the right path.

~ karyn

Sometimes, even if you think you have a handle on exactly what you want, the universe comes along and gives you a little nudge onto the right path. ~ www.picklesINK.com

Sometimes the universe gives you a little nudge onto the right path.

Adventures in Mother’s Day

May19

Ah, Mother’s Day – the day when mothers around the world (or at least North America) are celebrated with heel of bread sandwiches, fact sheets about themselves, and the opportunity to sleep in as long as they like. (“IS SHE AWAKE YET?” “SHHHHH!!” “I’M JUST GOING TO CHECK IF SHE’S AWAKE YET!” “OKAY BUT BE QUIET!” “MOMMY? MOMMY? ARE YOU AWAKE YET? NO? OKAY!!” *CRASH* “OH NO! QUICK! GET A TOWEL! NO, A TOWEL! A TOWEL! YES, A TOWEL! I DON’T CARE WHICH ONE! JUST BRING ME A…” “SHHHH! YOU’LL WAKE HER UP!”).

Adventures in Mother’s Day www.picklesink.com

~~All~~ Most joking aside, my Mother’s Day was lovely. Molly’s school’s Mother’s Day Tea was as lovely and entertaining as always.

Molly delivering my tea cup

Ben’s fact sheet was reasonably accurate (“Uh, mommy? Do you read before you go to sleep to relax? Okay, good, because that’s what I wrote.”)

Ben’s “My mommy is special” fact sheet (in French)

We gave out flowers to all of the ladies at church to celebrate all forms of motherhood – and I had to break the news to the choir that we couldn’t have any because we were RUNNING OUT (which, in a small town United Church is a pretty big deal).

My cherub choir did their best rendition ever of “God Bless Families,” enthusiastically supported by Molly on percussion and interpretive dance.

My gourmet chef hubby created a delicious cinnamon-maple-walnut pancake breakfast which was served to me in bed on only the second try (the first having been drenched with water from a top-heavy vase of flowers).

Molly survived the dishwasher’s attempt to eat her with only a bump on the head, and we learned a valuable lesson about leaving kitchen renovations half-finished. FYI – A heavy slow-cooker as a counterweight (pun not intended, but actually quite clever – go subconscious!!) is not an adequate replacement for an actual built-in dishwasher cabinet. We should probably get on that.

The evil child-eating dishwasher of doom.

And I got a pretty necklace!

~ karyn

How do you celebrate Mother’s Day? How successful was your day this year?

More of a grown-up than a kid?

May1

This has come around WAY too soon for me. It’s May first AGAIN. Another year has passed, and it’s time for me to remember that day that I lay prostrate in a hospital bed, doped up on Morphine, and listened to a high-risk OB/GYN explain with remarkable calmness that 33 weeks or not, this baby was coming today.

Why’s mommy freaking out anyway? It’s only a birthday!

Ben-Magoo, I simply refuse to believe that you are now SEVEN. YEARS. OLD. It simply isn’t possible. I forbid it. You must stay my baby forever. I know, I know…you SAY that you’ll always be my teeny baby, and you’ll ALWAYS want mommy cuddles, and you’ll ALWAYS be my same silly Ben-Magoo, but SEVEN? You’re practically a teenager. I mean, just look at your hair! Teenager hair, that is.

See? Totally teenager hair.

And listen to you talk – teenager talk, that…no, scratch that. You talk like a grown-up with a post-graduate degree. Ben-Magoo, you asked me some questions this morning, and I think I did a pretty good job of answering them, so I’m going to write down what I can remember here to make sure you can re-read it any time you want to.

We started out talking about your birthday presents – You got a few presents this morning that I picked up yesterday at the Royal Botanical Gardens – some pretty cool bug books, one from the grown-up section, because most of the kids books were just way too, as Molly put it, “kiddy” for you. You were a little disappointed that you didn’t get any ocean books, but I explained that right now you seem really focused on your Bug Clinic.

