Tag Archive | Molly

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life…

First day back at school for Ben and Molly, and I’m holding my breath in anticipation…

Miss Molly? No worries there. She’s back to the same routine, same preschool, and was practically out the door honking the horn before I could finish saying, “Time to…”

Preschooler fashion tips: Stripes ALWAYS match other stripes! www.picklesINK.com

You heard it here first: Molly says stripes are a Fall 2014 fashion DO.

Besides…it’s Molly. I could drop her in the middle of the jungle and she’d have the gorillas dressed in ball gowns and tiaras enjoying a rousing game of “Magic Fairy Princesses Dragon Battle Tea Party” before you could say, “Gee, I didn’t know Rapunzel had a sword.” Continue reading →

Actions Speak Louder Than Words – Part 2

Jul29

Subtitle: Or that time I threw my kids’ stuff all over the family room to prove a point.

One of my biggest “mommy meltdown” triggers is mess. Not so much the mess itself but the attitude that accompanies it. I can live with a bit of clutter, but the lack of concern that the other residents of my house seem to show their personal belongings and our shared space by carelessly leaving everything everywhere, happily stepping over the “stuff” in their paths going about their business drives me batty.

I have a tendency to lecture and of course I’ve found that this is not particularly effective at getting my point across to two hyperactive kiddos. (Read about the last time this happened here). So WHAT THE HECK DO I DO??

Is there anyone out there who can honestly say that they have no trouble getting their kids to pick up after themselves? Who never finds themselves sighing and tidying it all up yet again, deciding it’s just not worth the fight today? Who has found the solution to the age-old problem of their kids (and spouses too…and heck, probably themselves also) always letting the chips, not to mention the Cheerios, markers, Legos, and dress-up, stuff fall where they may?

If there is, for goodness’ sake, please drop me a line and tell me HOW YOU DID IT…but for the rest of you, let us take a moment here to commiserate…

As a parent, it seems like my life is a constant battle against a slowly encroaching mass of clutter. No matter how often we cull our “stuff” and deliver carloads to Value Village – and vow not to buy any more crap to replace it…No matter how many times we lecture Ben and Molly about picking up after themselves….No matter how many times Ian and I both vow to turn over a new leaf ourselves, find a place for everything and everything in its place and THIS TIME WE’RE REALLY SERIOUS.

M*A*S*H fans will get this.

And by virtue of being the adult who spends the most time in the house, most of the time when something needs doing around here, including picking up the clutter and cleaning up the messes, I’m the one who winds up doing it.

This weekend Ian tackled a “Honey-Do” list of yard work while I took a break from house and kid stuff and concentrated on work stuff. He stepped up and exceeded expectations – the yard looks fantastic, we ate like kings, and the kids even got bathed! He figured he was on a roll, I guess, and while cooking dinner, he directed the kids to tidy up their craft corner.

Ben and Molly are very fortunate to have an incredible craft corner – a table and chairs in the corner of the family room surrounded by shelves and drawers full of craft supplies; heaven for a couple of creative kids like them. The only trouble is that whenever they emerge with the products of their creative process, the corner looks like a battlefield upon which pixies mounted on My Little Ponies waged a war to the death armed with pipecleaners and tapeffiti.

Oh, the humanity…

So when Ian issued his directive, the kids launched into their usual laundry list of complaints: “I don’t FEEL like it!” “I don’t LIKE tidying up!” “I wasn’t the one who MADE the mess!” “It’s TOO MUCH work! There’s TOO MANY things to pick up!”

With much prodding and reminding and at least one time out (Molly, natch), they got on with it, and fifteen minutes later Ben came to tell me they were done.

I went to inspect and found…less chaos, but still chaos – the bulk of the craft supplies had been put away, but the table and floor were still littered with scraps of paper, the odd pencil crayon, and pieces of torn cardboard packaging destined for the recycling box…and I kinda snapped.

In my defense, this is not a new issue. Ben and Molly are now 7 and 4. They have each had years of schooling in a Montessori classroom where they are responsible – from the age of 2 – for putting back every single item they take out before they start another activity. They are both ever-so-slightly nearsighted but I have no reason to believe that they are incapable discerning the difference between construction paper and carpet from a distance of 4 feet.

