mothering sound byte: toddler f-bombing

the boy has discovered swearing. well, he's been dropping the f-bomb for a long time now, since his first pre-school stint. but it's only lately that he's been saying the f-word with any regularity in its proper context - usually following some sort of denied request: candy, screen time, outside play, etc. 

i used to love to swear. once upon a time it was my favourite sort of rebellion. i swore not so much because it was cool but because it empowered me to be emphatic about my individuality. i've curbed my penchant for vulgar hyperboles since motherhood. but in all sincerity - and this may be controversial, i think nothing of swearing. 

swearing is not a parenting hill for me to die on. i refuse to be a hypocrite about the use of such language as a form of expression - especially because momma-the-hulk often can't control herself (rather reguarly). so when the boy began singing "aw man f*ck it" over and over again, i stifled a giggle and proclaimed that such language should be confined within the walls of our home and it is not appropriate to use the f-word in public. which worked for a bit. the point is to know when it is appropriate and when it is not appropriate to swear, after all. 

more recently though, the boy has been pushing the limits of my proclamation to confine swearing for home use only, using the f-word at nearly every turn. so i started a game. that instead of saying "oh f*ck" we could use funny words and things. i offered, "oh fudge!" and the boy agreed, after just a little coercing that this was, indeed, funny. he countered with "oh peanut butter sandwiches!" to which i responded with, "oh gummy bears!" in fits of laughter, he called out "oh wormy!" which stopped me in my tracks and without missing a beat, the boy points at me triumphant, "i beat you!" back and forth this repartee went and such fun we've been having. 

the boy and i have been beaming with pride ever since. me, for my oh so clever parenting win. the boy, because he's found that there are many ways he can express his displeasure and disappointment without also getting in trouble. "mama! did you hear me? i said 'oh apple pie' and 'not oh f*ck!'" we take what we can get.

the other day, the kids were having a snack when the boy decided it was time to play again:

the boy: can we have chocolate cake now? 
me: no, we're saving it for dinner with our friends, remember? 
the boy:  oh swiper!
me: oh peanut butter sandwiches with turkeys on top!
the boy: oh gummy wormies with fudge!
me: that was a good one!
the girl (who'd been giggling with us all along): oh f*ck.
me: [doubled over, laughing, crying]
the boy: she beat you!
me: [tears in my eyes, shaking my head]

oh parenting fail.

mothering sound byte: the good witch

we were just finishing a quick lunch on cook street after a lovely tour around beacon hill park. patio seating was at a premium, so i offered a woman two of our seats since we were about to pack up. she had shoulder-length curly red hair and a big smile. she wore a straw fedora and a vest. when she came closer to our table to accept the chairs with gratitude, the following conversation ensued:

the girl [wide-eyed and serious, to the woman]: are you the witch?  

the woman: i'm sorry, what?  

me [wide-eyed, wracking my brain for something, anything, that rhymes with witch that would actually be helpful, despite my horror. i had nothing.]: uh.... 

the woman: am i a witch? 

[the girl nods. still nothing came out of my mouth.] 

the woman: ... i'm a good witch! 

[i muffle my enormous sigh of relief] 

the girl: you're a good witch? 

the woman: yes i am!

[my mom and i laugh together as the woman walks away with the chairs, still smiling.]

best come back ever. the woman did look a bit like a middle-aged glinda, if she ever walked among us to coffee at starbucks.

later, she passed by again, as we regaled the wife with the story of the good witch. she gave the girl blessings for her whole life. 

and for the whole day, the girl repeated, "she's the good witch?" yes. yes, my sweet imaginative, inquisitive, incorrigible girl. you met a good witch.

phew.

the way forward

it's all happening too fast.

with the stealth of lara croft, my daughter snuck into my bedroom, spun around my office chair at least 13 times, snatched a handful of chocolate covered almonds, and stuffed them safely into her mouth, chewing them well before the 2 minutes it usually takes me to find her, wherever she is, in our home.