Just in case you’re reading this years from now and can’t remember, let me remind you about your Bug Clinic. Last year at daycamp, you and your friends noticed that there were a lot of caterpillars around and you wanted to do something for them, so you created a bug hospital at the base of a tree. You carefully brought any injured caterpillars you found there, and you collected a stockpile of carefully peeled maple seeds for caterpillar food.

I figured the end of the summer would mean the end of the Bug Clinic, but it turned out that friend from daycamp was in your class at your new school and you revived the Bug Clinic at school in the fall. You now have an army of “doctors” on your roster and you run a pretty tight ship, assigning them jobs, scheduling shifts, and of course protecting the clinic from the other team, the Bug Clinic Destroyers. You have quite a lot on your to-do list – literally – but you’re fully committed to it. In fact, when I said that you sure had a lot to do, you explained patiently, “I know, mommy. But that’s what you have to when you’re the boss.”

To-do list reads: Make the day off cards; draw picture of bc tree fort; Make pillow + blanket; Make bug clinic dead or live list; Make spar bussnis cards for bug clinic”

What’s even cooler, Magoo, and I don’t think you realize that you do this, is how huge your heart is. You don’t just accept everyone who comes along – you find ways to bring people together.

When some of your friends were more interested in playing Minecraft than Bug Clinic, you invited them to make a Minecraft tower on the top floor. When we had that incident a couple of weeks ago where another student made a poor choice and deliberately threw away the special piece of coral you brought to school, and later offered to work at your Bug Clinic to make up for it, you not only accepted her offer, you named her the “First Prize Winner” at your latest Bug Clinic Award Ceremony.

I mean, there’s forgiveness, and then there’s what you did. You have so much goodness in you that you respond to a deliberate injury by simply loving MORE. I think there’s a lesson in there for all of us.

You’ve been telling me that the Bug Clinic is a secret, but this morning you changed your mind and said it was okay for me to talk about it, and I’m really glad because I want to share it with the world. If more six…no, SEVEN year-olds were as dedicated as you are to caring for the very tiniest of creatures on this earth, how amazing would your generation become?

Tinfoil Bug Beds

Getting back to the bit about the birthday presents – you loved your bug books, but you did mention in the car, “I wish I had a whole LIBRARY of ocean books!” And then you paused thoughtfully for a minute, and then you asked me, “Mommy? Why am I so different from other kids? Why am I into things like biology and stuff, and not just superheros and toys?”

Magoo, every once in a while you and me have these really profound talks, and this was one of them.

I said that there are a lot of reasons. There’s the ordinary reasons: We tried to expose you to lots of different playthings and experiences, not just superhero toys and sports. Honestly, you never had much interest in any of the sports we tried (“Except skiing! I really like skiing!” you point out), so we weren’t going to force it, as long as you’re active and healthy. And whatever toys you played with, you created your own worlds with them instead of being stuck “in the box” playing with them exactly the way they were intended. Just think about Brio Peak – Your track-building adventures rose (again, literally) to new heights, and led to your first published book!

Ben reading his book, “Your Favourite Brio Peak Story Collection” to his friends

Likewise, you don’t watch the typical TV shows for your age and gender, and I’m actually pretty happy about that. We’ve talked about this before, but with your innate kindness, and your tendency to be a bit anxious, you don’t like shows or movies with shooting and meanness, even if they do have happy endings. You just don’t enjoy watching them, and that’s okay. You get a little frustrated with your friends sometimes when they tell you the shows you like to watch are babyish, but you never fail to remind them “That’s a STEREOTYPE.” I do get a little sad because I know you censor yourself and don’t talk about those shows at school so you don’t get teased, but that of course is not a problem with you but with the world, and it’s not your job to fix it!

And I think daddy and I are doing an okay job at this parenting gig, because we try pretty hard to encourage you and Molly when you find something that you are interested in, like when you started to be interested in ocean creatures…

You interrupted me here to say, “It was when we were watching the life cycle DVD about the dolphin and the shark and you got the Eugenie Clark book and read it to me! THAT’S when I started loving ocean creatures!” and I’m pretty sure you just wrote the first sentence in your autobiography.

