It's the little things

Full disclosure: I adore my kids, but they drive me crazy. They're going through a phase right now where they can't be in the same room together for more than 30 seconds without fighting about something, and they are both strong-willed, stubborn personalities. My younger one actually told me the other day that she wishes she could "move out and find another family so she wouldn't have to have a sister."

Well.

But here's the thing: for every moment I want to tear my hair out, there's another moment that makes up for it.

Last night, I did a "non-parenting" sort of thing. Even though we all had to get up the next morning for our whirlwind routine of camp and work, drop-offs and pick-ups, I let my older child (who's 8 now) stay up late and come outside with me, into the backyard.

We lit citronella candles and lay down side by side on a pool inflatable (pretty comfy, actually). Sometimes we talked about nothing in particular - just the random minutiae of our days. Other times, we listened to the noises of the night: cicadas singing, frogs sighing, wind rustling the leaves of the trees. We watched the stars come out slowly, one by one, and my daughter was so excited to find the North Star first.

We cuddled, and watched, and listened, and inhaled the sweet lemon scent of the candles along with the pure night air.

It was a small thing. A handful of minutes; nothing particularly momentous or memorable. But it was lovely. And, for that moment, it was enough.

Raising Grateful Kids

Let me start by saying this: I adore my kids, but I'm not a PTA queen, whip-up-a-gluten-free meal, Super Mom type. I don't understand Pokemon, and yes, I get bored of watching Paw Patrol for the 500th time. So it's not like I'm expecting a medal or a ticker-tape parade for making lunches, kissing boo-boos and finding missing stuffed animals.

But is it too much to ask for a little gratitude?

My kids are still relatively small, so perhaps my expectations are too high. But it's starting to worry me: what they perceive as "normal".

It's the little things. When I buy them clothes and instead of, "Thanks, Mom!", I get "But I don't like that colour."

When they talk about going on a cruise with the same casualness as going to the grocery store.

When they immediately expect to be able to participate in any activity they wish - from dancing, to art class, to skiing, to whatever else their little hearts desire.

I feel like our generation of parents has raised the parenting bar - as our parents did with us - and that dynamic is particularly obvious in my middle-class, suburban sphere. These are the sorts of kids who eat peanut-free organic food; who routinely go on ski trips and luxury vacations; who participate in so many after-school (and weekend) activities, it makes everyone's head spin. 

And sometimes, it's all a bit much. For example, my six-year-old is in competitive dance, and we recently got the list of makeup she "needs" for her competitions: $200 worth of Mac products! My makeup isn't worth that much, and I wear it every day.

Of course, I want to give my kids every advantage I can (and can afford). But I really don't want to wind up with spoiled or entitled kids.

So how do I walk the line between letting them enjoy the childish freedom of not having to worry about money and making sure they know how lucky they are to have the advantages they do? How can I get them to say "Thank you - I love it!" for the green sweater, even if they really wanted a pink one? 

And here's the real challenge: how do I teach them to appreciate what they have - when, as an adult, I sometimes don't do that myself?

That's the nut I haven't been able to crack. But once I figure it out, I'll be tremendously grateful.

Solving the Puzzle

Every time I read Dr. Seuss's All the Places You'll Go to my kids, I get this sneaking suspicion that it's actually written for the parents. Particularly when you get to the part: “So be sure when you step, Step with care and great tact. And remember that life's A Great Balancing Act."

Except I think Dr. Seuss got it wrong. I don't think it's a balancing act at all - because there's no possible way you could balance everything you need to balance without dropping something or falling down. 

The way I see it, life is more like a crazy hard jigsaw puzzle. It has thousands and thousands of pieces in all sorts of shapes and colours, and the pieces are all different sizes. 

But what makes it really challenging is that, on any given day, one of the pieces is suddenly way bigger than the others. And you have to take the whole thing apart and start all over again so you can find a way to make all of the other pieces fit around that one.

I work at a job that, while interesting and motivating, can be quite demanding at times. I have some great opportunities for professional success - but only if I work hard and show my commitment. My husband's been travelling for work more than usual. I commute two hours a day. My two young kids go to two different schools. There are activities and dentist appointments and school lunches and homework, sibling fights and illnesses and day-to-day chores. And so on, and so on....

Sometimes the "kid" piece of the puzzle is bigger - if they're sick or struggling with something.
Often, the "work" piece is bigger these days.

Rarely is the "friend" piece bigger.

And the spouse piece? Truthfully, most of the time, it's like that corner piece of sky or grass...you put it into place and then pretty much forget about it. And I know that's not a good thing.

I don't mean to complain or to say my life is easier or harder than anyone else's. It's just LIFE. But it bothers me that I turned 40 this year, and I still haven't figured out how to put all of the pieces together properly.