Cue the mommy tantrum: I ranted. I raved. I lectured. I self-pitied. And then I picked up a handful of papers and yelled, “This is what you guys do. You just toss stuff around, and then you say, ‘Oh well, I don’t want to pick it up…'” and tossed it in the air.

Ben and Molly said, “Hey!”

And then, just as suddenly, I became utterly calm. I slowly and deliberately picked up the rest of the pile of papers and I tossed it as high as I could in the air. Ben and Molly’s jaws dropped as it slowly drifted back down in soft construction-paper flurries.

Ben admonished, “Mommy! We JUST cleaned that all up!”

A slight smile playing at the corner of my lips, I said, “I know.

Ben demanded, “You did that on PURPOSE!! WHY did you do that?”

With a shrug, I said, “I don’t know. I just felt like it.”

Utterly indignant, Ben cried, “But we JUST cleaned it all UP!”

Nodding sagely, I said, “I know. And now you have to do it all again.”

Molly shouted, “NO!” stomping her foot for emphasis.

I smiled. “Yes.”

Ben argued, “But that’s not FAIR! We didn’t make the mess! We JUST finished cleaning it up!”

I agreed cheerfully, “That’s true. You did. Now do it again.

Molly countered, “NO! You do it!”

I grinned broadly and replied, “Nope. I don’t feel like it. I don’t actually like tidying up. It’s too much work. There’s too many things to pick up. You guys can do it for me.

Ben and Molly stared open-mouthed, and I walked away.

As I passed through the kitchen, Ian high-fived me and grinned. “Well played.”

Kids art station - all their art supplies in private corner for them to create.

The craft corner, post clean-up (#2).

By the time dinner was ready, the craft corner looked great. Over bangers and mash, we discussed why I had done it and how it made them feel. We talked about how we all like the house better when it’s tidy, because it looks nicer and we always know where to find our stuff. We discussed how no-one likes cleaning up messes, especially someone else’s, and about how putting things away as you go prevents messes in the first place. And after dinner we had a family race to put 10 things away each – winner got to choose dessert.

The real problem is, Ian and I are as much to blame as the kids – if not more so. We tell them we expect them to pick up after themselves, but we don’t do a very good job of setting the example. We walk around leaving stuff behind too – the only difference between us and them is that we *really* mean to put it away where it belongs at some point; just not right now.

Admitting we have a problem is the most important part, of course, and we are both trying to reform. It’s a vicious cycle, though – the more we try to pick up after ourselves, the more frustrated we get at the messes that remain, the more discouraged we get, and the more likely we are to backslide.

But we’re all going to work together as a family to keep each other on track, and hopefully it will make the difference.

Teach your kids to pick up after themselves with this ONE easy trick from www.picklesINK.com #parenting #organizing

Teach your kids to pick up after themselves with this ONE easy trick! At least that’s what I captioned this so people will want to Pin it. But seriously, it’s easy – easier said than done, that is.

I’ll keep you posted…

~ karyn

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?

Stranger Danger

Apr28

We had a child luring attempt in our small town recently, which is of course terrifying. I haven’t done much talking to Ben and Molly so far about stranger danger, for a number of reasons.

Ben has a tendency to be very anxious. Last year one of his school friends told him about “strangers” and he went into an anxiety tailspin for days. Often once he starts thinking about something scary he’ll continue to worry about it no matter how remote or even completely impossible the threat is:

Ben: “I looked at that picture in my bug book and now I’m afraid of scorpions.”

Me: “There are no scorpions in Canada.”

Ben: “I know. But I’m still scared that one will sting me.”

Me: “But there aren’t any in Canada. You can’t be stung by one.”

Ben: “I know. But what if I was? They are extremely venomous.”

Me: “There is absolutely no way that you could be stung by a scorpion.”

Ben: “I know. But I’m still scared. What if I was?”

Me: “Well, you could pretend to be a giant bird that eats scorpions.”

Ben: “Okay! …Wait, now I’m scared of the giant bird.”