Well, that got me thinking and talking about the not-so-ordinary reasons. Eugenie Clark started being interested in natural science and ichthyology when she was very young, just like you, and I think you’ll find that the same is true of many scientists and leaders in their fields. People who have a passion for something often came to that passion very early in life, and many of them were lucky enough to be encouraged in that passion from early on. So you might be different from the other kids because God has a plan for you to do something really special – like to become a marine biologist or entomologist – or even something else.

One of the things that is really, really cool about you, Magoo, is that you don’t just get excited about things yourself – you have an incredible gift for getting other people excited too. Just look at your Bug Clinic – even though most of your friends are more interested in the usual stuff, you have somehow managed to get them totally excited about the Bug Clinic. When you started drawing ocean creatures, all of your friends did the same thing and for weeks you came home with your backpack stuffed with drawings of sea life – “To Ben, From _____.” Maybe you’re going to wind up using that gift to make a difference by getting people excited about learning or about conservation.

That, of course, led to a conversation about conservation (say that 5 times fast!) and a decision to write a letter to your principal outlining ideas for improving your school’s Enviro Club (“All we ever do is collect the recycling bags from the classrooms and dump them in the bins!”). Oh, and you remembered that you’d better get started with your letter-writing campaign to Marineland. And I promised to tell you about Craig Kielberger later. I guess Free The Children will be next on our reading list.

As we walked from the parking lot into your school, Magoo, you pointed at yourself, grinned at me, and said, “This kid is more like a grown-up than a kid,” and then ran inside to show off your birthday cupcakes.

I’ll have to meet you halfway on that, my baby Ben Magoo.

~ karyn

Vaguebooking was in Vogue Today

Mar12

I hate Vaguebooking more than many things in life, and I did it all day today, so my apologies to those of you would saw my day bookended by the twin statii

Dear Driver Who Slowed Down to Look as He/She passed Me Lying In the Snow Trying to Dig Out My Car in My Driveway on a Private Road with Only About 30 Residents and then Continued His/Her Merry Way,

You are a jerk.

No love, Me.

and

Quick PSA: When someone is having a complete breakdown in front of you and just barely holding it together because they’ve had a really shitty day and this is the last straw, the appropriate answer is NEVER, EVER “Oooh…well, it could be worse.” Yes, it could be worse. I could be dying of cancer. I could have a splinter in my foot. I could be having my arm gnawed off by a walrus. Yes, things could be worse. But right now, at this moment, for me, it is bad enough. Don’t minimize that.

To clear up the mystery that I’m sure has been haunting each of you all day – “What the heck happened to Karyn today?” I present to you “The Last 12 Hours of My Life” [as in, the 12 hours immediately preceding the time that is now, not to be confused with the final 12 hours of my life, which I hope will take place far in the future].

Prologue: It’s March Break. Ben, Molly and I are up at my parents’ ski chalet, which is on very small, private (as in, not municipally maintained) crescent. There are 20, maybe 30 chalets in all on this road. Ben and Molly are in a ski day camp. Yesterday the weather was balmy. Today there was a massive snow storm.

9:10 AM Realized we had plenty of time. Let Ben and Molly continue playing before getting ready to go.

9:30 AM Told Ben and Molly it was time to get ready to go. They did not share my sense of urgency.

10:00 AM Actually got out the door and into the car. Realized that my decision to park in the middle of the half-circle driveway facing the steeper exit was not my best ever.

10:02 AM Ben: “We’re stuck, aren’t we?” Car: “whuh-ERRRRRRR” Ben: “Yep. We’re stuck.”

10:02-10:30 AM Tried to dig the car out with bare hands and a snow brush.

10:30 AM Abandoned the idea of getting the kids to ski school and sent them inside. Put on mitts. Searched, unsuccessfully, for a shovel. Continued, unsuccessfully, to try to dig car out with snow brush. Watched Jerk #1 drive by slowly.

10:45 AM Gave up and went inside.