And here's my secret worry. Sometimes I try to look past the pieces to see the overall picture I'm trying to create, and I wonder, "Is it the one I really want?"

I think I've discovered a new genre: "Kids' books as self help for adults". Although clearly, Dr. Seuss doesn't have the right answers for me. Maybe I'll give Robert Munsch a try.

The Path Not Taken

This past June, I turned 40. I wasn't terribly fixated on the number itself - I know some forty-year-olds who act like like they're 80 and some seniors who'd give a twenty-five-year-old a run for her money - but of course I wanted to mark the occasion. 

So I went to France with two girlfriends. We flew into Paris and spent a couple of days - then we rented a car and drove into the countryside to visit some of the wine regions. For 10 days, we rammed around France, drinking wine, shopping, eating amazing food and seeing the sights. And did I mention drinking wine? It was an amazing trip, and I had a blast.

I don't know if I'm the only one who does this...but yeah, sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if I were on my own. No kids, no husband; just the freedom to go anywhere and do anything. 

My somewhat romanticized vision has me adventurously travelling across the globe to all sorts of exotic locations (Brazil! New Zealand! Africa!) - which I am somehow funding without having to work for a living. So I'm willing to concede that, perhaps, the reality wouldn't exactly match what I'm imagining.

But whether you really want to or not, turning 40 is one of those times where you can't help but take stock of your life and think, Am I where I want to be? Have I done the things I set out to do by this point in my life? What's missing?

It's easy to fixate on the things you didn't do - the paths you didn't take. It took me a loooong time to decide I was really ready to settle down and have kids, and sometimes, I feel like I've taken the "safe and boring" track. I didn't do a placement abroad after I got my teaching English as a second language certification. I haven't been to Thailand or New Zealand. Instead, I moved back to the suburbs, where I grew up, and I schlep into Toronto to work every day.

So I went away on my girls' trip to France. For 10 days, I didn't have to worry about rushing home from work, or putting anyone to bed, or breaking up fights, or getting anyone a snack (actually, scratch that last part - even grownups need snacks). I had no responsibilities. And it was awesome. 

But then I came back home, and my little girls ran to meet me, jumping on me and crying, "Mommy! Mommy!" as though I was a celebrity, and I was unbelievably glad to see them. And I realized, whatever trade-offs I've made, they're totally worth it. Just for the sheer joy in their voices, the sound of their laughter, the feel of their little arms cuddled tight around my neck. 

Sometimes, you need a little distance to see more clearly.

Forget the path not taken...I'm still on a path. And if it's something I really want - one way or another - I'll get there. 

Parenting on a Best-effort Basis

So I'm scrolling through my email the other day, and I see a parenting newsletter I subscribe to, with the headline, "Kids are addicted to devices—and it's our fault".

It probably says something about my parenting style that my first reaction wasn't, "Oh, I must immediately read this article to see what I need to do to remedy this terrible situation I've inadvertently created!" Instead, it was, "Greeeaaat...another crappy thing for which parents need to take the blame."

The story was about a study that has found kids model their parents' behaviour (well, duh), including how they behave with mobile devices. So when we're constantly checking our cell phones, we're teaching our kids bad habits about concentration and mindfulness. Ultimately, we're creating an environment that allows our children to become "addicted" to screen time.

I get it, I really do. But, as a mother, I'm getting a little tired of being blamed. It's our fault if we don't breastfeed our kids, because we're not giving them the "best start" in life—but it's equally our fault if we "expose" ourselves by breastfeeding in public. It's our fault for not always buying organic produce (even if our kid is going through a blueberry phase and a single pint of organic blueberries will set you back $8!). For going back to work instead of staying home to raise the kids—or for staying home and not living up to our full potential by going back to work. For not spending enough time with our children. For spending enough time with them, but not enough quality time. And now, for handing over the iPad so the grownups can have a peaceful dinner out.

Like parents everywhere, I make mistakes, I'm not doing everything perfectly, and I'm not always the parent I want to be. But I'm doing my best. 

I remembered the $2 donation for a gift for the teacher who's going on mat leave, I remembered Crazy Hair Day at my younger daughter's daycare, I remembered to pack my older daughter's lunch - but I forgot to have her read her home reader tonight.

I'm doing my best.

I'm going to the daycare Mother's Day party tomorrow and hosting a Mother's Day brunch on Sunday—even though I hate Mother's Day because it only reminds me of the fact that I don't have one anymore.

I'm doing my best.

I have to check my phone in the evenings and answer work emails sometimes—because I commute two hours to work each day, and that's the trade-off for leaving at a reasonable hour. And yes: sometimes that's not the real reason I'm on my phone. Sometimes I just want to play Candy Crush.

What do we tell our kids when they have a recital or a hockey game? "Don't worry; just do your best." So let's give ourselves the same advice.