Me: *headdesk*

Statistics show that “stranger danger” is blown way out of proportion. The best and most recent estimate found that 25 children of the 46,718 reported missing in 2011 were listed as “abducted by stranger” — but “stranger” was defined as anyone who was not a parent, including relatives, family friends, or babysitters as well as the eponymous “stranger.” A 2003 study by the RCMP’s National Missing Children Services studied the 90 stranger abduction missing child reports entered into the national police database in 2000 and 2001 and found that only 2 of those children had been abducted by someone other than a relative or a close family friend.

Finally, up until last summer Ben wouldn’t have been anywhere unsupervised where a “stranger” could approach him anyway.

But my little baby boy is growing older, moving outside of my helicopter mommy bubble, spending time playing outside with friends, and even getting ready to walk to the bus stop by himself next year (all of which feels completely, utterly ridiculous to me before I remember that at his age I was walking 4 blocks to the corner store by myself).

So with this incident happening only blocks from our house, The Conversation became a necessity – obviously because the same person could still be in the neighbourhood, but also because I anticipated it being discussed at school (by both the teachers and the other kids), and I wanted Ben to hear it from me first so he could ask any questions he had and process the information thoroughly.

First of all – the reality. Stranger are not particularly dangerous. Most strangers are neutral to benign, and many can be quite helpful. You are far more likely to fall victim to a random act of kindness than a kidnapping attempt. The concept of “Stranger Danger” has actually served to distract 3 generations from the statistically greater danger to children – family members, friends, and acquaintances, who are far more likely to abuse, molest, and/or kidnap them than some creepy dude in a van.

Last month’s Today’s Parent Debate was about whether or not you would leave your child alone in the car, and the Facebook post on the topic garnered heated debate.

Much of the “no” side focused on the dangers of leaving your child unattended in a car – and there are certainly dangers to doing so – but a number of the posters were adamant that there was a significant risk that someone walking by would see your children and seize the opportunity to smash a window, get in, “hotwire” the car, and drive away with your children still buckled into their carseats like a beautifully wrapped present.

Scary, sure. Realistic? No. Pedophiles don’t walk around convenience stores and gas stations rubbing their palms together and waiting for an unattended car full of children. Pedophiles befriend their neighbours’ kids. They pay extra-special attention to their nieces. They take vacations to countries where child sex trafficking is rampant. They win the “Coach of the Year Awards”. They insinuate themselves into positions of trust and authority over children, ingratiate themselves to the parents, groom the children for years before they actually start abusing them, and cultivate an atmosphere of secrecy where the children don’t realize anything is wrong until it’s too late and they know that no-one would believe them anyway.

If you want your children to be safe from the boogeymen, you have to teach them what the boogeymen really are. The boogeymen are people who make your children feel uncomfortable. They are grownups who ask children for help and tell children to keep secrets. They could be people you love very much and whom your children love very much, people your child trusts and looks up to, and people you would never dream would do “something like that.”

I therefore decided that rather than focus on “strangers” or “bad guys” I would talk to Ben about “grown-ups,” and what grown-ups should and shouldn’t do when it comes to kids.

So this is what I told Ben:

“Bud, I need to talk to you about something a little bit scary. Remember when your friend told you about strangers, and made you scared about them, and I said that you didn’t need to worry about it? I need to talk to you a little more about strangers now. You know that strangers are just people you haven’t met yet, right? Most – almost all – strangers are not scary at all.

Sometimes people will tell you “never talk to strangers” but that’s not right. If you every get separated from mommy or daddy, you DEFINITELY need to talk to a stranger – good strangers to talk to are people wearing a uniform, or people who work in a store, or a mommy or daddy with kids. Those are all people who will know exactly how to help a lost child get back to his parents. And if you’re with mommy or daddy and a stranger talks to you, it’s polite to answer them, but you don’t have to have a long talk with them if you don’t want to.

Something happened this week in our town – a boy was walking home from school by himself, and a stranger stopped his car and talked to him and asked him to get into his car. That’s not okay. Grown-ups should not talk to kids who are by themselves, and they should definitely not ask kids to come with them.

That doesn’t happen very often at all, and it will probably never, ever happen to you, but just in case it ever does, it’s important to know what to do. This boy stayed safe because he knew exactly what to do – he didn’t answer the stranger and he ran away as fast as he could to a place with lots of people – back to his school – and he told a grown-up there. If a stranger ever talks to you or your friends when you aren’t with a grown-up, you don’t have to be polite. You and your friends run as fast as you can to a place where there are other people and tell a grown-up what happened.

Grown-ups should not talk to kids they don’t know unless there is another grown-up there to make the kids feel safe. Grown-ups should not ask kids for help with anything – they should ask other grown-ups. And grown-ups should not ask kids to keep secrets (surprises are different because they are not going to be kept secrets forever – only until it’s time for the surprise) or to do anything that another grown-up can’t know about.

If a grown-up ever does any of those things, your job is to tell a grown-up that you trust about it right away.”

Text reads: “The Only “Stranger Danger” Tips You Actually Need” 1. Grown-ups shouldn’t talk to kids they don’t know unless there is a grown-up you trust there. 2. Grown-ups shouldn’t ask kids for help – they should ask another grown-up. 3. Grown-ups shouldn’t ask kids to keep secrets or do anything they don’t want other grown-ups to know about. If a grown-up ever does any of those things, your job is to tell a grown-up you trust about it right away.

Molly listened too, and nodded sagely, though I don’t know how much of the conversation she took in. I was happy with the outcome as Ben asked questions, gave me the right answers when I quizzed him, and most importantly felt confident and not frightened when we finished the discussion.

~ karyn

What age did you start talking about “stranger danger” and “street smarts”? What do you think are the most important points to cover with your kids?

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.”

Princess Molly’s Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess.

Mar10

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived a beautiful young woman, her handsome husband, and their spirited 2 year-old son. They lived a humble and unassuming life and were happy together, just the three of them, but they all harboured a secret desire to welcome one more child to their family.

They wished and wished, and faced many trials along the way, but at long last, that wish was granted, and the couple told their precocious son that the mommy had a baby growing in her tummy. He was delighted and declared, “It’s going to be a turtle, and I’m going to name it Dora!”

After the longest pregnancy the woman had ever experienced (literally, since the aforementioned little boy made his appearance rather earlier than expected), the big day finally came. The expectant couple dropped the little boy off with his grandparents, packed their bags, and headed off bright and early to…

…IKEA.

After a calming meander through the furniture-filled halls and a quick bite of breakfast for the father-to-be, they made their way to the hospital where they celebrated International Women’s Day 2010 by welcoming the future first female benevolent dictator of the world.

On meeting her several hours later, her brother quickly got over his disappointment at her lack of turtle-ness and accepted his parents’ over-ruling of his name choice in favour of Molly Elizabeth…

…and the rest, as they say, is history — or at least it will be once she makes it!

The End.

(Oh, right — as for the titular Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess…) Boy, oh boy — Let a doting father of a princess-obsessed birthday girl loose in a bedding store, and the results are…well…

Perhaps it could be best expressed as a word problem:

If Train 1, carrying a load of cotton candy, leaves Station A at 10:30 AM traveling 100 km/h, and Train 2, carrying a load of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, leaves Station B at 10:45 AM traveling 115 km/h, and they arrive at the junction at the same time and collide with a tanker filled with Crush brand Cream Soda and a truck loaded with costumes for a preschool ballet recital, just exactly HOW pink will the resulting explosion be?

Or a tongue-twister:

How much pink could a pink thing pink if a pink think could pink pink?

Or a haiku:

Spring breeze wafts cherry blossoms
Soft scent fills the air
The perfume suggests a hue.

I give you: Princess Molly’s Royal Bedroom

Text reads (clockwise from left): “*Gasp* I LOVE it!!”
“I never had a Princess lamp before!!” and
“Wait, mommy! I have to put on my Princess dress before I can go in!”

The answer to all three of the above questions is This. This is how pink. Pink to the power of THIS MUCH.

In all fairness, who could resist?

And in the end, Ben couldn’t resist either.

Anyway, my Molly Monkey, five International Women’s Days have now come and gone in your life, and you have grown up into a headstrong, self-aware, independent, gutsy, and all-around fantastic four year-old with those excellent leadership qualities that your paediatrician predicted in your first year.

I know that you will grow up to do anything you want to do, and mommy, daddy, and Ben and all the rest of your family and friends will be there to support you and cheer you on, whether it’s fulfilling your dream of becoming a princess geologist, or traveling the world to watch you compete at the elite level of the winter sport you plan to invent, “Skeleton but then you slide down a huge, huge jump and fly way up in the air and do flips and somersaults!!”

Actually, y’know what – let’s stick to world domination. It’s probably safer.

~ karyn

Magical Parenting

Mar5

You know how every once in a while the stars align: You are struck by inspiration, have the means to carry it out, it goes off perfectly, and you create this completely magical moment for your kids?

Ben lost a tooth the other day at school – I found out because I got a phone call from the office. “Nothing to worry about, but Ben lost his tooth today…and then he…uh…lost his tooth today. So he might be upset when he gets off the bus,” followed by a second call 5 minutes later – “Tell Ben that Miss M and Mme H were on their hands and knees searching on the floor and we found his tooth!!”

He came home yesterday with the tooth in a tiny green treasure chest, and (being Ben) questioned how the tooth fairy would get it open – “Will she be strong enough? She’s pretty tiny…” and then, after some thought, he concluded that she would use her magic.

I believe I have in the past touched on my feelings about glitter, or as I like to call it, the herpes of the parenting world.

A little while back my mom came home from a trip with some clothes for Molly – heavy on the sequins and tulle; y’know, totally not Molly’s style, right? – and gleefully announced, “And the lady in the store gave me this – Fairy dust!” Eyeing the pot of impossibly fine loose pink glitter like someone had just handed me a sack full of wolverines on methamphetamines, I said, “Seriously?” and immediately banished her from my home for all eternity.

But last night, as I insomniacally completed advanced sudokus in the bathroom, I thought, “Oh. My. God. Pink glitter + opened treasure chest = tooth fairy magic.”

Ben didn’t notice right away, so I said, “Ben, were you and Molly playing with glitter? There’s glitter in this box.” Ben (slightly panicked) said, “No! It must be from school! *long pause* ….or…..*whispered breathlessly*….it’s fairy dust.”

With eyes as wide as ping-pong balls, he pinched some in his fingers and sprinkled it on himself, then whispered, “I lost my tooth. And I won my Spellathon!” put his arms out to the sides, teetered on his tippy-toes, and fell over.

He looked disappointed for a second, and I said, “Ben…did you…did you just….I thought I saw you float for just a second there before you fell.” Ian shot me a worried look of, “Are you sure about this?” Ben said, “I did? Really? I did!!” and dashed out of the room:

“Molly!! MOLLY!!! The Tooth Fairy left FAIRY DUST behind and I put it on me and thought happy thoughts and I FLOATED FOR JUST A SECOND!!!!!!!”

Magical.

Text reads: “Sprinkle some glitter when the tooth fairy comes…and your child will be floating on air!”

~ karyn

Love Hurts

Feb12

I broke my toe making Valentines cards.

No, wait…I can’t really start there. You need more context than that. I broke my toe because of my ovarian cyst, which is not complex, just misunderstood, like me in high school.

Actually, I’d better go back a bit further. Really, it all started because Ian bought those damn Valentines treat bags at the Liquidation World closing sale, so when it comes down to it, I blame the economy. I broke my toe because of the economy. Damn you, Stephen Harper!

Love Hurts
or; that time I broke my toe making Valentine cards

I’m feeling a little bit pulled in all directions lately, mostly because of things that I have taken on myself and therefore for which I have only myself to blame…the new job*…the old job**…the old chair position***…the new chair position****… For the most part I’ve been managing to keep my head above water, and this Sunday I finally got through the stressfullest bit, which was chairing the church’s Annual Meeting. By the grace of…well…chocolate (true story!) I made it through and it was pretty successful, if I do say so myself.

Between my own work and extracurriculars, and Ian’s work craziness (transitioning to new ownership by a much bigger company with very different corporate style, meaning even longer hours and more travel than before)…and the fact that my beloved first car Spunky (RIP) bit the big one last week, necessitating a day of car shopping…&tc…&tc…suffice it to say, my house is a disaster, we are subsisting on the leftover party-sized pizza we brought home from church on Sunday, and Ian is away yet again.

On top of that, Ben’s moods and behaviour have been a complete nightmare lately, Molly’s behaviour hasn’t been much better, and I’ve also been having this fun crippling abdominal pain which turned out to be my not-so-complex bloody ovarian cyst (literally bloody; ‘haemorrhagic,’ technically).

So this morning, when I really should have been working my little medical transcriptionist heart out, I confessed to my wonderful support group of invisible interweb blogging friends that when I learned I had this (originally wrongly described) complex cyst, a small part of me couldn’t help but wish that it was just a little more on the complex side. Nothing terminal of course; just maybe serious enough to put me out of commission just long enough for it to be socially acceptable to expect people to come in, clean my house, look after my kids, and cook me a couple of nice dinners.

Well, there went the morning – we laughed, cried, commiserated, laid the groundwork for a proposed tropical paradise sister-blogger-wives commune, and I’m pretty sure conspired to transport questionable substances across state lines. It was just what I needed. My friend Lizzie over at Considerings calls these sorts of people her ‘lifeboats’ and that’s exactly what I needed and exactly what I got (Mel, Jenn, and David, that includes you too).

Thus refreshed, I looked at the clock and realized that it was well beyond when I needed it to be and I still had to get to Ben’s school to pick him up for his doctor’s appointment to talk about stopping the medication that was hopefully the source of the drastic mood swings and anxiety that had made him particularly difficult to parent lately.

And it was at that very moment that I thought to myself, “This is the perfect time to make Valentines!”

A few weeks ago, Ian took Molly to Liquidation World to check out the store-closing sale and impulse-bought thoughtfully purchased several items, including very reasonably priced cellophane Valentine treat bags. Now under normal circumstances, this would have been perfectly fine – welcome, even – but given my fragile mental state in the context of the tornado of crazy that is my life right now, these GOD-DAMN TREAT BAGS have become the apex of my stress mountain – the one thing in my life that should be so absolutely simple (Use them. Don’t use them. Toss in a lollipop and call it a day. Pretend I can’t remember where I put them. So many nice, easy possibilities!) but instead has become the thing on which I have fixated ALL of my stress because I simply cannot allow said stress to affect the delicate balance of all the other balls I am just barely managing to keep in the air.

Saturday night, at Walmart: I need chocolate for the Annual Meeting (put chocolate hearts in cart). I should pick up Valentines for the kids (start looking at Valentines). Princess Valentines that come with bracelets – check! (put in cart) Angry Birds? No, Ben did Angry Birds last year. Bugs with sticky bug cling things – that works (put them in basket). Wait, then I have to get stuff to put in the treat bags. Okay…heart stampers (into basket). Pencils (into basket). I should get candies. More chocolate heart candies? But I don’t know if they’re peanut-free (look through all Valentine candies for peanut-free symbols, then reject them all on the basis of price anyway). But if I’m getting stuff to put in the treat bags, I shouldn’t just get the Valentines that come with useless crap that’s going to get thrown out anyway. I could get the cheaper Valentines that don’t come with things (put away other Valentines). Okay, so Princesses without bracelets for Molly. Jake and the Neverland Pirates for Ben? (put in basket). I don’t know though…he likes Jake, but I don’t know if he likes it enough for Valentines (put them back). Maybe I should let them choose their own cards (put the Princess ones back too). I really wanted to do that Pinterest thing with the fish candies. I wonder if they have them in the regular candy section (go all the way back through Walmart. Don’t find fish candies). I could check the dollar store. Actually, I could get stuff for the treat bags there too (put it all back and just buy the chocolates).

Monday afternoon: Take kids to the dollar store and pick out candies to put in treat bags. Foolishly mention to Ben that I had wanted to find banana or fish candies to do a Despicable Me or undersea-themed Valentine. Ben decides to hand draw all of his Valentines with minions and sea creatures. Molly wants hers to have princesses and rocks.

Monday evening: Second guess doing treat bags at all. Do I really want to be THAT mom?

Tuesday morning: Decide to go to the bulk food store after Ben’s appointment to look for banana or fish candies. Resolve (again) to be THAT mom.

Tuesday lunchtime: Decide that NOW is the appropriate moment to make a test-run of Despicable Me Valentine cards, on the off chance that we do find banana candies at the bulk store (but they won’t be individually wrapped. I would let my kids eat them, but I don’t know about all the other parents. Is this just a waste of time and effort? Are half of them just going to wind up in the garbage? Do I really want to be THAT mom?)

And that is how, as I ran back to the craft corner to get the black marker I had forgotten when I brought the rest of the craft supplies to my desk to make a test batch of Valentines before I raced to pick Ben up in time for his doctor’s appointment, I came to catch my foot on the leg of the couch and collapse in a writhing, gasping, broken-toe-gripping heap on the floor.

The Valentines turned out well though!

Minion Valentines

*In December I started working as a copywriter for a communications company. It sort of fell into my lap in the form of an offer I couldn’t refuse; Just as I had started to wrap my head around the fact that I was enjoying this whole writing gig and could maybe potentially see myself entertaining the possibility of vaguely dreaming about doing it professionally, the husband of an old friend called and said, “Hey, any chance you want a job as a copywriter?”

**I work from home doing medical transcription, which basically means I can type really fast and my spell-checker knows a lot of words you’ve never heard of.

***A year ago I unwittingly became chair of the Worship Committee at my church. Easy-peasy.

****And then I became chair of the whole shebang. Less easy-peasy.

Minutes of Pickles Family Meeting Regarding Equitable Distribution of Chocolates

Feb3

Pickles Family Meeting Regarding Equitable Distribution of Chocolates

February 1, 2014

Present: Ben, Molly, Mommy, Daddy

Regrets: None

Ben Pickles called the meeting to order at 6:00 PM.

Ben Pickles explained that he had called a family meeting to address the issue of Mommy eating more than 11 After Eight chocolates.

Ben Pickles stated that he feels it is important that we share treats and one person doesn’t eat all of them.

Mommy asked if this applies to Fortnam&Mason apple & custard hard candies as well because when Molly Pickles was told yesterday that she could only have her apple slices for snack, she sneaked into the cupboard and served herself a bowl of candies and ate them all.

Molly Pickles countered that she did not in fact eat them all because she could not fit the remainder in her mouth when Mommy came to take them away and that was mean.

Daddy giggled helplessly and unhelpfully.

Ben Pickles proposed that we require the sharing of chocolates equally and introduce a rule that chocolates only be eaten one at a time.

Mommy clarified that she had in fact eaten the chocolates one at a time, just in rapid succession.

Daddy asked if this directive would apply solely to chocolate or to other candies and/or treats.

Ben Pickles clarified that he intended the directive to include all candies and/or treats.

Ben Pickles proposed a vote by secret ballot and handed out ballots which, adding insult to injury, he then collected in the empty After Eight box.

Moved by Ben Pickles and seconded by Daddy that all candies and/or treats be shared in a fair and equitable manner and not consumed in disproportionate numbers by one person. Carried.

Mommy offered a formal apology: “I’m very sorry I ate so many.”

Molly Pickles offered no further comment regarding the hard candies.

Meeting adjourned at 6:20 PM.

Unmistakable evidence of Molly’s candy-eating transgression.

Scrutineer Ben tallying the results of the vote.

PicklesINK

Parenting. Learning. Caffeinating.

Tag Archive | Molly

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life…

Actions Speak Louder Than Words – Part 2

Sometimes the universe nudges you onto the ‘write’ path

Adventures in Mother’s Day

Stranger Danger

Vaguebooking was in Vogue Today

Princess Molly’s Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess.

Magical Parenting

Love Hurts

Minutes of Pickles Family Meeting Regarding Equitable Distribution of Chocolates