12:00 PM Dressed warmly, armed myself with a broom, and went back out to try again.

12:00-12:30 PM Alternated laying on the ground digging under the car with broom handle and trying to rock the car out in reverse. Watched Jerk #2 drive by, slowing down for a good look at the chick lying under her car.

12:30 PM Knocked on neighbours’ door.

12:30-1:00 PM Lovely older couple with much better tools than my broom and snow brush dug the car out. With me and her pushing, he successfully backed the car out of the snowbank and into the snowbank on the other side of the driveway.

1:00-1:10 PM Dug the car out of that snowbank and pushed it up onto the road.

1:15 PM Loaded the kids into the car and took them up to the hill for their afternoon session.

1:45 PM Molly refused to ski.

2:50 PM Put Molly into the car and tried to pull out of parking space. Stuck. For once someone ACTUALLY STOPPED and pushed me out. Yay!

3:00 PM Picked Ben up and drove back down the hill. Discovered that the entrance to the private road had been blocked by the municipal plow. Tried to dig it out with Ben’s ski. Municipal plow drove by, presumably laughing at me.

3:15 PM Drove back up to the ski hill and explained the situation, and asked to borrow a shovel. Lady at the desk said, “Oh my! You’re about to have a breakdown, aren’t you?” Burst into tears. She had a girl take me out to find the shovel. Girl said comfortingly, “Oh, well…it could be worse though.” I said, “~~True. I could be facing charges for having kicked in your stupid teeth, you utter moron…~~ Uh-huh.”

3:25-3:40 PM Shoveled out the road, stopping to give thumbs up to Jerks #3-12, who drove by without stopping. Special honourable mention to Giant Jerkwad Supreme in the pick-up truck with the plow attachment who could have done it for me in one pass. Drove home to the chalet. Backed into parking space. Pretty sure I’m stuck again but no longer care.

3:45 PM Phoned Municipal Public Works office and was assured that blocking in the private road was standard practice, as was ignoring motorists stranded by the aforementioned action. “If the plow driver stopped to help ever stranded motorist, we’d never get the roads cleared.” Hung up on him. Got a big cuddle from Ben. Felt marginally better.

4:00 PM My mom called. She agreed that John from Public Works was a dick and all the people who didn’t stop were jerks. Felt somewhat better.

4:15-5:30 PM Chatted with friends and received “likes” on Vaguebook. Felt significantly better.

5:30 PM Built a fire and toasted and ate 1 bag of marshmallows (with the help of the kids). Felt quite a lot better but now slightly ill.

9:10 PM Finally was able to see the humour and wrote this post.

Epilogue: In conclusion

1. Yes, it definitely could be worse. I have a pretty awesome life, and at no point was I or any of my loved ones in danger of losing it. But still, sometimes things suck and you get upset…and whatever has caused it, telling a person who is upset about their particular circumstances, “It could be worse,” is not comforting, it is invalidating and minimizing. So if, “smack upside the head to give perspective,” is what you’re going for, then by all means, say that, but if you’re aiming for “comfort and console,” try a simple, “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

2. People are stupid jerks, but it’s nothing a roaring fire and a bag of toasted icing sugar, artificial vanilla flavouring, and gelatin can’t fix.

~ karyn

Text reads: “If someone is having a breakdown in front of you because they’ve had a really shitty day and this is the last straw, the appropriate answer is NEVER, EVER “Oooh…well, it could be worse.” Yes, it could be worse. I could be dying of cancer. I could have a splinter in my foot. I could be having my arm gnawed off by a walrus. But right now, at this moment, for me, it is bad enough. Don’t minimize that.”

Magic Pennies

Jan14

I did some really great parenting yesterday.

It was that kind of day, you know? The kind that starts out tough and just gets tougher; the sort of day that has potential to go, as Ian would say in British, “completely pear-shaped.” Not to mention that with a new job and the ~~mindbogglingly stressful and emotionally taxing~~ somewhat time-consuming responsibilities that I’ve taken on at church battling my regular day-to-day tasks for ultimate supremacy, my time is at a premium and sleep a distant memory, so patience-wise, I’m not exactly at my best.