Three Wishes For My Girls

As a parent, it's natural to want more for your kids. You want them to have the best education and opportunities. You want them to be smart and capable and successful. You want them to do more, see more, be more than you are.

I've been looking at my girls lately, imagining the adults they'll grow up to be and wondering what sort of lives they'll lead. Here are three wishes on their behalf.

Wish No. 1: They'll be brave. When I was growing up, I was focused on doing well and not making mistakes. But I'm turning 40 this year, and I find myself looking back at my decisions so far and wondering, Why did I waste so much time and energy on worrying rather than doing? 

There are times I've held my tongue when I should have spoken up. There are risks I didn't take that I wish I'd taken. I want my kids to grow up feeling they can take those risks, as long as they understand the nature of the risks they're taking. I want them to know it's okay to make mistakes—even big ones—as long as you can learn from them and use that information moving forward.

Wish No. 2: They won't have to worry about work/life balance. I know a lot of smart, amazing women—and men—who still struggle to balance the competing demands of work and family. And there's been a ton of dialogue on the issue: how to find balance, how there is no work/life balance; how to have it all, how it's impossible to have it all....

By the time my girls enter the workforce, I hope we'll be done talking about it—because it won't even be an issue. They won't be concerned about leaving work early to pick up their kids from daycare or feel guilty about being at work instead of at home. Because, really, why should they?

Wish No. 3: They'll learn how to advocate—and negotiate—for themselves. In our current work environment, where there's still a gender pay gap and fewer female CEOs, these are important skills for women to have. But the fact is, everybody needs to learn how to do this. It's an important part of building a professional career.

I hope my girls will grow up with the intelligence and confidence to know and communicate their worth—and not settle for any less than they deserve.


What do you wish for your kids?

I'm So Mad At You...And I Love You!

It's not been a fabulous week for me, parenting-wise.

I find myself commanding, lecturing and yelling a lot. There's been a lot of, "Take your boots off," "Sit down," and "Eat your dinner." 

And then there are the don'ts: "Don't bug your sister." "Don't play with Mommy's phone." "Don't play with your feet at the table." (Yes, I really have to say that.)

Of course, I do say "please" in front of all of those requests. (At least the first time—after that, all bets are off.) But sometimes, no matter what I say or don't say, my kids just don't listen.

I know I'm not the only one with this problem...there are reams of parenting blogs out there documenting and struggling with the same issue. But that doesn't make it any less annoying.

My kids have learned how to push all of my buttons, and it's exhausting. There are times when I just don't feel like trying to get my kids to understand the consequences of their actions, or doling out rewards or punishments. Sometimes, all I really want is for them to JUST DO WHAT I SAY FOR ONCE.

But what's always mystified me is this: How can I go so quickly from being totally frustrated with my kids to being utterly besotted with them?  

Here's what usually happens. I'll be standing in front of the kitchen counter, fuming about my kids' bad behaviour. And then the three-year-old comes in, dressed in her cozy footed pyjamas, her long hair falling messily about her shoulders and her mouth turned down at the corners, knowing that I'm angry. And she holds her warm little arms out for a hug, and says, in a quiet voice, "Sorry, Mommy." 

And that's it for me. How could I possibly stay mad?

It's a cycle that never ends. Today won't be the last day I tell my kids to pick up their socks—or get frustrated when they don't. 

But there's another thing that won't change: it doesn't take much for me to fall in love with them all over again.

Change Is the Only Constant

We had a landmark day in our household the other day: we said goodbye to diapers. As in, completely. Our three-year-old hadn't needed them during the day for a long time, but my husband and I were still putting her in pullups at night—probably more for our peace of mind than for hers. When we finally decided to pull the plug on the pullups, she was fine with it.

This is a big deal. A very big deal. Why? Because, if you think about it, we have been changing diapers, in some form or quantity, for more than five years. And now we're entering an entirely new stage of parenting.

When my kids were babies, I remember how frustrating it was when they did certain things. That period where they throw things on the floor all the time, for example. Or the terrible twos (and threes, and even fours), when they act like completely unreasonable little dictators most of the time. "Hang in there; it's a phase," other parents said. "It will pass."

And you know what? They were right. That was the best piece of parenting advice I ever got.

The days are long but the years are short...and nowhere is this truer than in the never-ending responsibility of parenting. While you're in the the thick of it, some of those annoying phases seem to last forever. But later, when you look back on them, it feels like it all happened in the blink of an eye.

When I look at my five-year-old, sometimes, I catch a glimpse of what she'll be like at fifteen. There will still be drama, but instead of playground cliques, it will be boy drama or girl drama. The choices will be harder; the stakes will be higher. Certainly, I will no longer be the centre of her universe. So why would I rush it?

Every age and stage of parenting is unique, with its own challenges and joys. As parents, we stay (more or less) the same, while our children grow up and build their own independent lives. That's as it should be. But how lucky we are: we get to come along for the ride.

 

We're Doing Okay

I'm sure by now many people have read the article that's making its way over various social media, Are we the worst generation of parents ever? This very well written piece makes a convincing case for how fear of our children falling behind—or even just being average—drives us to obsess over their development, overschedule their activities and do too many things for them. All of this can lead to stressed-out, dependent children with an entitlement mentality and poor problem-solving skills.

"If our own parents tilted too much toward neglect, they gave us space, and the bruises and social gaffes of our off-line childhoods made us who we are," the author writes. "And we aren’t the worst generation of parents ever, just the most anxious. It takes courage to still the currents of fear and just let our children be. But to be better parents, we may have to do less."

It's a totally valid point. But does adding this additional layer of stress help? As noted, we're already an anxious generation of parents that worries constantly about whether our kids eat organic produce, play with intellectually stimulating BPA-free toys, participate in enough activities to make them well-rounded individuals...do we now also have to worry about doing too much rather than too little?

We are the generation that drove home the phrase "mom guilt". Add this to the pile, and it becomes just one more thing we need to feel guilty about.

So I want to tell you something: you're doing okay.

• Whether you're the parent who packs his child's lunch with healthy homemade snacks or prepackaged crackers and cheese—you're doing okay.

• Whether you have your kid participating in five extracurricular activities, one or none—you're doing okay.

• Whether your child is truly exceptional or just average—you're doing okay.

There are many different paths to raising a healthy, happy, socially adjusted child, and we all need to choose our own. We'll make mistakes, of course—we all do—but the fact that we spend so much time reading articles like these shows we have what it takes to do it, and do it well. 

I agree, we could probably ease up a bit on the violin lessons and create more accountability for our kids. And no way am I doing their homework for them! But let's not let fear of overinvolvement become yet another thing to obsess over—or, worse, cause us to swing the pendulum too far in the opposite direction.
 
Because you know what? We're not perfect; we don't have it all figured out. But we're doing okay.

Home for the Holidays

So it's Sunday afternoon, and the kids are getting crazy, and I'm looking for an activity to keep the busy for a couple of hours. I need to bake something for the United Way fundraiser at work the next day, so I think, Great, I'll get the kids to bake with me!

I decide on a couple of easy recipes (quick shortbread, chocolate chip cookies) and give them some minor tasks to do (pour in pre-measured ingredients, mix the cookie batter, etc.). I even give them their own pre-made gingerbread men to decorate while I'm working on the harder tasks. But it doesn't take long before they're fighting over who got more candy to decorate with, who is hogging the icing and who ate whose red candy (spoiler alert: it was the three-year-old). 

I'm trying to resolve their issues and keep them away from the hot oven while also trying to actually get some baking done. So I get flustered and don't read the recipe properly and skip a step, and then I find I've added a teaspoon of salt instead of half a teaspoon...and finally, I end up saying, "Okay, kids! Thanks for your help! Now go find something else to do!"

And eventually, I sort everything out. But while I'm putting the last batch of cookies in the oven, I suddenly feel profoundly sad. Because this is one of those things my Mom would have done...but better.

I always find myself thinking of my mother around the holidays. Maybe it's because she died in January, four years ago now, during a cold snap (she hated the cold just as much as I do). Or maybe it's just because she was so good at holiday entertaining. 

When we went over to my parents' place for Christmas, she'd have a full turkey dinner prepared with all of the accompaniments, including homemade stuffing. She was one of those mothers who would start baking months before and freeze everything in batches so that, come Christmas Day, she'd have a staggering array of goodies to set out—mostly from recipes she'd memorized or just made up herself. She would buy Christmas presents months in advance and stash them away (admittedly, sometimes forgetting where she hid them until the holidays had long passed. Getting Christmas presents in July was not uncommon in our house.)

If she had been here, baking with me, she would have found some way to get the girls involved without jeopardizing the results or getting flustered. She would have been calm and in control. And maybe I'm looking at it through the rosy glow of nostalgia...but I bet everything she made would have tasted delicious.

So why isn't she here to help me?

This is the futile question I ask myself every once in a while. When I'm struggling with my kids, my marriage, my work or other facets of my life. When my girls ask about her. When I find I'm not measuring up to my ideal of who I want to be, as a woman or as a mother, and I wish I could ask her for advice.

It's not an answerable question, and I'll never be the sort of mother she was. But my chocolate chip cookies? They tasted pretty damn good.

3 Experiences that Are Totally Different for Kids

Sometimes, it's not the experience itself but your perspective on that experience that makes all the difference. Here are three experiences that are totally different for kids versus grown-ups.

No. 1: Going to Work

Kid: Wow, this work place must be amazing! Mom and Dad spend soooo much time there; it must be super fun! You get to play on a computer all day, and I bet you can eat as much junk food as you want. Plus, you get to ride a cool-looking train to get there. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I wish I could go, too. Can I come to work with you, Mama? Please, please, PLEASE?!

Adult: Monday. Sigh. Where's the coffee?

No. 2: The First Snowfall

Kid: SNOW!!! We can have snowball fights! Make snow angels! Go tobogganing! Do you wanna build a snowman? I wonder if I can...let me see...yes, I CAN catch snowflakes on my tongue. And guess what: they taste JUST. LIKE. WATER! Maybe today will be a snow day, and I won't have to go to school, and there will be so much snow that we'll have to stay home for DAYS just watching movies and roasting marshmallows....

Adult: Aw crap...snow! Already?! I haven't put the snow tires on yet! It's really coming down...that's going to double my commute. Where the #$%@ is the stupid scraper? Don't tell me: it's still in a box at the top of the garage. And where are the kids' snowpants? Has anybody seen their boots? Do the ones from last year still fit? Well, they're just going to have to squeeze into them for now; we're already late. Damn it, I wish I'd put the car in the garage last night...and refilled the windshield washer fluid...and warmed it up before trying to drive it....

No. 3: Running Errands

Kid: Mom, can we have that cereal, the one with the rainbow marshmallows? Please? Please? I LOVE that cereal; I will eat it EVERY DAY, I PROMISE! And those cookies shaped like teddy bears...can we have those, too? Oh, look—yummy fruit snacks! Let me see if I can reach them...no...no...YES, I GOT 'EM! Whoops. Anyway, can I open them now? I'm hungry. Do you have any other snacks in your purse? I'm thirsty, too. Are we done yet? I have to pee. Actually, I have to pee RIGHT NOW. Oh...maybe I don't. But I want to get out of the cart. I WANT TO GET OUT OF THE CART!!! LET ME OUT!!!

Adult: All I want is to get in and out of the grocery store in less than an hour and a half without yelling at somebody or totally losing my mind. Is that really too much to ask?!   

Too late. Never mind.

 

Why It's Impossible to Parent Your Kids the Same Way

I remember when my oldest child was 10 months old, and my husband and I started talking about baby No. 2. We knew we wanted two kids, and we wanted them to be reasonably close in age. But we did wonder how we'd be able to share our time and attention with two kids instead of focusing on just one.

My husband is a younger sibling, so naturally, he was worried about that. (Ask any parent with more than one kid what the baby book looks like for their subsequent children, and their response will either be, "What baby book?", or they'll have one but they'll be so far behind in updating it that they won't want you to see it.)

As an older sibling, it used to drive me crazy when my parents would try to resolve arguments between me and my sister with, "Well, she's just a baby" or "You're the older one, so you should know better." So I wanted to make sure our older child wouldn't be overly burdened with that responsibility. We discussed these viewpoints and vowed to be consistent in parenting both children the same.

Which is all well and good...except it didn't really turn out that way. And I'm not talking about giving them both the same pink plastic cups at dinner time, or cutting the chocolate bar carefully down the middle so the two halves are precisely equal, or making sure they take turns playing with a favourite toy. That's the easy stuff. What's harder is to be the same parent to both (all) of your kids.

There are a few reasons this is an impossible goal. For one, your kids are going to have different needs at different times. When you have a toddler and a baby, for example, the toddler may get short shrift sometimes when the baby's needs are more urgent, and vice versa.

The kids are different, too, with their own unique personalities. From a reward and discipline standpoint, what works (or doesn't work) for one doesn't necessarily work (or not work) for the other. It takes a fair amount of trial and error to figure out what each child responds to and why.

Not only that, you are a different person with your first child than with subsequent kids. With your first, you find yourself doing things like checking every five minutes to make sure the baby is still breathing. Why? Because you have no frame of reference for your day-to-day experience and no real evidence you're doing the right things. With subsequent children...well, you got this far and the first kid survived, so you must be doing something right. Right?

And finally, no matter how much we try not to let emotions rule our decision-making, we're all human. You love your kids equally, but, as with adult friendships, you may find yourself gravitating toward one more than the other for different reasons, at different times in your life. For example, when I find myself getting really frustrated with one of my girls, it's usually because I'm reacting to a behaviour or a personality trait that I don't like in myself (e.g., stubbornness). Seeing something you've always struggled with reflected back in your kid's eyes...well, that's hard to deal with.

So I've come to the conclusion that I can't really parent my kids exactly the same. But what I can do is love them and respect them separately for the unique and wonderful human beings they are—and hope that, one day, they'll understand.

The Great Escape

It doesn't happen all the time. Just once in a while—usually in an airport or a train station.

During my morning commute, I get off the GO train at Union Station. I walk through the VIA train terminal to get outside, so I can see the travellers waiting with their luggage, the electronic signs glowing with departures for this destination or that. People milling about, talking, laughing, checking their phones, buying coffee.

And for a moment, I think: what if I just got on one of these trains and took off somewhere? I'd never do it, of course. But the temptation is there. And it's even stronger in an airport, with its more exotic destinations: Cairo or Bangkok or Sydney.

I'm starting to understand why people have mid-life crises. Because when you hit a certain age, you start to compare the life you have to the one you could have had. And no matter what you've done (or not done), when you measure yourself by your own idealistic expectations, you're bound to find something lacking.

Don't misunderstand me: I'm extremely grateful for what I have. At 39, I have a caring husband and two beautiful girls. A comfortable house in the suburbs with a pool and a hot tub. A lucrative job and a strong professional career. Not too shabby, really.

But there's a small part of me that wonders: this daily routine of rushing to work and rushing home, school lunches and laundry and swimming lessons, bathtime and bedtime and falling asleep myself with the kids when I put them to bed just so I can get up and do it again tomorrow...is this it? 

What kind of life would I have if I'd done things differently? What if, instead of getting married and having kids, I had decided to travel the world, or move to Paris and try to write a novel? What would it be like to be untethered? Would my life be more adventurous? Would I be more willing to take bigger risks for greater possibilities?

I'm not naive; I understand the grass is always greener. I feel guilty for even thinking about it, as though I'm subtly jinxing my good fortune.  

I may wonder sometimes about paths not taken. But the truth is, though I've made my share of mistakes, if I had the chance to do things over again, it's not the big things I'd do differently. I'd probably be wondering about the exact same issues—just from the other side.

The eastbound train arrives, and people rush to get on it. The moment passes. And I keep walking.

#firstworldparentingproblems

I admit it: sometimes, I have a short fuse.

When I've worked a long week, and I'm feeling drained, and all I want to do is put the kids to bed so I can have a couple of hours of kid-free time, I get frustrated when my kids don't cooperate with my plan. It seems they didn't get the memo.

A typical night in our house goes something like this.

- My three-year-old doesn't want to use THAT bathroom but only the OTHER bathroom downstairs, even though we've all just gone upstairs to get ready for bed. Okay, whatever.

- I ask my five-year-old to please put on her pyjamas.

- My three-year-old wants to pick out her OWN pull-up and put on her OWN pyjamas, but NOT the ones I've picked out for her in an attempt to expedite the getting-ready-for-bed process.

- I check on my five-year-old. She's playing with her My Little Ponies. I ask her again to please put on her pyjamas now.

- My three-year-old wants to brush her OWN teeth and proceeds to freak out when I try to brush the teeth she's missed during her own attempts (which is to say, most of them).

- I check on my five-year-old. She's still fully dressed, looking at the pictures in a book. I tell her to PUT ON HER PYJAMAS RIGHT NOW, AND I DON'T WANT TO ASK AGAIN!!! 

And so it goes.

Eventually, at a tortuously slow pace, all of the bedtime tasks are finally accomplished, and both kids are in bed. But, by the end of it all, I'm often feeling kind of pissed off. And then I feel guilty about feeling pissed off. It's a vicious cycle.

But what I need to remember is, all of those mundane frustrations and irritations are really just a drop in the bucket.

When you're a parent, it's difficult to get perspective on your own life. You tend to get mired in your own daily dramas and forget they're really quite trivial.

Appreciating what you have can be hard, and it's human nature to want more. But the fact is, I have two beautiful girls, and they're happy and healthy, smart and thriving. Sure, they push my buttons—a LOT—but they're good kids. Most of the time, anyway.

And the tradeoff for those times when I just want to hand them off is the times when I just don't want to let them go. Like when I'm cuddling next to them in bed, and the house is quiet. When I can feel the warmth of their skin as they lean into me and surrender to sleep, trusting me completely to love them and keep them safe.

The truth is, I'm so very lucky. And I sometimes forget that. But I promise to try harder to remember.

At least, most of the time.

Don't Underestimate Your Kids

It stems from a good place, I think. As parents, we know it's our job to keep our kids happy and safe. We worry about them and try hard to steer them in the right direction. From the moment they become mobile, words like "don't" and "careful!" and "watch out!" become integral parts of our vocabulary. 

But maybe that same tendency to protect them sometimes does them a disservice.

A couple of weeks ago, we took our kids (age 3 and 5) to Canada's Wonderland for the day. The five-year-old wanted to go on a "big kid" ride with me, so we stood in line for the Silver Streak roller coaster. It was a pretty long line, but she was game, so I figured, why not?

As we waited...and waited...and waited...I couldn't help noticing most of the other kids in line looked quite a bit bigger and older. And, watching the roller coaster, it seemed pretty fast. I worried my five-year-old would be scared of the speed and the drops, and I wondered if we should just turn around and leave.

But when we finally got to the front of the line and it was our turn...she loved it. I'll never forget the look of joy and excitement on her face as we whooshed along the track, screaming and laughing at the same time.

I'm embarrassed to admit, it's not the first time I've thought, She'll never be able to do that, or There's no way she'll have the patience for it. And you know what? Most of the time, I've been wrong.

My kids constantly amaze and surprise me. They're always striving to surpass their current abilities and learn new things. So who am I to hold them back?

Our natural inclination is to protect our children, shield them, keep them safe from harm. But we can't protect them from everything—and the irony is, it's usually the thing we didn't think of that happens, anyway.

So when my five-year-old wants to jump into the deep end of the pool with no floaties and swim to the side, why would I say no? Of course, I'll be watching, just in case...but if she doesn't try, then how will she know if she can do it? And if she can't, then how will she ever learn?

I don't want to be a helicopter mom. I want to be the kind of mom who gives her children the strength and support to take risks. Sometimes they'll succeed, and sometimes they'll fail. But I'll be there—either to pick them up and dust them off, or to congratulate them on a new accomplishment. What's important is to give them the freedom to try.
 

3 Things I Know About Three-year-olds

My youngest daughter just turned three. So, in honour of that occasion, I give you three things I know about three-year-olds.

1. They want what they want - Whether it's wearing a full-on princess outfit (tiara and all) to go grocery shopping with you or using the blue cup instead of the red one at dinnertime, they know their own minds, and there's no persuading them otherwise. For mine, that currently means wearing the same gold dress every day. It doesn't matter that the dress is more appropriate for an evening party than for daycare. It doesn't matter if it's 15 degrees outside or 35. Or that the dress definitely needs to be washed at some point (because three-year-olds are not exactly known for their cleanliness and fastidiousness about their clothes). She. Wants. To. Wear. That. Dress. 

Okay, then. It's a pick-your-battles thing. Which leads me to No. 2...

2. They are 100% correct about everything, at all times - Or so they think, anyway. There is no one—and I mean, no one—more imperious than a three-year-old. Three-year-olds should run boardrooms, they're so confident about the validity of their position. And if that position happens to completely defy logic, or the laws of nature or physics, then so what? 

That toy, which is twice as big as the one she's trying to shove it into, just doesn't fit in there? Doesn't matter. IT GOES IN THERE. And that's that. Failure to understand this will undoubtedly lead to a meltdown of epic proportions.

3. They are really, really cute - There's something magical about that time of transition between toddler-hood and school age. Three-year-olds try so hard to keep up with the big kids, yet they still want to be snuggled and carried in your arms. They can express their needs and desires—loudly and clearly—but their language doesn't always keep up with their thoughts and imagination. 

For example, my three-year-old still calls polka dots "poke-a-bots". I think this is totally adorable and am trying hard not to correct her.

I find it helpful to remember that, however tiring and exasperating they may be sometimes, three-year-olds are also hilarious and adorable. I try to keep that in mind when mine is freaking out over my egregious error of giving her the wrong colour socks or refusing to go to bed unless I play with her stuffed animals and sing her songs for 10 minutes. 

(And guess what? She can't tell time yet. So that's one I can win...for now.)

It's the Little Things

Pre-kids, my husband and I loved to travel, spending much of our disposable income on  trips to exotic locations. While in university, I spent a semester studying abroad at an English castle and then backpacked through Europe for a few weeks. I travelled up the east coast of Australia with my sister, lounging on white sandy beaches, exploring Fraser Island and heading to the outback to climb Ayers Rock. 

Together, my husband and I hiked the Inca trail to Machu Picchu and hung out with howler monkeys in the Amazon. We cruised to China, South Korea and Japan, climbing the Great Wall, eating delicious Korean food and shopping for electronics in Tokyo. For our honeymoon, we took a luxurious Mediterranean cruise, trawling the cobblestone streets in Nice, visiting art galleries in Florence, watching the most beautiful sunsets in Santorini.

And then, we had kids. And we were grounded for a while. 

Just the thought of a long flight with a toddler and a baby seemed like more effort than it was worth. Factoring in two sets of diapers, spare clothes to cover any bodily fluid leakages and enough wipes for a small army, the packing alone could take days. So, aside from a couple of beach vacations, our kids haven't been to that many places. Yet.

This past weekend, we took a mini-vacation and brought the kids to Niagara Falls. Okay, it's not Paris or Monaco...but we went on the Maid of the Mist (now called the Hornblower, apparently) and watched my five-year-old squeal with joy as she got soaked by the spray. We let them explore kitschy attractions like the upside-down house, the mystery maze and the fun house. We rode the giant Ferris wheel at dusk, looking down on the roaring falls and twinkling lights below. At night, we watched fireworks from our hotel room. On the way back home the next day, we dragged the girls to three wineries for some grown-up time and then rewarded them by letting them pick out treats at the chocolate factory.

And you know what? They had a blast. And so did we.

Maybe travelling with kids isn't just about big trips to far-off places. Maybe what's really important is the time you spend with them, showing them things you enjoyed that they might enjoy, too. 

We'll get back to the more exotic travel some day, as the girls become less needy and more self-sufficient—I can see that shift happening already. And the day will come when they won't want to travel with us at all.

So I'll try not to feel antsy about missing out on trips to Thailand or New Zealand; I'll get there someday. Today, my time is better spent focusing on finding joy in the little things—because to my kids who love me, that's what matters.

Always Something There to Remind Me

Even with its warmer weather, budding trees and blooming flowers, I always kind of dread May. When I start to see the ads for jewelry stores on TV, urging me to "spoil your mom on Mother's Day!"—even though I know it's a cheesy holiday—I still find myself getting teary. Because when other people are taking their mothers out for lunch, to the spa or a show, or worrying about what to give them, I'm not doing any of those things.

I thought I did pretty well this year. We went out for a nice (admittedly, slightly hungover) brunch on Sunday, just me and my girls and my wonderful husband. I smiled at the kids' cute homemade gifts and gave them lots of kisses.

But it just takes the smallest thing to trigger a reaction or a memory. The other day, I'm driving home with the windows down, sun streaming in through the sunroof, and I'm thinking how lucky I am to have everything I have: the job, the husband, the house, the kids....

And it's not a new thought, but it suddenly hits me: my kids will never know their Nana. My youngest never even got to meet her. My mother will never push my two-year-old on a swing or help my five-year-old learn to read. She'll never come over for dinner and bring the kids little gifts (my mom was a champion gift-giver—she had the rare ability to find and give you the one thing you didn't know you wanted or needed until you saw it). She'll never again play dress up or tea party, or any of the millions of make-believe games she once so patiently played with me.

And when that realization hits you (once again), it's like being dunked in ice water. You have to take a moment to breathe deeply, to force your thoughts away from the dark path it wants to follow and focus instead on the present. You have to remind yourself, again, of what you do have—which is a lot. Easy to say, hard to do.

I've always thought (even though I know life doesn't work this way) that my sweet, cuddly two-year-old was the tradeoff for my loss. When my mother died, that baby was growing inside me. Circle of life, and all that.

It's funny, though: when you lose a parent, you never entirely get past it. There's always a little hole you can't mend, a tear in your universe you can't repair, an empty spot where that person used to be.

But the only way to live is to live the life you have, not a Hallmark version of the life you wish you had. So I'll just have to cuddle my two-year-old close and enjoy her. For both of us.

Running the Gauntlet

It's 7:10 a.m., and I'm standing outside the toddler's door while she wails inside her bedroom. She is mad (I think) because I tried to make her put on pants? Or maybe because it's Blue Day at daycare, and she wanted to wear blue, but she pulled out a pair of black pants instead and I told her they weren't, in fact, blue?

I'm not 100% sure, but she's definitely mad about something. And now it's 7:15 a.m., and we're behind schedule, and all I want most deeply and fervently is for her to PUT ON HER FRIGGIN' PANTS so I can get in my car and drive to the GO station and get a coffee and sit in peace on the train for half an hour.

Weekday mornings with kids are the worst. You're rushed and you don't understand why they can't just listen for once, do what you want for once, so you can get to work on time to deal with the rest of the crap you have to deal with that day.

And evenings aren't much better. Often, the kids are tired and hungry, you're tired and cranky, and—let's face it—you're counting down the minutes until you can put them to bed and have a glass of wine and think about something other than who stole whose ball or whose turn it is to ride the scooter.

When you have small children, there are days that feel like a marathon. You're running and running, but it doesn't seem like you're getting anywhere. And you'll feel guilty for thinking this way, but you might even wonder why you're doing it, if it's worth it.

But then, there it is: that moment.

When it's dark and cold, and you snuggle up next to your daughter's warm body and bury your face in her hair, inhaling its clean, fresh scent. And your arm's around her, and her little hand is resting on your arm, gently, not wanting to let go of you even as she sinks into sleep. And you listen to her breathing get deeper and deeper, and your heartbeat slows, too. 

For once, your mind is quiet. The world stills. And, just for a moment, that's all that matters.

And that's why you do it. 

And it's enough to make you get up and run the gauntlet again tomorrow.