my little girl turns 2 in a couple of weeks and she constantly asks "why" with the sure wisdom of the word's pause-inducing power over her mothers. why, indeed, do we have to put her jacket on when we're still in the restaurant and not outside? why, indeed, does she actually need to stay in the stroller? why in the world does she have to go where we're going?

all the while, my son who turns 4 in a month is constantly giving us feedback and providing us with remedial training on just about everything: what to put away, how to cook, how to make him a glass of warm milk. today, i got schooled on the fact that i should not slide a glass across the table and just about an hour ago, he told me it was "so rude of [my wife,  his other mother]" not to have taken the time to say goodbye before leaving for her meeting.

there is a veritable onslaught of articles and blogs and books in these here interwebz on how to raise childre, "the right way" (never mind all that other noise on my untraditional family make-up). i read what interests me, take my grain of salt, and pay no attention to the rest.

i'm not a perfect person. i'm not a perfect mother. and like any other parent, i do what i feel is right for my family as things happen. i do my best. some days it's an uphill battle of wills (and let's face it, wits), made difficult by sleep deprivation and competing priorities - especially when i'm on auto-pilot (and make no mistake, it's ugly). other days, i'm thunderstruck with a joy that wells to the point where there simply are no words.

photo by the wife from the top of rock island in whytecliff park.
she and the boy scaled it together for the first time. 

right now, at this moment, i'm proud of my already-opinionated, very vocal, incorrigible babes. putting aside all necessary discipline measures, each moment of dissent (among other unflattering emotions) beams in me a glimmer of hope that these babes will stand up for themselves when it counts, that they will carry on feeding their curiosity, and question the status quo when they think it's necessary. 

every time they give us feedback, it is always humbling, yes. but it also lets me know that on some level - even as toddlers, they see us as human, as well as their parents.

the girl is only nearly 2 and the boy is only nearly 4. but it is so important to me that they know that the process of learning and communicating is a road that goes the distance, under often unpredictable circumstances, in both directions. 

and we can all take turns leading the way forward.

all photos taken at the breathtaking whytecliff park in west vancouver

mothering soundbyte: an exercise in patience

the wife, as overheard from my home office yesterday afternoon:

"son, come here. i'm hugging the angry out of you. i'm hugging the angry out of you. i'm hugging the angry out of you. i'm hugging the angry out of you. i'm hugging the angry out of you. i'm hugging the angry out of you."

i love her so.

at marineland, a few weeks ago now.

mothering soundbyte: separation anxiety

at 3:30am this morning , as the wife is getting ready for work (don't ask): 

me: dude. i can't believe it. it was just the two of us in bed all night. 

wife: i know, eh? how did you feel?  

me: a little weirded out, to be honest.  

wife: yeah. you looked uncomfortable. 

me: really? how?  

wife: you were hugging yourself, like this. [crosses her ams on her chest like a vampire.]

seriously.

just because the pink poppies
in the coop gardens make me happy.

mothering soundbyte: momma fail

me: something something something (i can't remember now)
the boy: huh?
me: instead of saying, "huh?" it's better to say, "pardon?"
the boy: pardon?
me: yes. it's just the more polite way of asking someone to repeat what they said. it sounds nicer.
the boy: (something indiscernable)
me: huh?

on the ferry to victoria last weekend

so much for leading by example.

mothering soundbyte: an angry moment for the boy

son: mom, i want some chocolate milk


me: after nap.


son: no, i want some now.


me: you've already had 2 treats: a penguin cookie and two little 
chocolates. nap first, then you can have some chocolate milk.


son: you make me so angry [hands clenched]


me: i'm sorry i make you angry [hugging him tighter]  but it's my job to make sure that you're not eating too much sweets. (a weak argument, i know). i'm sure i will make you angry many more times again throughout your entire life. 


son: [wide-eyed silence]


me: [tighter grip on the three-year old]

is it... weird, that it makes me proud that he told me he was angry with me? it kind of makes my heart swell a bit.