The kids were way overtired from the minute they woke up – as demonstrated by the fact that they were bickering, yelling, and at each other’s throats from the moment they rolled out of the wrong side of their beds.

This is what ‘overtired’ looks like.

Ben had a PD Day, and our plan was to drop Molly off at her school and then spend a special “Mommy and Ben morning” painting pottery at Crock-A-Doodle, but by 9:30 he was neck-deep in Meltdown #3 (“NO I WILL NOT HAVE MY ~~TALONS~~ NAILS CLIPPED BEFORE WE GO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME NO NO NOOOOOOOOOO I WON’T I WON’T I WON’T!!!!”) and I was thinking, “This just ain’t going to end well.”

But I stayed calm. He yelled…and I stayed calm. He screamed…and I stayed calm. He flailed…and I still stayed calm. Finally he settled down enough to have his nails clipped, requested tickles to cheer him up, and then we left.

And that was Great Parenting Moment #1.

We painted at Crock-A-Doodle for almost two hours – long enough that we lost track of time and had a panicked race to finish so we could pick Molly up on time. We painted AMAZING masterpieces together – I wish I could go back in time and do it over and over again because it was the most incredible, wonderful bonding time I’ve had with Ben ever. (Pictures of the masterpieces will follow in a few days when we pick them up!)

Masterpieces, pre-firing.

There was no anxiety over perfectionism on either of our parts (a trait we both have in spades!) – just a fun, creative time together, sharing ideas, and complimenting each other’s work (“Mommy, I love your under the sea mug. I think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever made. And I love my heart mug for daddy – It’s going to be so amazing.”) Ben has a tendency to be hypercritical of himself, especially when it comes to art, so to hear him so pleased with himself was wonderfully refreshing.

I guess that was Great Parenting Moment #2, though Ben deserves at least half the credit!

…and all the credit for his masterpiece! Text reads “Find some magic pennies every day”.

We picked Molly up, ate lunch, and then they went to play MarioKart. Soon the overtiredeness reared its ugly head again as they launched back into bicker-yell-grab-hysterics-yell-bicker mode. As it devolved into screaming with no apparent cause or solution I walked into the room and – again calmly – turned off the TV, took the controllers away, and marched them upstairs.

Usually at this point in a day like this, I would be overcome with frustration and, if not yelling, certainly close to it (you know the tone – gritted teeth and rapid-fire punctuation – “Get. Up. Stairs.”), and Ben and Molly know it. But this time I was still completely Zen. I wasn’t angry, just focused giving them both some space from each other and from me. And were they ever confused – you could tell that they were expecting some sort of lecture and punishment.

I put them in their rooms and spoke to them one at a time – “Are we having nap? Are we in time-out?” “You are having some quiet time. You need to stay in your room. You can look at books and read or play quietly. Don’t leave your room – don’t talk to Molly/Ben – don’t yell down and ask me if it’s done. I’ll come and get you when you’re finished.” And then I went back downstairs, feeling relieved – not because I wasn’t going to have to listen to them screeching, but because they both finally seemed to be having a breather and getting the quiet and space that they needed to settle down.

And that was Great Parenting Moment #3.

Later in the day, Molly wanted to watch Beauty and the Beast, and Ben objected strenuously. Again the tiredness came out (unfortunately the quiet time couldn’t quite solve that issue!) and he started yelling in rapid-fire bursts, “NO!” “I WON’T!” “I DON’T WANT TO!” His tantrum culminated in his approaching me and Molly, saying (seemingly calmly), “Can I tell you something?” and then screaming into my waiting ear, “IT’S TOO SCARY!”

Boy oh boy…on any other day, I would have Hit. The. Roof. He had deliberately set me up; my ears were ringing; and I was furious. How Dare He? But from somewhere deep inside a little voice said, “breathe,” and I did. And I looked my little boy in the eyes – eyes that looked shocked and scared, anticipating my reaction – and I said, “Ben, go and sit on the step, please.” And that was Great Parenting Moment #4.

I set up the movie for Molly, took a few deep breaths, and then went to talk to Ben. First we talked how I was upset because he had made me think he was just going to say something and then screamed, and it hurt both my ear and my feelings. And then we talked about the yelling and screaming in general and why he did it and how he was going to stop doing it. He said, “I do it when I’m FRUSTRATED.” I asked if he screams at school and he said no. I asked if he gets frustrated at school, and he said yes. I asked why, if he still gets frustrated at school, doesn’t he scream there, but he does at home.

He thought for a minute and then answered in that astoundingly astute Ben way

I guess it’s because at home I know you love me and you’ll keep loving me when I scream but at school they don’t have to.

And I hugged him harder than ever, and that was Great Parenting Moment #5.

Special ‘Mommy and Ben Day’ at Crock-A-Doodle!

I might not be the greatest parent in the world. But I have my moments. And I think they’re a little like that magic penny – the more of those moments I can make, and the more I recognize them and remember them, the more I can build on them. And the more Ben and Molly will come to expect them and appreciate them and one day have their own.

~ karyn

Do you find it hard to keep your temper when your kids are overtired? What do you do to keep from yelling? Do you remember to give yourself a pat on the back when you get it right?

Eating My Words Instead of My Treats – Halloween Safety Part 2

Nov1

You may have noticed that I titled my previous post “Part 1.” Part 2 was supposed to be a snarky look at the rest of the usual Halloween safety tips flipped around like that “How to Prevent Sexual Assault” meme (“If you see an unconscious woman, don’t rape her”) to put the onus on the grown-ups: So “Put reflective tape on your costume so cars don’t hit you” becomes “If you see kids in costumes on Halloween night, don’t hit them with your car, or better yet, don’t drive your car on Halloween night if you don’t have to.”

I know, I know – it needed work, but in my head it had potential.

Scary Jack-O-Lanterns. Text reads: Eating my Words Instead of Treats

Then my best friend’s mom went and died unexpectedly on Sunday night and suddenly not only did I lose all ability to think in terms of funny but all of my previously hilarious lines about there being no good reason to drive around on the one night of the year when you know there are going to be lots of children crossing the road suddenly became really assholey. An afternoon funeral, as it turns out, is a quite compelling reason for a large number of cars to be on the road at just such a time.

So instead of that post, I want to recognize my friend Jenn, who has faced an unspeakably horrible situation with an unimaginable amount of grace and courage. If you happen to have a few extra dollars burning a hole in your pocket, consider making a donation to Lupus Ontario in honour of her mom.

And now for some gratuitously adorable Halloween pictures:

Ben holding his pumpkin Doppleganger

The instructions from Farmer Charles on Molly’s school field trip were to select a pumpkin that looked like your head, so Ben brought him that one for inspection.

Ben and Molly and I “carved” pumpkins with the help of Ian’s power drill*, several chisels, and our 8 year-old neighbour Rebecca – air quotes because mostly Ben rode his bike and Molly supervised Rebecca’s pumpkin-gut-scooping. Rebecca very kindly helped Molly draw her pumpkin faces and Ben did his own.

Clockwise from top left: Minion pumpkin, scaaaaarry pumpkins (ooooOOooooOOOooo), and Ben holding the “pumpkin doorstop”

Ben: “MOMMY!! I WANTED TO USE THE KNIFE!! Our Halloween safety rules from school said, ‘make sure a grown-up is WITH you when you carve it,’ NOT, ‘the grown-up should do it FOR YOU!!”

***

Rebecca: “I’m trying to make it look like a kid drew it.”

Me: *raises eyebrows*

Rebecca: “I mean, a LITTLER kid.”

***

Ben: “How do you make a SCARY pumpkin face?”

Molly: “You say, ‘OooooOOooOOOOOooo,’ while you draw it.”

***

Me: “OW!”

My brother James: “Careful. That’s probably sharp. It is a chisel, you know.”

Me: [redacted]

***

Ian: “Oops.”

Me: [also redacted]

Close-up of the minion head, the reason for the “oops.”

And finally, my split-personality minion Ben (heralded by the grade eights at his school as “OMG THE BEST COSTUME EVER”*) and Molly, who was, “Uh…Pinkalicious. No, a fairy. No, a fairy princess. No, a pink princess fairy. No, Pinkalicious dressed as a fairy princess with a pink tiara. No, not Pinkalicious OR a fairy OR a princess OR a pink fairy princess – AGNES from Despicable Me. No, NOT Agnes. A pink fairy princess with fairy wings but NOT Pinkalicious dressed as a fairy. No, a fairy princess. But not with fairy wings. Just a princess. Rapunzel.”

Minion(s) Ben and Rapunzel Molly

~ karyn

*Next year, jigsaw.

**For the DIYers out there – the minion costume is a collapsible laundry hamper from IKEA, purple and yellow felt, mason jar screw-top lids, purple tulle, denim overalls, black pleather pants** cut and pasted to be overalls, 2 pairs of kids shoes, gloves, and various other bits and bobs. I cut the lid out of the hamper and cut arm holes. Everything is secured with staples, safety pins, and/or hot glue (no sewing required). Ben is dressed as a minion underneath as well with overalls, yellow sweatshirt, and a crocheted minion hat courtesy of the fabulous Ingrid at Loveable Stitches (full disclosure: I’m also at Loveable Stitches. Check us out!)

***Size TWO pleather pants that I found second-hand at Once Upon a Child. WHO MAKES PLEATHER PANTS FOR TWO-YEAR-OLDS?? AND WHO BUYS PLEATHER PANTS FOR THEIR TWO-YEAR-OLD???****

****Okay, fine. Yes, *I* would probably buy pleather pants for my two-year-old. Are you happy now?

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

Oct1

The High School Reunion: Words to strike fear in the heart of some and instill joy in others, and for me evoking a confusing combination of anticipation and dread.

My yearbook photo and comment. Text reads “On High School Reunions, Happiness, and the Road Less Traveled.”

I agonized over whether or not to go to my high school reunion this weekend. From a purely logical perspective, there were compelling reasons not to bother. Most of the people I was close to then I’m still in regular contact with now. The rest of my graduating class are for the most part very nice people but as we were fairly indifferent to one another in high school, I can’t imagine that having changed now…and in the cases where that has changed, it feels vaguely disingenuous – You’re hugging me? We hug now? Okay... <awkward>

I know I’m being unfair to the many of my classmates who actually are genuinely happy to see me and catch up. The bigger issue is that this whole reunion thing, in my irrational and emotional brain centre (let’s call it the “emoshgula”), is all tied up with all the internal and external markers by which we measure “success” in life.

I went to an all-girls’ private school that prides itself on its students’ measurable achievements both during high school and after graduation. The currency of success during my high school career was high marks, and with those I was flush. Much to the chagrin of my math and physics teachers, I took my academic prowess and poured myself heart and soul into Bachelors’ degrees in Child Studies and Social Work (Click here for appropriate sound effect).

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I then turned down early acceptance to an MSW program in order to become…horror of horrors…a stay-at-home mom (again, this requires a sound effect). In that world of titles and initials – Dr., Esq., M.Sc., Ph.D., Patron, Benefactor – Karyn Pickles, SAHM doesn’t feature highly in the alumni communiques.

***I’m going to interrupt myself for a moment for a very brief discussion of privilege. In this post I am describing, from my own perspective, the world that I inhabited in my middle and high school years and that, to a lesser extent, I still inhabit. It is a world of enormous privilege in which each and every one of us carried a huge invisible backpack containing, among other things, the knowledge that 1. We had the means to attend the university of our choice, as long as we produced the necessary grades; 2. Those grades would be reasonably easy to achieve with the extra help and tutoring available to us; and 3. Our university applications would be supplemented by the rich extracurricular offerings the school offered, ironically bolstering our chances of earning the scholarships that most of us didn’t actually need. It is a world that is unfamiliar to the vast majority of the North American population, let alone the world. This is not to belittle my fellow graduates’ hard work in earning those prestigious titles, but to acknowledge that we were very fortunate to have the head start and freedom to choose the paths that we did.*** <climbs back off soapbox>

Where I have found myself in life is for all intents and purposes the antithesis of everything that my high school prepared and expected me to do. It doesn’t even register on their scale of success because they have no rubric for joy and self-fulfillment.

The trouble is that while I know that I wouldn’t change a thing, as soon as I walk through that high arched doorway, all my self-confidence drains away like Bastian passing through the gateway to the Fountain of the Water of Life. (This is a obscure reference but it’s oh so very fitting. Here is a link to a really trippy website where you can clear up any confusion or just close your eyes and be transported straight back to the 80’s. You’re welcome!). I passed under that archway and was immediately once again the introvert who used cutting humour to hide the fact that she had zero self-esteem, and I giggled self-effacingly in response to questions, and answered, “Well, y’know, I have my 2 kids and I’m kind of a mommy-blogger…” twirling my hair like Cher in Clueless (okay, if we’re honest, I was more like Tai, pre-makeover).

Afterwards, as I exited the highway and head for home, that confidence came rushing back and I regretted the lost opportunities to reconnect as my authentic self. Even more than that, I was furious with myself for being so dismissive of my life choices when what I should have said was,

“I’m doing great! I have the two most amazing kids. I’m on a couple of boards of directors and I’ve really gotten into community theatre and music. I work from home and write a parenting blog (here’s my card!) and I’m just venturing into selling some of my handmade clothing and accessories (you should definitely check them out)! Funny, eh? It sure isn’t the path I would have imagined for myself [an undisclosed number of] years ago, but I couldn’t be happier. So what are you up to these days?”

I included 3 quotes in my graduating yearbook comment:

“Love is something if you give it away…you end up having more”

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less trodden by, And that has made all the difference.”

and “Second to the right, and straight on ’till morning.”

Full text reads: Senior- Chamber- Double Quartet- Sr. Choir 93-98, England 94 & 98. “Love is something if you give it away… you end up having more.” All my Love to my family, friends and [redacted]***. It’s been a year of beginnings, and endings, and other strange and wonderful things. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less trodden by, And that has made all the difference.” Bye [school name], it’s time to fly — Second to the right, and straight on ’till morning.

They may have been cliched****, but at the risk of sounding sappy (TOO LATE, SCREAM MY LOYAL READERS!) boy howdy, did they all prove true.

~ karyn

*Yes, I did misquote Robert Frost. I apologize. I’m as upset as you are.

**No, I did not misquote J. M. Barrie. “Star” is implied but not included.

***If there are any teenagers reading this, please take this one absolutely crucial piece of advice: I don’t care HOW much you love him/her. DO NOT mention your high school boy/girlfriend by name in your yearbook. You’ll be splitsville by Thanksgiving. I know, I know, not YOU two. You are TOTES soulmates just like R-Patz and whatshername, or Taylor Swift and One Direction, and you’re going to be together forever. Still, just to be on the safe side, leave out the name. Say, like, “My one [sparkly] true love,” or something. Just trust me on this one.

****NB: Of 112 grads I was the only Robert Frost that year compared to 3 “shoot for the moon ’cause even if you miss you’ll land among the stars”***** on one page – that was an unfortunate coincidence of alphabetical order.

*****Yes, of course I counted.

PicklesINK

Parenting. Learning. Caffeinating.

Tag Archive | gratitude

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I would NEVER say, “I would never.”

Babies: Some Assembly Required.

Sometimes the universe nudges you onto the ‘write’ path

Adventures in Mother’s Day

More of a grown-up than a kid?

Vaguebooking was in Vogue Today

Magic Pennies

Eating My Words Instead of My Treats – Halloween Safety Part 2

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —