tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49049571820594024122024-03-13T17:34:52.024-03:00A Hop, Skip and a Jump AwayShenanigans Inc. . . A Hop, Skip and a Jump Awayferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.comBlogger408125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-22947663214158881452019-04-04T12:58:00.000-03:002019-04-04T13:21:26.724-03:00Good Morning!<div style="text-align: center;">
Okay, okay, it is a blog post, and I am sorry that it has been almost a year since I last posted, but this was seriously the first time in that year that I have felt the need to write, and when you read this post you will ask yourself: </div>
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<i>Why did this particular moment merit the lofty recognition of a blog post?</i></div>
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and I would answer:</div>
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<i>For no other reason than it made me laugh, and I hope it makes you laugh too.</i></div>
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If you follow me on social media, you are probably aware of the ridiculously frustrating day I had yesterday. It started out with me flooding the kitchen, which caused me to forget to make Leif a lunch for school, which was then followed up by a loaf of bread not properly placed in the bread maker. So when Harriet and I returned home from playgroup, looking forward to some yummy homemade bread to go with the equally delicious soup I had made the night before for our lunch, we discovered that the bread had cooked but the ingredients did not mix, which meant we had some cooked milk and flour congealed at the bottom of a bread pan with the yeast and salt still lying on the top. Not so yummy. Which was all fine and dandy since there was no soup left anyways. <i>Cough . . cough </i>. . . <i>BOYS</i>! </div>
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No big deal, though, because we can make nachos, BUT, the boys had also got into the new bag of Tostitos the night before and left them downstairs on the couch, where Scout being the opportunistic puppy that he is and always on the lookout for people snacks, scarfed down the remainder of the bag and was now lying on my couch with a guilty, but very satisfied look on his face even though you could tell he was paying the price for his gluttony. <i>Ugh. </i>Refusing to admit defeat and run headfirst into the ever comforting arms of McDonald's, who I adore but know is so very bad for me but sometimes is required in times of emotional distress, I opened the freezer to see if there was anything I could whip up for lunch and the brand new bag of frozen blueberries, which had been opened and not properly closed by you guessed it . . . <i>The Boys</i> . . . leapt out at me and poured all over the floor, where Kingston, who had not been fed yet because of the early morning flood . . . <i>sorry pup . . .</i> and who missed out on the Tostito binge earlier, eagerly ran around the kitchen trying to beat Harriet to the frozen, purple treats that seemed to be raining down upon them from the heavens like manna.</div>
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Seriously.</div>
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Thankfully, the day did eventually got better and, by 11pm, I was finally able to drag my worn-out, way-too-old-for-all-this-craziness body to bed and crash.</div>
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Oh, and can I just mention here that I am on week 2 of being the lone parent of this operation because Mr. Level-Headed is out conquering the North one spreadsheet at a time. Just saying. We all have our super powers: his happens to be numbers and mine is attracting shenanigans.</div>
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So, this morning when I opened my eyes, I was relieved and excited for the brand new start. I felt optimistic and energetic: </div>
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<i>Today is going to be a great day!</i></div>
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at which point I wish I had heard the Universe giggling and teehee-ing because I might have decided to go back to bed. </div>
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By 8:30am, the kids were dressed, lunches were made, a new loaf of bread sat on the counter, the homework that did not get looked at the night before was finished, and I gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back:</div>
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<i>Girl, you are truly a wonder woman.</i></div>
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As I put on Leif's winter coat, Harriet tore out of the room:</div>
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<i>I have to poop!</i></div>
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No big deal: we have lots of time!</div>
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When she was finished, I went in to help Harriet clean up. I took the potty and dumped the goods into the toilet. Thanks to all those blueberries the previous afternoon, it was still a bit messy, so I filled the potty with water from the sink, and as I traveled back to the toilet to dispose of it, Harriet popped up off the floor at that very moment and hit my hand holding the potty filled with poop soup, sending the contents flying . . . all over her head, all over my pants and all over the wall.</div>
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Seriously. I do not make this stuff up.</div>
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Harriet looked at me in horror. I quickly picked her up, ran to the shower, stripped off her dirty clothes, threw her in the shower, and scrubbed her down, all the while thinking to myself:</div>
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<i>Yeah, this seems about right.</i></div>
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Oh. My. Land</div>
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The whole incident happened very quickly, and even as I write this it occurs to me that I still need to clean up the bathroom . . .<i>ooops.</i></div>
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But anyhoo . . </div>
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After the quickest shower of her life, my poor baby stood in my bedroom, looking like a traumatized, drowned rat, sobbing over the horror of the entire situation and completely distressed that her dinosaur shirt was now ruined. As she stood there, in a thread-bare towel that is usually reserved as a rag because all the other towels were used up yesterday in the flood and are lying in a huge, albeit clean, pile on the laundry room floor, I burst out laughing. Not because she was funny to look at but, to be honest, she was rather pathetic looking at the moment, but because I love her so much, and I absolutely love this ridiculous life of mine so much, and I had to laugh because there is far too much to cry about and laughing felt like a small victory. Once I started laughing, she started laughing and was then eager to share the story with her preschool teacher at drop-off. <i>Phew!</i></div>
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Now, please do not walk away from this post thinking Krista is some magical woman who joyfully laughs her way through every moment of life and does not allow anything to bother her because that is not true. It is simply NOT true. One of my downfalls is that I try so ridiculously hard every single day to make the most of out of every single opportunity that I am often left feeling discouraged and defeated because, let's face it, no one is supposed to win at life, but oh, how I want to! Life is hard. It is hard for everyone, but oh my goodness, I love it. I love the challenge. I love the struggle, and I love, love, love those rare moments when I can claim a mere yards-worth on this metaphorical uphill battle and scream: </div>
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<i>Look! I did it! I won this one.</i></div>
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And then the rest of the time, I am left tripping and sliding my way back down this bloody hill, preferably on my bum but oftentimes my face. So these small and rather insignificant but truly miserable moments, like splashing poop soup all over yourself, your infant daughter and the bathroom, are powerful because, yes, they further remind us just how frustrating and difficult life is and how unscrupulously the odds are stacked against our favour, but they also have the ability to snap us out of the rote routines we can mindlessly end up following just to get things done day after day, and they have the power to surprise us, to wake us up, to humble us and to stir within us feelings of love, appreciation, hope and even laughter. </div>
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Maybe a wake-up call was exactly what I needed today.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-20097491117620063342018-02-27T16:55:00.005-04:002018-02-27T17:26:33.164-04:00Thick as Thieves, and Just as Dishonest<div style="text-align: center;">
Sunday morning, Harriet woke up, took off her diaper and declared:</div>
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<i>No more diapers.</i></div>
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Since she also had a fever of 103', I figured she was delirious and did not pay much attention to her declaration, but then she looked at me, eyes as big as her face, and screamed:</div>
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<i>I HAVE TO PEE!</i></div>
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<i>Well, you better go to the potty.</i></div>
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<i>RIGHT!</i></div>
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And off she went. </div>
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So, unbeknownst to me, I found myself pee-deep in potty training, and I was not prepared. But, this seems to be how Harriet rolls: she does not need consensus from others, she operates on her own schedule and she loves spur-of-the-moment decisions. <i>Heaven help me</i>! But Harriet was ready, and as her minion, I needed to get ready too.</div>
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On Monday morning, after we dropped Leif off at preschool, I shot Harriet up with some Tylenol and headed to the mall with my snotty-nosed, plague-ridden baby girl. (Yes, it is inconsiderate people like me you can blame for spreading all these nasty viruses this winter . . . sorry) Thankfully, with a little Tylenol, Harriet quickly came back around to her usual, excitable self, and she was able to pick out her potty stickers, her potty treats, her potty toy and some brand new, very adorable panties. Is there anything cuter than a tiny baby bum in little, pink bunny panties? I think not.</div>
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When we got home, we made her potty chart, complete with Moana stickers, and she showed off her new potty toy to her brothers when they arrived home from school. Leif was very interested in the toy she chose - an Elena barbie doll with a large, plush, talking version of her sidekick Skylar, the Jaquin. (Thank you 50% off sale at the Disney Store!)</div>
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<i>She has some really cool gadgets, Harriet! Look, there's a rope and a sword and a shooty-thing on her hand.</i></div>
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I pried the toy from Leif's hands, cleaned up his drool (<i>I kid!)</i> and placed it up on the shelf in her closet. Then, I explained to Harriet that she could have the toy once her potty chart is filled with stickers. She was good with that until she discovered that one sticker was not enough to fill up the chart . . . <i>ugh.</i></div>
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With all our goodies on hand and the potty reward procedure explained and implemented, I felt more positive about this whole potty training business. Yep, I was ready . . . unfortunately, though, I failed to take into consideration three things:</div>
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1. My children, like most children, are lying, thieving schemers . . . er, I mean . . . okay, I said it and I I refuse to take it back . . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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2. Leif and Harriet are best buddies. These two are close, super close, and they would do anything for one another. Harriet even gathers all of Leif's things together for him just before he goes to school:</div>
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<i>Leif, here's your backpack, your water bottle and your toy.</i></div>
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While Leif is Harriet's biggest cheerleader.</div>
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<i>Harriet, yes, you can jump from the coffee table to the couch. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . GO!</i></div>
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I call it cheerleading, but I suppose you could call it reckless, older sibling taunting to get their younger sibling in trouble, or even worse, hurt . . . <i>potato, potahto . . . tee hee!</i></div>
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Anyhoo . . .</div>
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and finally, </div>
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3. Leif is obsessed with gadgets, even if they are wielded by pretty Disney princesses.</div>
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So, Sunday went without a hitch. Harriet had no accidents, and she woke up dry the next morning. On Monday, Harriet peed in the potty first thing in the morning and remained dry the entire time we were out shopping. When we got home, and after I had made up her potty chart, Harriet sat on the potty but could not go. Then, ten minutes later, she peed her pants. Harriet was so upset:</div>
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<i>Yuck! Get it off! Ewwwwww!</i></div>
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I calmed her down and while I was cleaning her up, I heard Leif mumble:</div>
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<i>Oh! I have to pee too.</i></div>
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And he took off towards the bathroom, but before he got there, he turned around and headed back to the living room. I figured it was a false alarm and got back to cleaning up the kitchen floor. Moments later, I heard Leif squeal:</div>
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<i>Harriet peed in the potty, mom!</i></div>
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<i>Yes, I did, mom. I peed!</i></div>
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I went into the living room and both Leif and Harriet were dancing around, proudly parading the pee-filled potty.</div>
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<i>Hmmmmm . . .</i></div>
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Judging from the amount of pee I had just cleaned up and the amount of pee in the potty, I knew there was no way Harriet was responsible for this potty success, but, I ignored the apparent lie and the ease of which both of my offspring were willing participants in this lie, and celebrated with them:</div>
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<i>Hooray, Harriet! Let's get a sticker and a treat.</i></div>
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This time Harriet insisted that she place the sticker on the chart, and she swiftly stuck it on the last square of the chart.</div>
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<i>Toy, mom?</i></div>
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<i>Nice try, kid, but nope.</i></div>
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These kids are smart.</div>
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About an hour later, I smelled poop.</div>
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<i>Harriet, did you poop your pants?</i></div>
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<i>Nope.</i></div>
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Then Leif, who was in the washroom, hollered:</div>
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<i>Harriet pooped in the potty, mom.</i></div>
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<i>She did?</i></div>
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<i>Yes, I did, mom. Come see! </i></div>
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While, I peeked into the potty and indeed saw a giant turd, Harriet danced around me squealing:</div>
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<i>I pooped! I pooped in the potty.</i></div>
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Being the experienced mother of five that I am, I knew something was up, and so I told Harriet I needed to clean her bum. Just as I suspected, her bum was clean. Then I headed to the washroom to find Leif, frantically trying to clean his own bum.</div>
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<i>After I saw Harriet poop, I had to poop too.</i></div>
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<i>Yeah, nice try, kid, but I am on to the both of you.</i></div>
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Oh. My. Land. Seriously, my anxiety over raising the two of these kiddos through their teenage years, while Mr. Level-Headed and I are two worn-out, old, completely out-of-the-loop parents, counting down the days until our house is child-free, has shot up exponentially. They are going to get away with everything . . . <i>Eeeeeek!</i></div>
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Well, at least they will be potty-trained menaces to society . . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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Wish us luck!</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-7325736788254080412018-02-17T10:28:00.001-04:002018-02-17T10:28:33.713-04:00The Worst Vacation Ever<div style="text-align: center;">
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People always comment on how much energy I have, and I will be quite honest with you, it is definitely a blessing, particularly when raising five children, but it can also be one royal pain in the butt. Like this morning, I woke up at 4:30am, and rather than go back to sleep like I really wanted to, my body kicked into hyper-drive and begged me to get going:</div>
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<i>Ooooh! Let's go workout.</i></div>
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<i>There's dishes we could do.</i></div>
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<i>Oh, and don't forget the laundry.</i></div>
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<i>And, ooooh, we could walk the dog. Ahhhh! Think of the crisp, early morning air on our face. It would be lovely.</i></div>
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<i>NOOOO! It is time to sleep.</i></div>
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<i>Pretty please, can we get up?</i></div>
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And after an hour of trying desperately to fall back to sleep, I gave up and started my day. I ran downstairs (yes, I literally ran . . . soooo much energy . . . it is ridiculous), grabbed the laundry basket filled with clothes that needed to be folded and headed back upstairs to watch a french movie I had borrowed from school. I was feeling rather pleased with myself at this point for getting an early start on everything I had to do today. I snuck into Elliot's room to grab his laptop, since my laptop cannot read DVD's and the Blue Ray no longer opens up because it is covered in the sticky remnants of Miss Harriet's snacks. When I finally got Elliot's laptop started, I froze and quickly forgot about the laundry I was folding because there in front of me was Elliot's screensaver, an adorable picture of him and Avery hugging with a breathtaking view of the river I used to wake up to every morning when we lived on the Kingston Peninsula in the background. It made me long to hold those two little boys again and to sit on our hill, staring out over the river. Oh, how I wish I could go back in time!</div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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I decided to steal this picture and email it to my Iphone, since it was one I did not recognize or remember taking, and when I opened up the picture file on Elliot's computer, not only did I find more pictures of my Big Three posing in front of the river, but I also found pictures from a vacation we took on PEI in August 2008, the summer we moved to the Kingston Peninsula. I was giddy! I felt like a pirate finding his long, lost buried treasure.</div>
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So, the funny thing about this vacation is that I remember it being the worst vacation we have ever taken. Seriously! We had just moved out of our house on Downsview Drive on the westside, and we were currently homeless. The home we had bought on the Kingston Peninsula had undergone major renovations that summer and was, surprise!, not finished. We had been staying with my in-laws, which worked out great, but being one week away from going back to work as a teacher at Touchstone Community School, I was stressed out. Mr. Level-Headed, a born problem-solver, came up with the perfect solution:</div>
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<i>Let's go on vacation!</i></div>
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<i>Are you out of your mind?</i></div>
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<i>It is exactly what we need. It will be great!</i></div>
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For the record, I did not think this was going to be great. For one thing, we could not afford this vacation . . . . <i>ummm . . . major renovations</i>? And another thing, a last minute trip to the very popular Prince Edward Island would mean lousy accommodations, and that is exactly what we got. All I remember is that the hotel room was on the ground-floor, had not been updated in about gazillion years, and I also lost a pair of earrings and a small, book light in that room. I am pretty sure it was pilfered by the cleaning staff, who were, clearly, too busy rifling through my stuff to actually clean the room. <i>GRRRRRR!</i> I was not impressed. Then to make matters worse, it rained the entire week we were there. PEI is beautiful, and it is the most perfect, summer vacation spot, but there is not much to do there when it is cold and wet. <i>Ugh</i>. Oh, and to top off our fabulous vacation, our contractor kept calling about issues he was having with the paint I picked out for the interior of the house:</div>
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<i>Hi, Krista! So, yeah, your house currently looks like a Dole banana.</i></div>
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<i>WHAT?!</i></div>
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<i>Don't worry, I will repaint it after I exchange this paint for a softer yellow</i></div>
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One day later:</div>
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<i>I picked up the new paint, and the salesman said it is the most popular colour this year. You will love it!</i></div>
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<i>\</i></div>
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Another day later:</div>
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<i>Ummm . . . so yeah, your house is now orange.</i></div>
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<i>WHAT?!</i></div>
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<i>You may like it.</i></div>
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<i>NO! Go back and find me a pale yellow. </i></div>
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<i> </i>I remember Mr. Level-Headed telling me we could not afford to change the colour again, and I was like:</div>
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<i>Well, then I am not moving in. I just bought a bright red couch and there is no way it can sit in a room with orange walls. So, you can have orange walls or your wife. You decide.</i></div>
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I can be a real treat sometimes</div>
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<i>tee hee!</i></div>
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And yes, I did win that one.</div>
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Needless, to say, I do not have any fond memories of that trip. All I remember is being a nervous, miserable wreck the entire week. I worried about the upcoming school year that I was not currently preparing for. I worried about the state of my brand new house, and I worried I may never feel the warmth of the sun again. <i>BRRRRRRR! </i>And I think I was pretty much ready to contact a divorce lawyer the minute we returned to the mainland because my dear Mr. Level-Headed was being far too level-headed about this entire trip and was constantly looking on the bright side. Seriously. He is lucky to be alive today.</div>
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But here's the thing, after scrolling through these long, lost pictures from our worst vacation ever, I see we did laugh, we played lots of games, and we visited some really fun vacation spots. And even though I was freezing the entire time, there were warm, cuddly kittens to snuggle at Santa's Village, and there was yummy raspberry cordial to drink at Avonlea Village. According to the pictures, it was a great vacation. Yes, we were in a crumby, smelly room (it was a designated smoking room . . . <i>blech</i>!). Yes, the weather was terrible, but the dark, dank room forced us to get out and enjoy the outdoors anyway. Sitting here, ten years away from that moment, with Zoe now living in Toronto on her own and us living half a country away from the breathtakingly beautiful Prince Edward Island, I could kick my thirty-two year old self. How could I allow stress and fear to prevent me from simply soaking up the time I had to share with some of the most important people in my life in one of my most favourite places in the entire world? I will never get that week back no matter how much I wish for it, and I do wish for it, as miserable as that week was. I would give anything to hear the Big Three laugh in their little voices again, or to witness all their antics again. I allowed stress and fear to shape my memories and to overshadow any laughs we may have had or stories I could have treasured and shared for years to come. Thankfully, I now work very hard to treasure each moment I have with my family no matter how difficult it may be or how miserable I may feel. I am painfully aware that moments do not last and that as much as you don't want it to happen, life changes. Kids grow up, they move away, and sometimes, you move away. That's life, and as hard as change can be, the fact that life does change, makes it worth treasuring.</div>
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Drum roll please . . . and now the pictures! They are amazing.</div>
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And look! We must have had some sunshine.</div>
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So, perhaps being hyper and waking up at 4:30am is a blessing. Gosh, I love those little faces!</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-56392645344866202802018-02-08T17:27:00.002-04:002018-02-08T17:27:47.881-04:00Just Me and My Boy<div style="text-align: center;">
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I feel pretty sheepish about posting this blog post after declaring Leif to be my favourite child the other day because, in all honesty, I do not have a favourite; he just happens to be the easiest to get along with right now, and so . . . well . . . okay . . . so yeah, he is my favourite . . . at the moment . . . <i>tee hee! </i>But . . . yeah . . . um . . . well . . . okay, just because he is my favourite does not mean he gets special treatment, or does it? Oh my goodness, I should just end this right here.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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At 3am, I heard Harriet cry out for me. I ran into her room, assured her I was there, and as I curled up beside her, I realized she was feverish. <i>Ugh.</i> I took her out to the living room because by this point, after giving her some Tylenol, she was wide awake. I put Paw Patrol on for her, and then I lightly snoozed on the couch beside her, as she nudged me awake whenever an episode would finish. When my alarm went off to wake up the boys, I discovered that Elliot was sick too. <i>Double ugh. </i>I think, at this point, it is safe to say that our house simply needs to be quarantined for public safety. Just say'n.</div>
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Leif, however, woke up chipper as usual, and since Elliot was home and I could leave Harriet with him, I decided to take him to school even though I am pretty sure I could have nailed an audition for the Walking Dead at that moment. As I was putting Leif's jacket on, he seemed concerned that Harriet was nowhere to be seen. I assured him that Harriet was going to be okay and that she was just staying home because she did not feel well.</div>
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<i>Really? You mean, it is just going to be me and you this morning.</i></div>
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<i>Yep.</i></div>
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<i>Yay!</i></div>
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And then he skipped out to the van, singing:</div>
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<i>Just me and my mom. Just me and my mom. Just me and my mom.</i></div>
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Is there any doubt as to why he is my favourite . . . er, for the moment. <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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During the entire drive to preschool, Leif continued to comment on how special this morning was because it was "just me and my mom". And it got me thinking: since Harriet was born, Leif and I have had very little one-on-one time together. In fact, ever since Leif was born, he has been lumped into a collective, which is apparent from the pet names I chose for him: Thing 4 or the wee-est Webster. Once Harriet came along, they became a package deal. Now, I have not gone so far as to call them Larriet or Heif . . . yet, but I do refer to them as the dynamic duo, the dastardly duo (depending on how I feel about them at a particular moment), the two under two crew, the babies and my minions. It is never just Leif, and since I found out he is going to school in the fall, I have been thinking more about Leif as an individual. He is NOT simply one of the babies; he is Leif Christian Webster. Oh, and since I tend to use my blog as a public confessional for all of my motherly transgressions, you should know that I, literally, forgot he was Leif Christian Webster the other day, while I filled out his kindergarten registration form. I kid you not. In the space to enter his full name, I wrote:</div>
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Leif Derrick Kurt Webster</div>
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Then, I paused - something did not seem right. That was Avery's middle name. I wouldn't have used the same middle name for Leif, or would I? Well, much to my dismay, I had to retrieve Leif's birth certificate to find out his middle name. Seriously. <i>Ugh. </i></div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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I am not very good at doing mommy dates with my kids, and so this morning, I decided to change that. Leif was so thrilled with our 11 minute drive to school that I figured he would really lose his mind with an actual hour or two. Just before I left to pick Leif back up, I put Harriet down for a nap and told Elliot to listen for her. Then, as Leif was preparing to leave preschool, I whispered in his ear:</div>
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<i>Do you want to go on a date with just mom?</i></div>
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<i>YES!</i></div>
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<i>I am going to take you to my favourite burger place.</i></div>
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<i>McDonald's?</i></div>
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Oh, how I wish I could insert emojis into the blog because the rolling eye emoji was created for this very moment.</div>
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<i>Nope, but I will show you.</i></div>
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The St. James Burger and Chip, Co., </div>
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aka the home of my favourite burger of all time: the Perogy cheeseburger.</div>
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<i>It is heavenly! </i>And yes, I finish it off every single time.</div>
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So, over some super delicious burgers and a couple of pops, Leif told me all about the sword game he played with his friends Bryer and Oliver at preschool that morning. When asked how you play that game, he replied:</div>
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<i>Well, you kill other humans to get their buried treasure. </i></div>
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Right. Why did I ask?</div>
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Then he showed me his magic skills by making the bouncy ball, which he had earned from Teacher Suzan for cleaning up ten times without complaining, disappear. We made faces, we laughed at each other trying to eat our ginormous burgers, and in between Orange Crush burps (his name for them), he tried to see his orange tongue without a mirror. But even more special, in between all those moments of silliness we shared, there were a lot of quiet moments, moments where we just sat side by side, enjoying the sun streaming through the windows, watching the planes fly in for a landing at the airport, nearby, listening to Ed Sheeran on the radio, and in those moments, it truly was just "me and my boy".</div>
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And because the gods were clearly smiling upon us this afternoon, after we checked out some books at the library just before we returned home, the librarian gave Leif a handful of balloons for him and Harriet to share. </div>
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Day made.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-1041401984637946802018-02-07T01:33:00.000-04:002018-02-07T01:33:00.690-04:00The Golden Boy<div style="text-align: center;">
I am crushing pretty hard on this one lately. </div>
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Mind you, he has had next to no competition lately. The Big Three (yes, I am currently obsessed with This is Us too) want nothing to do with their "loser" mom. In fact, I texted Baby Girl tonight to see if she wanted to Facetime, and I got:</div>
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<i>I'm at a fashion show. Bye.</i></div>
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She is living large in Toronto and is way too cool for her mama.</div>
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And the boys . . . well, I have one word for you:</div>
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Teenagers.</div>
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And Harriet? </div>
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My dear, sweet Harriet is smack-dab in the middle of the Terrible Two's and rotates between two emotions every thirty seconds:</div>
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Indignation</div>
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Elation</div>
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<i>repeat</i></div>
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Quite frankly, it is terrifying and exhausting.</div>
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So, yeah, Leif is the golden child right now. He is obsessed with his Playmobil action figures, and can play with them for hours on end, which makes me giddy because up until last year, if he was occupied for any amount of time longer than five minutes, it meant he was into something he should not be into, like: Vaseline, Zincofax, dish detergent, etc. The list was long and super messy.</div>
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And he is so funny right now without even trying to be funny. If we drive anywhere longer than five minutes, he asks if we are still on planet earth. It always cracks me up, and I want nothing more than to reply:</div>
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<i>I am, but I have no clue where you are at the moment.</i></div>
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He is not getting the whole concept of a city, within a province, within a country, within a continent, and so on. He is convinced his grandparents live on a completely different planet.</div>
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And I love getting sneak peeks into how he perceives the world. The other day, while we were driving his friend to our house, his friend asked:</div>
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<i>Is this your house?</i></div>
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<i>Yep. We live here now. We used to live in a blue house, but our neighbours moved in and so we needed to find a new place.</i></div>
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<i>hahahahahaha!</i></div>
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Not quite, but it blows my mind that he even remembers the colour of our old house. He was two when we lived there!</div>
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And I love that he loves words almost as much as I do. As he was decorating one of his planes with stickers this afternoon, he says:</div>
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<i>My friends are going to be so impressed with this plane, mom.</i></div>
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<i>It is really nice, Leif.</i></div>
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<i>I would actually say it is handsome and cool . . .</i></div>
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and then he paused . . .</div>
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<i>just like me!</i></div>
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Then, along with his million-dollar smile, he let out the biggest giggle.</div>
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Yep, I am pretty smitten.</div>
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Perhaps I can send Harriet to kindergarten next year and keep this one home with me . . . <i>just kidding.</i><br />
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Or am I?</div>
ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-54578584463195542642018-02-03T03:26:00.000-04:002018-02-03T03:26:10.756-04:00Super Mom<div style="text-align: center;">
Okay, I am feeling really uneasy tonight after publishing my last blog post and reading various comments I have received. Let's all get this straight: I am NOT super mom. And, no, I don't think anyone actually thinks that, but the compliment leaves me feeling like a fraud. I am a good mom, but I think for the most part we are all good moms: we are all doing our best within our particular circumstances, but the idea of a supermom, a mom who can do it all, is damaging, and we as women need to support one another. We need to celebrate our strengths but also recognize our weaknesses, and guess what, it is okay to be weak. It is okay to fail miserably at times, as long we never, ever give up.</div>
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I am really lucky right now. I am able to be a stay-at-home mom and focus all of my attention on raising and enjoying my kids. I have been a working mom and a student mom before, and they are tough gigs, but moms do it, and we make it work. In fact, we make it look easy, when it is anything but.</div>
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So, yeah, the blog. I struggle with the blog because sometimes it feels like I am showing off. "Oh, look at me! Look at what I can do, or what we did!". I wish I could say I do it all for a pay cheque but that is a big, fat lie. I blog because I love to write. Writing is my gift and when I do it, I feel whole. Sure, I could keep all of this in a journal or make my blog private, but I also feel like my other gift is connecting to people. I love people, and there is nothing I love more than talking. For me, the blog is my way of starting a conversation and connecting with my friends and family, whom I miss terribly. It is also a really great way to help me remember this crazy, but beautiful life Mr. Level-Headed and I are creating. I love reading old blog posts! I am amazed at how much I actually forget - time is cruel. Like I forgot when Mr. Level-Headed was working up North, I used to count the Fridays until he would come home: <i>7 more Fridays</i>. How did I ever survive that? Or, that Avery was obsessed with stuffed animals, particularly his giant pink unicorn he named Horny . . . hahahahahaha! Seriously. How can I forget this stuff? But I do.</div>
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So, yeah, at this particular point in my life, I can spend my afternoons going to museums, or indoor playgrounds, or to the zoo, and I cherish those moments. Those moments make me feel like a good mom. Those moments are moments I did not get with my Big Three because I was too busy going to school. Those moments are the moments I live for and want to remember, but trust me, there are a lot of moments I don't want to remember. Like tonight (See! I now feel the need to air out my dirty laundry to offset any images of Mary Poppins I may have conjured up for you today), Avery had a basketball game at 5:30pm and then a soccer game at 8:30pm. Mr. Level-Headed is away in Ottawa and since I was sick yesterday, I desperately needed to get our house back in order and still manage to pick up some groceries. By some miracle, Elliot's shift at the Bulk Barn was canceled, which meant I did not have to take the babies to the late night soccer game . . . <i>hallelujah</i>!</div>
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But to make all of this work, the babies had a whole whack of TV today, while I ran around, straightening up. Yes, I use the television as a babysitter. It is bad. I know, but she is the best babysitter and the cheapest one I can find. Then, instead of taking the hour and a half while Harriet napped to do something with Leif, I chose to write my blog. Again, not mother of the year worthy!</div>
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By 4:45pm, I managed to get everyone in the car and we left for Avery's game. We were late. Well, not late for the game, but he missed the warm-up, and then I drove away. Yep, I did not stay and watch his game. Instead, I had to take the babies to Superstore to pick up some groceries. Then, because the Superstore here in Winnipeg is the size of two football fields and whenever I shop there I curse it and swear I will never go there again, I was late to pick Avery up. Again, not super mom. </div>
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We rushed home in order to drop the babies off and unpack the groceries. Elliot was home at this time. He took care of the groceries while I fried up some hash browns to go with the chicken I had cooked earlier in the day. Okay, so I do get bonus points for actually cooking a chicken earlier in the day, BUT there were no veggies on the plate. There were some apple slices, but only two. </div>
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25 minutes later, Avery and I rush out the door. Poor Avery is eating supper in a plastic bowl in the car. We did manage to arrive on time for his soccer warm-up, though. <i>Woo hoo</i>!</div>
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By the time his game was done, and we had run through the McDonald's drive-thru on our way home . . . <i>ugh</i>! I lose all mom points there, it was 11pm, and guess what, I was greeted at the door by my two babies, who were still wearing their clothes from earlier that day and who were so sticky and dirty they looked like two street urchins from a Dickens novel . . . I kid you not! Even Harriet noticed it when I put her to bed: </div>
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"My hair has a spider web in it, mom". </div>
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"No, that is just food, Harriet. Good night, dear".</div>
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No, I did not bath them. No, I did not brush their teeth. No, I did not read them a story. No, we did not say our prayers. I simply gave them some cereal because, according to Leif, Elliot would not feed them . . . ugh!, put their jammies on and tucked them into bed.</div>
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It was 11:45pm before I was able to sneak out of the room. <i>EEEEEK</i>!</div>
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And let's not even talk about the state of my house, or the fact, that instead of dealing with the disaster, I decided I needed to blog and put everyone's mind at ease: NO! I am not super mom. I am NOT doing anything special over here. I am just like everyone else - trying to make the best of a pretty tough situation, and making one giant mess while I do it . . . <i>ugh</i>!</div>
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But hey, I feel so much better getting all that off my chest . . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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I am such a fool.</div>
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And for no other reason than I wish I could go back and smooch on those adorable baby cheeks:</div>
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The real reason I blog: I never want to forget.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-54289125036593811002018-02-02T18:02:00.001-04:002018-02-02T18:02:16.873-04:007 More Months<div style="text-align: center;">
So, I found out the other day that Leif does, in fact, have to start school this fall. The school district we live in determines school entry by the calendar year, and if I choose to keep him home next year (kindergarten is still optional in Manitoba), he will be placed in grade one the following year when he attends. This was a huge shock to me because coming from New Brunswick, where parents can choose the entry age for children born between September and December, I have been operating under the presumption that Leif had another year at home. Yes, I have options, and I am currently waiting to see if he can get into a local Montessori kindergarten, which is only half-day compared to the full-day one offered at our local school, but it is probably not likely since the waiting list has a spot for parents to put their children in utero on. Seriously. </div>
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Oh, and because this is MY blog and I want to rant for a moment, please forgive me, BUT . . . every other kindergarten class in Manitoba is half-day EXCEPT for the four schools located by our house because we have been designated "inner-city" and a 9-4pm school day helps working families. I really wish I could insert the sobbing face emoji here. And despite how it may sound, no, I do not live in the getto . . . <i>teehee!</i></div>
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And NO, I am not going to homeschool. Been there; done that; not an option.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo</i> . . .</div>
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After suffering from one ginormous anxiety attack, my dear Mr. Level-Headed helped talk me down, and I have come to realize a couple of things:</div>
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a. I am not worried about Leif academically. He is one smart cookie with the brightest and most fascinating imagination I have ever encountered.</div>
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b. I am not worried about him socially. Leif makes friends where ever he goes, and his peers like him.</div>
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c. I really liked our local school: the principal and teachers were awesome (and the principal even told me Leif could go part-time until he is ready for a full-day . . . yay! The perks you get when you follow the principal into her office after the meeting with tears in your eyes, pleading: "what are my options." . . . hahahahaha! I am so over-the-top)</div>
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and finally:</div>
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d. The only real issue is that I am going to miss him. Being an "old" mom, raising a second batch of Littles, I am fully aware that these Littles grow up into Bigs way too quickly, and my heart is just not ready for it. I guess I kind of thought Leif and Harriet were always going to be my two-under-two-crew. </div>
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<i>Anyhoo</i> . . . </div>
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in typical Krista fashion, I have turned my mood around and I am focusing on the positive. Leif doesn't start school for another seven months, and in that time, we are going to have a lot of fun!</div>
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I love nothing more than getting out and exploring with my babies, and thankfully, Winnipeg is the perfect city to do just that. The other day, Harriet and I picked Leif up from preschool and then headed to the Manitoba Museum. We have been there before, and it is definitely one of our fave things to do. There is a hands-on science center for kids, a planetarium, and of course, the museum, complete with a life-sized "pirate-ship" (or at least that's what Leif thinks it is, and we just go with that). </div>
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I am incredibly blessed to have been given a second opportunity to raise babies, and even though, it is not easy and I definitely have a lot to learn . . . <i>still</i> . . . and I manage to make a gazillion mistakes a day . . . <i>ugh</i>!, I think the one thing I do right is that I make the most of it, and I try to enjoy every minute we have together.</div>
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Cue the onslaught of Iphone pics from our day . . .</div>
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They love the race track in the science center! When they get older, they can build their own race cars, but for now, they are just as happy to race the pre-made ones.</div>
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Trying to lift himself up. He actually did quite well and almost reached the top on his own.</div>
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Harriet needed her mama's help.</div>
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This station blew their mind, but then, of course, they started kicking the ball around . . . hahahaha! Soccer on the brain.</div>
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Lego break!</div>
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Road rage! So. Much. Attitude.</div>
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I love this photo! We were exploring one of the exhibits in the museum when we found a drawer that said: "Open me". So, of course, we opened it.We were quite shocked to discover it was a drawer filled with poop . . . hahahaha! And that great, big pile is a bison poop . . . eeek!</div>
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Leif and I were trying to move onto the next exhibit, but Harriet heard music and was overcome with the desire to dance . . . hahaha! She is such a ham.</div>
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The kids were pretty bummed that the "pirate ship" was closed for renovations, but we discovered a bat cave, complete with flashlights to help you explore. The babies nearly died after they entered one den and shone their lights onto a sleeping (stuffed) black bear . . . eeek! They were terrified!</div>
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Oh my goodness, I love these two! They fill my days with joy and laughter . . . Well, ask me how I feel about them after we go grocery shopping and then onto Avery's late night soccer game . . . <i>eeeeek!</i> Mr. Level-Headed needs to get his butt home.</div>
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Have a great weekend!</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-37694137810660776062018-01-31T20:11:00.001-04:002018-01-31T20:11:29.980-04:00Let's Talk<div style="text-align: center;">
So, it's been awhile. I am sorry, but hey, I am back! Or at least I think I am back. <i>Hmmmm</i>? Who knows, really, but for now, I am back . . . yay! Can I just say it feels pretty incredible sitting in front of this computer screen again. I have so many stories I want to share, but first, I think we need to talk. Yeah, it's January 31st, so let's talk:</div>
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I took this past year off from the blog because I was struggling with anxiety. Wow! Okay, that was easy. </div>
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But it wasn't easy, and it still isn't. I seriously feel like I am struggling with a mild form of PTSD. Now, I am in no way trying to belittle what soldiers and front-line workers experience because what they have seen and experienced is so much more than anything I have endured, and true PTSD is crippling; however, and this is a big however, the year leading up to our move to Winnipeg was very, very difficult on me. I really do not want to spend another moment reflecting on that year, it seriously sends me into a tail spin, but if you are new to the blog, you can check out any of my blog posts from October 2015 to August 2016 and you will get the gist. It was hard.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo</i> . . .</div>
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We moved to Winnipeg in August 2016, and here I am in a brand new city . . . a city! Not the Artic, a city. I have sidewalks and an IKEA. I am reunited with my hubby, and we are actually able to have a legit date night every Friday night. My Baby Girl is finally healthy and is loving university life in Toronto. Needless to say, I was jubilant. I had everything I wanted. I had climbed that steep, aruous mountain, and now it was time to rest and bask in the sunlight. Unfortunately, I was having a really hard time trying to relax. My body, which had been relying heavily upon adrenaline to survive the past year, seemed to forget how to turn the adrenaline drip off. Suddenly, just driving by a children's hospital would send me into a full-blown panic attack: "What will I do when the kids get sick?". For me, it became a matter of <i>when</i> and not <i>if</i>. One day, I had a panic attack as I walked by a nursing home: "I am going to be all alone someday!". The thoughts of not growing old with my friends and my siblings terrified me. The list of fears that crippled me was endless. If Derrick called me in the middle of the day, I immediately assumed he was calling to tell me that he had lost his job, or that something terrible had happened back home. I could barely breathe. </div>
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Thankfully, I was quick to recognize what was happening, and I took it seriously. I worked really hard at just enjoying each moment. I stopped blogging. My brain was too scattered to reflect upon and write about my day, and I felt far too vulnerable to put myself out there. Then I started managing my symptoms through daily thirty-minute workouts, getting outside each day, and talking about my crazy fears with Mr. Level-Headed and my sisters. When it would get really bad, and it still does at times, I do a "grounding" exercise, which helps me to get out of my head and to focus on the tangible things around me. After speaking with my doctor, he told me a lot of my anxiety has to do with low estrogen levels - <i>Hello</i>! It's called being an old lady who just finished nursing two babies consecutively for four straight years . . . <i>sheesh! </i>Getting old is no joke.</div>
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I thought I was managing things pretty well until Christmastime this year. One of the deals I made with God, when Derrick told me about this job in Winnipeg, was that if I could not be around to care for my loved ones then He needed to do it for me. He also needed to give me plenty of time to heal from everything I had endured the previous year. </div>
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Well, He gave me a year . . . hahaha! He is so generous. (Insert winky, smily face emoji here). </div>
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In November, one of our bestest friends in the entire world, Anthony Walker, called to tell us he had Colon cancer - the same cancer that Mr. Level-Headed's cousin, Adam, had battled and eventually lost his life to two years before. Then, Zoe called one evening from a Subway restaurant, where she had to stop on her way to the library because she was too weak to take another step thanks to her symptoms returning a month before. After a brief hospital stay and many tests, it was confirmed that Zoe's super immune system once again grew bored and had decided to attack her small intestine . . . in other words, she has Crohn's Disease.(insert eye rolling and sobbing emoji here)</div>
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THEN, as if I needed anything more, I found a small lump on Leif's arm. I must have been a sight when poor Mr. Level-Headed returned home from work that day: I literally could not speak. I was screaming on the inside, but I was not uttering a sound. Tears rolled down my face and my body was shaking uncontrollably. That was my breaking point. All of my fears had come to fruition, and rather than face them, my body was shutting down.</div>
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Before I go on, I want to shout out that Leif is fine. We went to the doctor, who at the time did not feel it was anything menacing, assured me it was probably a piece of scar tissue and sure enough, within two weeks it was completely gone. Thank goodness!</div>
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As for Anthony and Zoe, they are dealing with their diseases. They are strong and hopeful, and thankfully, they are both receiving tiny miracles each day to help them cope. It's all we can ask for.</div>
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By the time I arrived home for Christmas, my stomach was in a knot, I could not eat and I could barely breathe, but bit by bit, I began to relax. After two weeks home with my family, all of my kiddos gathered under one roof, a sleepover with my besties, lots of Vito's pizza, and the best hug of my entire life (Yes, Anthony, you are super star), I am feeling strong again.</div>
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Everything is going to be okay.</div>
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I have to tell myself this at least a million times a day, but it is true. And if isn't okay, well, then I will deal with it at that time. For now, I just need to breathe, I need to be gentle with myself, and I need to put one foot in front of the other, knowing that I can do hard things if I need to. I have proven that.</div>
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<i>Gosh, it feels good to be back!</i></div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-90417451910860816692016-10-24T23:43:00.001-03:002016-10-24T23:43:37.802-03:00my life at the moment . . . and yes, feel free to be jealous . . . NOT!<div style="text-align: center;">
let's all go back to that warm, fuzzy moment leif and i shared last week when he pooped in the potty all by himself; we hugged, we kissed, we cried tears of joy and we were full of hope that this potty-training business was going to be a breeze. we saw the light at the end of the dark, smelly tunnel that is potty training and we were jubilant. hooray! we made it!</div>
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now, let's fast forward to one week later, where i am kneeling on all fours cleaning a poop land mine left behind in the bathroom by my adorable toddler, who was screaming;</div>
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<i>i am scared to poop in the potty! i am scared . . .</i></div>
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while mr. level-headed, the love of my life, is cleaning poop off the sole's of his beloved, beautiful bride's feet.</div>
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<i>insert wide-eyed emoji here</i></div>
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seriously. this is my life at the moment. both cushions have been removed from the couch because they need to be burned . . . er, cleaned and every pair of toddler underwear and pants we own are in the washing machine, along with socks and sneakers.</div>
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i guess you could say that potty-training is not going so well. yeah, not so well. i have decided tonight after cleaning up yet another poop bombshell off the living room floor that we are going back to diapers tomorrow, and he can toilet train himself when he is sixteen. i figure once he becomes interested in girls then it should be a breeze for him. this mama is done!</div>
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and since i am already airing out my dirty laundry (in more ways than one), let's share another warm, fuzzy story; yesterday, as my darling family was driving home from church, enlightened and uplifted after feasting upon the spiritual stories shared by those striving to live like jesus and feeling a burning desire in our own hearts to carry on, to not give up and to do all we can to be more like our beloved savior, jesus christ, the boys started fighting.</div>
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<i>you're an idiot.</i></div>
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<i>at least i'm an idiot with friends.</i></div>
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and so on and so on.</div>
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and then, since mr. level-headed and i were actively trying to ignore their foolishness and desperately trying to maintain some level of sabbath day reverence, leif took matters into this own hands;</div>
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<i>SHUT UP, boys! SHUT UP!</i></div>
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mr. level-headed and i looked at each other in disbelief. he started laughing and i wanted to cry. </div>
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<i>leif! you don't talk like that!</i></div>
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<i>but mom . . .</i></div>
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<i>no . . . you ask the boys to be quiet.</i></div>
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<i>but they are being loud.</i></div>
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<i>i know they are being loud, but you do not talk like that.</i></div>
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<i>but mom . . .</i></div>
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<i>leif, you ask them to be quiet.</i></div>
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<i>but mom . . .</i></div>
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<i>what leif? </i></div>
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<i>i just really need them to shut up.</i></div>
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oh. my. land.</div>
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and there you have it folks: my life. </div>
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he may not like using the potty, but he is definitely very comfortable with being a potty mouth.</div>
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i would love to end this post by saying: "at least he's smart", but since he is explaining to me how this boy cow makes milk for all the other animals at the farm in this picture, i guess i will just close with my usual;</div>
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thank heavens, he is cute.</div>
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. . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-72123639683858759082016-10-18T17:08:00.002-03:002016-10-18T17:08:58.335-03:00a tale of tears and poop . . . the best kind<div style="text-align: center;">
the past few days have been rough.</div>
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people always ask me how i do what i do, and they often refer to me as superwoman. let me set the record straight: i do not have super powers! but i do have a couple of secret weapons that help me appear to have it all together. the biggest secret to my success is that i am firm believer in doing what makes me happy. when i am happy, i have the energy i need to care for this family of mine.<br />
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the babies and i go on a lot of outings, and for some, that looks exhausting, but for me, it is a necessity. getting out each day and exposing them to lots of experiences, makes me feel like a good mom, and when i feel like a good mom, i am happy. being out of the house most of the day also means that i can do a quick clean up in the morning and the house stays that way until evening . . . <i>woohoo!</i></div>
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i also know that i require a lot of sleep, so i go to bed early each night, often, with the babies. i do a quick thirty minute exercise video each day to get those endorphins flowing, and i drink a coke at lunch. i enjoy a date night each week with my hubby, even if it's just quick stop at perkins for half-priced perogies and pie, where i entertain my mr. level-headed with all the nonsensical stories and thoughts i have compiled over the week, and sometimes, if i am uber lucky, i get to write about those ideas on the ol' blog. i am a simple girl, but each of these things play a critical role in keeping me going.<br />
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but sometimes i can't get to these things, and when i don't, i feel it. this past week both the babies and i have been sick. i managed to kick the cold to the curb after only two days, but the babies have held on to it. no one is sleeping and with snot oozing from every nook and cranny of their face, the babies are not suitable to venture forth amongst the living. they are not a pretty sight and neither is their exhausted, cranky mama who has been housebound with them since friday.<br />
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to top it all off, leif has been showing signs of getting ready to potty train. on sunday, he woke up, took off his diaper and peed in the potty. he has done this numerous times over the past week, and since we are housebound anyway with the plague, i begrudgingly conceded:<br />
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yay. no more diapers.<br />
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<i>and in case you were wondering, i purposely did not use exclamation marks.</i><br />
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truth be told, i am not one of those parents who look forward to potty training. diapers are easier, way easier. potty trained toddlers lead to one thing: public restrooms . . . excuse me while i throw up in my mouth. seriously, me, all by lonesome with the dastardly duo in a public restroom is a recipe for the flesh-eating disease. i just know it.<br />
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and not to mention, potty training is never an easy cheesy venture, especially with my headstrong leif. on sunday, he peed in the potty all day. on monday, he peed on the bathroom floor and the carpeted basement floor. today, he decided to just hold it, and if you have been reading carefully, you will notice that i have not mentioned anything about poop, and that is because there has been no poop. he will not poop. there is three days worth of poop being stored up in that little body of his, and as each diaperless moment passes, i grow more nervous.<br />
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<i>i really wish blogger would allow you to access emojis. this is one of those times that calls for the wide-eyed yellow face, followed by the purple, screaming-in-terror face.</i><br />
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<i>anyhoo . . .</i><br />
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all of this has taken its toll on me, and i hit my all-time low today after harriet decided she and i needed to play toys from 2am-5am last night. seriously. then, because life sucks (<i>i am kidding . . . kind of</i>) leif decided he did not need to nap. i am going to be quite honest and tell you that as soon as he got up from his bed and said:<br />
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<i>i am out of here, mom!</i><br />
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i broke down and cried. i felt discouraged, exhausted and helpless. as i laid there, i began to imagine all of the things leif could get into without my supervision. so, as tempted as i was to just shut my eyes and doze off for a few minutes, i dragged my lifeless body out of bed and headed into the living room. it was quiet, too quiet. i quickly checked the front door to make sure he did not escape. seeing the door still shut and locked, i let out a sigh of relief, turned around and then froze on the spot: there in the dark, quiet living room, all by himself, leif was sitting on his potty with the diaper i had put on him for his not-happening-nap, around his ankles. i didn't say a word and tiptoed back to my room. i laid down on my bed and waited for him to finish. a few minutes later, leif sauntered into my room:<br />
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<i>oh, mom. whatcha doing?</i><br />
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<i>just lying down. what are you doing, leif?</i><br />
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<i>me? i pooped.</i><br />
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i instantly started crying.<br />
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<i>really, bud?</i><br />
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<i>yep. can you wipe my bum?</i><br />
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<i>certainly.</i><br />
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seeing the pride beaming from his face as he proudly showed off the monstrous turd lying in his froggy potty, gave me a much-needed boost. the past few days i have felt like all my efforts are futile. if i clean up, there is a mess twenty seconds later. if i fall asleep, someone wakes up twenty minutes later. the television has been on for far longer than i like each day, and i have not even been able to squeeze in a shower, let alone a blog post or exercise video, but this . . . this is huge. this is progress, and it has reminded me that raising littles may not be pretty and it is exhausting and frustrating and downright boring, at times, but . . . it is the most important job i have ever done, and even though i mess it up more times than not, i think i can say i am pretty good at it too.<br />
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yay, leif!<br />
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harriet is a firm believer in the notion that whatever boys can do, girls can do better, and she decided that potty training was going to be no exception. unfortunately, she was wrong . . . in this case . . . and in this moment. harriet, you are a baby. please, stay a baby for just a little longer. but be a sleeping baby . . . okay?<br />
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-62903870144059692032016-10-07T02:34:00.002-03:002016-10-07T09:30:47.293-03:00 a whole lot of and's, what's, ugh's and anyhoos<div style="text-align: center;">
you are going to have to forgive me for my lack of capital letters in this post, and quite possibly all posts from here on out, because leif, my adorable, cuddly, little monster, pitched a fit and picked off all the keys on my laptop and, although i was able to put all but two back on, my shift key is acting finicky. seriously. oh. my. land. what am i going to do with that kid?</div>
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<i>anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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in spite of the toddler, today was a great day. i knew it was going to be a great day when i woke up, stepped on the floor grate and felt warm air blowing through it. i don't know why having our heat kick on for the first time since we moved in excited me, but it did. i think it helped me to feel like fall had finally arrived, and i love fall, even though this fall is completely different from any other fall i have experienced. first off, there are no apple orchards in winnipeg or the surrounding area . . . <i>what? </i>secondly, this weekend is thanksgiving and baby girl is not going to be home AND (thank you cap lock . . . <i>tee hee!) </i>we will not be celebrating the holiday with our families . . . <i>boo! </i>it is going to feel so weird, but i am sure we will enjoy ourselves and hopefully, HOPEFULLY, i can make a good gravy. making gravy actually causes anxiety for me. seriously. my mom makes the best gravy, but in spite of the countless times she has tried to show me how to do it, i can only nail it about ten percent of the time. TEN PERCENT! those are not good odds. please, for the sake of my family, pray for me and my gravy-making ability this weekend. pretty please.</div>
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<i>anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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i am going to apologize right now for this ridiculous post about everything. i honestly have a purpose, but i seem to have forgot it at the moment . . . oh, right . . . it was a good day. so, this morning, i actually woke up well-rested and then i stepped on the warm grate . . . <i>yada yada yada</i> . . . right, now i remember where i was going with this post: leif has been obsessed with halloween lately, and he has been begging to buy a costume and decorate the house. i bought the babies their costumes earlier in the week - it was a struggle. i found four different costumes for leif, but he was not really into it because he was currently fixated on all the toys that were also in the vicinity.</div>
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<i>what about this hamburger costume?</i></div>
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<i>it has a crab in it.</i></div>
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<i><b>what?</b></i></div>
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<i>what about this robot costume?</i></div>
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<i>nope. it's too scary.</i></div>
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<i>what about this blue, fuzzy monster costume.</i></div>
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<i>way too scary.</i></div>
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<i><b>seriously?</b></i></div>
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<i>i want to be a firefighter!</i></div>
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<i>okay.</i></div>
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of course, the only firefighter costume i could find was way too big for him, but i figured i could roll up the sleeves, forget the pants and go with it. he was happy. that's all that mattered.</div>
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then, when we arrived home, i told elliot to ask leif what he was going to be for halloween.</div>
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<i>what are you going to be for halloween, leif?</i></div>
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<i>a ghost pirate.</i></div>
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<i><b>WHAT?!</b></i></div>
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insert eye roll here . . . toddlers . . . <i>ugh</i>!</div>
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BUT, that was the other day, and not today . . . <i>tee hee . . . </i>i really am all over the place tonight. back to today: with halloween on the brain, and warm air blowing through my house, i decided to unpack the halloween decorations and deck these halls . . . <i>wrong holiday, but you know what i mean.</i> leif was in heaven! we found old costumes that my sister and i had worn when we were little, costumes and decorations from when the big three were little, and all of our halloween books. sometimes i shake my head and wonder whatever possessed me to think that "starting over again" was such a great idea, especially when this forty-year old body of mine is nursing a baby numerous times throughout the night, but then there are these moments, like today, when i think that experiencing all of this again is the greatest blessing i have ever been given. seriously. raising littles is ridiculously difficult but it is also magical.</div>
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after the decorations were up, i was feeling all warm and fuzzy (it was probably the heat coming through the vents), and didn't want to end the good thing we had going, so i asked the babies if they wanted to make muffins.</div>
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<i>i love making muffins, mommy.</i></div>
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<i>i know, leif.</i></div>
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i have had this box of strawberries in my fridge for the past week and each day they were becoming more gooey and less appealing to the wee websters. i did not want to throw them out, and so making muffins seemed to be the perfect idea. i googled a recipe and found one called Smashed Berry Muffins. i have an aversion to baked fruit. i am weird, i know. i also hate all things pumpkin . . even weirder, right? <i>anyhoo . . . </i>the idea that the strawberries would be mashed up instead of baked in chunks intrigued me, and since i had all the ingredients, we gave it a go.</div>
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leif and harriet got into position, and we started baking. i followed a few of the suggested adaptations to the recipes and added a few of my own. i mashed a banana along with the strawberries, replaced the oil with applesauce, used a whole-wheat/white flour mix, reduced the sugar by 1/3 and added a tablespoon of flax seed. we popped our pink muffins in the oven, and waited anxiously for them to be done.</div>
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<i>are they done, mom?</i></div>
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<i>no.</i></div>
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<i>are they done, mom?</i></div>
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<i>no.</i></div>
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<i>are they done, mom?</i></div>
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<i>no.</i></div>
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and so on and so one for the longest twenty minutes of my life . . . toddlers . . . insert eye roll here . . . <i>ugh!</i> </div>
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they were worth the wait, though, and here is another reason why today was so great: when elliot came home for lunch (have i mentioned this before? both my boys come home for lunch and often bring a friend or two with them . . . it is awesome! i no longer have to make lunches in the morning) </div>
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ooops! off topic again . . . when elliot came home for lunch, he reluctantly tried a bite of one of the muffins.</div>
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<i>this is weird.</i></div>
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and i immediately, thought;</div>
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<i>yep, he does not like it.</i></div>
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but wait, he took another bite;</div>
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<i>mom, i really like this.</i></div>
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<i>WHAT?!</i></div>
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here's the thing: elliot does not like most baked goods, especially not ones with baked fruit in them, which have been "healthified". this was definitely a happy day.</div>
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then, after elliot returned to school and leif massacred my laptop . . . <i>ugh! </i>. . . i decided we needed to get out of the house, but here's the thing: my heat turned on today because dang it! it was cold out there. we are talking -1' kind of cold . . . <i>eeeek!</i> seeing as on monday we were playing in 27' weather, our bodies are not acclimatized for this temperature just yet, so i decided to check and see if IKEA finally had the chairs i have been drooling over for the past two months but are never in stock, and guess what. you got it! the website said they were restocked.</div>
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<i>woohoo!</i></div>
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this was my day.</div>
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and i don't think i have to go into any further detail because an afternoon at IKEA, followed up with their hotdogs and ice cream is the greatest afternoon of all time!</div>
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then,when i came home, there was postcard from avery's french teacher in the mail, extolling all of his virtues and exclaiming how much she loved having him in her class.</div>
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<i>seriously? </i><br />
<i>not that i don't think avery is a great kid, but what middle school teacher does this . . . awesome!</i></div>
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and THEN elliot's pre-calculus teacher called because he was worried that elliot is struggling and wanted to set up two afternoons a week for extra-help.</div>
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<i>WHAT?!</i></div>
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i kid you not. he is lucky he called and did not tell me face-to-face because i seriously wanted to kiss that man. no, it is not happy news that elliot is having a rough go in that class, but it is awesome that he has a teacher who cares and is not going to give up on him.</div>
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and as i sit here in my new kitchen chair, eyeballing the postcard on my fridge, feeling the warm air blow through the floor vent onto my tootsies, and watching elliot finish up his pre-calc homework all on his own, i have to say it has been a pretty good day, even if i am struggling with a few finicky keys and they are calling for flurries tonight . . .<br />
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<i>WHAT?!</i></div>
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and now for the photos:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uuJZUm57wDU/V_co8gVMY2I/AAAAAAAAI3w/C5mwtSRK-VQ12j-tLn6YC-Gl1oat0kMawCLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uuJZUm57wDU/V_co8gVMY2I/AAAAAAAAI3w/C5mwtSRK-VQ12j-tLn6YC-Gl1oat0kMawCLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9457.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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harriet gets just as excited as i do about an IKEA visit . . . <i>tee hee! </i>she may look like her daddy, but she is crazy like her mama.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z-DkCIcVvoc/V_co_VGKJHI/AAAAAAAAI30/bSJUDvqdjeQPRmkTWTC2m9LbU0A0-zWrgCLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z-DkCIcVvoc/V_co_VGKJHI/AAAAAAAAI30/bSJUDvqdjeQPRmkTWTC2m9LbU0A0-zWrgCLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9435.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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because everyone needs a halloween, pimp hat. when leif put this on, he exclaimed;</div>
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<i>this hat is awesome, mom. take my picture . . .</i></div>
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his enthusiasm for all things ridiculous makes up for this:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oY3omVQ_hg4/V_cpDCVjBpI/AAAAAAAAI38/dGd-nkUIV2Afzxtqm6PexPulR0Dy0Z9rgCEw/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oY3omVQ_hg4/V_cpDCVjBpI/AAAAAAAAI38/dGd-nkUIV2Afzxtqm6PexPulR0Dy0Z9rgCEw/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>le sigh.</i></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KLOgu-8qcC0/V_cpBYoxmMI/AAAAAAAAI34/glrhWBB8fpY42mt_4L31SxUAG_pmeSoMACLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KLOgu-8qcC0/V_cpBYoxmMI/AAAAAAAAI34/glrhWBB8fpY42mt_4L31SxUAG_pmeSoMACLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9434.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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and this. how precious is she? here is harriet wearing the cat costume that my mom made for me and my sister, hilary. we both wore it, and i think even zoe wore it once.</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgGd2ZNNHDc/V_cpFHYgGWI/AAAAAAAAI4A/yyha8e9ByN4WL7Q7HYWfbYHsDk2iBoeFwCLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgGd2ZNNHDc/V_cpFHYgGWI/AAAAAAAAI4A/yyha8e9ByN4WL7Q7HYWfbYHsDk2iBoeFwCLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9444.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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and the muffins . . . which are almost gone. if you want the recipe, you can find it <a href="http://aferrycrossingaway.blogspot.ca/2016/10/mashed-berry-banana-muffins.html">here.</a></div>
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and with that i will say . . . good night.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-53643075926643191172016-10-07T02:33:00.004-03:002016-10-07T02:50:44.371-03:00Mashed Berry, Banana Muffins<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgGd2ZNNHDc/V_cpFHYgGWI/AAAAAAAAI4I/fhyTf9d_10sgR9b_V1LkHhDwjMr5l9IzQCEw/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgGd2ZNNHDc/V_cpFHYgGWI/AAAAAAAAI4I/fhyTf9d_10sgR9b_V1LkHhDwjMr5l9IzQCEw/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9444.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>fyi: there was an incident with my toddler and my laptop today, sooooo . . . no capital letters . . . sorry, but lots of yummy muffins instead.</i></div>
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<b>mashed berry, banana muffins</b></div>
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<b>ingredients</b>:</div>
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1 2/3 cups of fresh strawberries</div>
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1/3 sugar (you can add 2/3 if you like a sweeter muffin)</div>
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1/3 cup apple sauce</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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1 cup white flour</div>
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1/2 cup whole wheat flour </div>
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(you can change this ratio according to your taste)</div>
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1 tbsp ground flax seed</div>
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1/2 tsp baking soda</div>
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1/2 tsp salt</div>
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1/2 tsp cinnamon (optional - i left it out because i have a thing with cinnamon and baked fruit - i know. weird)</div>
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<b>directions:</b></div>
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preheat oven to 425'</div>
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mash strawberries and banana together in a large bowl.</div>
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stir in sugar, applesauce and eggs until mixed.</div>
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stir in other ingredients just until moistened.</div>
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i put it all in my kitchenaid mixer - easy cheesy!</div>
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spoon batter into muffin cups.</div>
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bake for 15 - 18 minutes. i got 16 muffins with this recipe.</div>
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they are done when you poke a toothpick in the center and it comes out clean.</div>
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enjoy!</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-53294478610644018262016-10-05T00:46:00.001-03:002016-10-05T01:11:06.195-03:00Reclaiming my Throne<div style="text-align: center;">
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I need to share this parenting gem I stole last week from @Jennaskitchen on Instagram. She stole it from some other genius mama, who probably stole it from someone else, and so on and so on, right down to Eve. I swear it is that good! With that being said, I am sure she will not mind me sharing this treasure with all of you. In fact, as mamas, I believe it is our responsibility to share tidbits of parenting ingenuity. It isn't fair if one mama is sitting there all queen-of-the-castle-like because she has the key to unlock the mysteries of the parenting universe while the rest of us are sludging our way through the day to day, making the same mistakes over and over again, while our little minions inch by precious inch take over our domain. Mamas, it is time to put down those chocolate almonds and Coca Colas (okay, keep them. Life is too short anyway and we need some joy in our day . . . <i>tee hee!</i>) and reclaim your throne. Here is the answer to all of your problems . . . are you ready for it? I am so giddy; it is ridiculous!</div>
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Tokens for Screen!</div>
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Did you hear the angels herald? I sure did.<br />
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Don't roll your eyes. Hear me out. I promise; this will change your life!</div>
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Let me tell you how it works. First, put away your card stock and laminator because there is no need for either of them. I know you love them, but now is not the time. The beauty of this parenting tip is that it requires no work on your part . . . no fancy charts, no check marks or stickers, and no preparation at all . . . hold your applause until the end, please.</div>
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Second, find a collection of little things that you have a lot of and do not have a use for. I have been dragging around a bag of plastic bread ties I used to use in my classroom for years, and they work perfectly.</div>
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Third, get a small container for each of your children and put their names on it. I simply taped their names onto small Mason jars I had stored in my cupboard.</div>
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Fourth, inform you angelic children that contrary to what they believe, they, in fact, are not entitled to watch TV or play video games all day long, and from here on out, they will be working for screen time.</div>
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<b><i>BAM!</i></b></div>
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The throne has been usurped once again and the rightful ruler has returned. They will cry. They will argue. They may even tell you they hate you, but that is okay because after about thirty minutes their screen addiction will kick in, they will start frothing at the mouth and their body will begin convulsing. Do not worry. This is a critical step because this is the point you have them. They are now putty in your hands.</div>
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Fifth, now that your minions are ready to listen, explain to them how the program works. They do odd jobs around the house for you - fold the laundry, walk the dog, mop the floor, vacuum, pick up toys, unload the dishwasher . . . you name it! For each job, they get a token, and that token can be traded in for 30 minutes of screen OR saved until the end of the week and traded in for $1. You take care of allowance, entitlement issues, and screen time dilemmas with one easy cheesy routine. </div>
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I bet you hear the angels now . . . huh?</div>
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Now, I know some people have strong feelings about allowance over the fact that children should not be rewarded for every chore they do, and I agree completely. My boys are expected to keep their rooms clean, put away their clean clothes, watch the babies and clean up after themselves without any reward, other than the fact that I gave them life and continue to allow them to live . . . <i>tee hee! </i>But seriously, this is another reason why this token system works so well: you can choose what your child gets tokens for and it may change day to day, according to what you need done. It is brilliant!<br />
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And it works! Screen time has been drastically reduced in my house. I am currently writing this post, while supper is cooking, because I have nothing left to do. All the chores are done and my house is spotless, except for the toys that are spread out over my entire living room floor that Avery asked me to leave for him to clean up so that he could get a token . . . <i>I kid you not! </i>This has to be the ultimate parenting tool. I am once again the queen of my castle, and it feels so good!<br />
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And now because we all need more funny pictures of Harriet in our life, here you go:<br />
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I swear she did not learn how to text and drive from me. Harriet!</div>
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Check out the attitude! This was in response to my lame joke about her texting and driving. She is soooo much like her big sister . . . pray for me!</div>
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Oh, and Harriet is currently mopping my bathroom floors so that she can save up enough tokens to buy this pink car, that both she and her brother pitched a fit over having to leave behind at the store today . . . just kidding . . . about the bathroom . . . not the fit . . . <i>ugh!</i></div>
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<i> . . . tee hee!</i><br />
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But, seriously, just try it.<br />
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-11115436695673209052016-10-04T00:06:00.001-03:002016-10-04T00:06:25.739-03:00Leif the Chief<div style="text-align: center;">
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Lately this kid is killing me. One minute I want to scoop him up and squeeze the stuffing out him because he is over-the-moon cute, and in the next minute, I want to stuff him into a box and ship him to the other side of the world. How can someone who is so naughty be so darn cute? My entire day consists of saying:</div>
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<i>Leif, do not pee on the floor.</i></div>
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<i>Leif, where did you find that marker?</i></div>
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<i>Leif, where are your clothes?</i></div>
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<i>Leif, why did you make that mess?</i></div>
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<i>Leif, do not bother your sister.</i></div>
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<i>Leif, do not wake up your sister.</i></div>
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<i>Leif, STOP!</i></div>
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<i>Leif . . .</i></div>
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<i>Leif . . .</i></div>
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<i>Leif . . .</i></div>
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He, seriously, stretches my patience, and one of these days it is going to snap. Who am I kidding . . . I am going to snap, and I am getting old; I may not be able to bounce back like I did once upon a time.</div>
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He goes from covering the walls in Zincofax to asking me to help him prepare a Peanut Butter Sandwich Party for his stuffies, complete with empty Rubbermaid containers filled with imaginary candy and instructing me on how to enjoy them:</div>
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<i>Mom, you need to unwrap your candy and lick it. Like this!</i></div>
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He goes from walking Harriet on a leash and calling her Fluffy, while she trails behind him with the biggest grin on her face to pushing her down because he wants the toy she has in her hand.</div>
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He goes from pitching a fit in the YMCA because he is suddenly too scared to go into the gym (who does that sound like? Oh. My. Land . . . insert screaming face emoji here) because he only wants to sit on the bench in the hall to splashing in the pool at the YMCA, exclaiming:</div>
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<i>This is the best day ever, mom! Thank you, mommy, for bringing us.</i></div>
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He gives the best hugs. He nearly knocks you over when he wraps those skinny little arms of his around your neck, and there is nothing more heart-warming than when he squeals:</div>
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<i>I love you, mommy.</i> </div>
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He makes the biggest messes, and when he is caught on the brink of unleashing mass destruction, he will flash the most adorable, yet mischievous, grin and exclaim:</div>
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<i>Nothing to see here, Mom. Just turn around.</i></div>
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He is the biggest help around the house - he cleans, he bakes, he makes supper, he vacuums and he rakes. I love hearing him ask:</div>
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<i>I help too, mom?</i></div>
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He makes me laugh, cry, smile and cringe all at the same time, countless times a day, and more times than not, he leaves me feeling like the world's worst mother:</div>
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<i>Why can't he just sleep?</i></div>
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<i>Why must he always make a mess?</i></div>
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<i>Why must he scream so loudly?</i></div>
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<i>Why won't he listen?</i></div>
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<i>Why? </i></div>
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But, when I am at my lowest, feeling exasperated and defeated by this two year old ball of energy and irrational behaviour, he will hold my face in between his two little hands, grin and whisper:</div>
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<i>It's going to be okay, mom. It's going to be okay.</i></div>
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And for some strange reason, I actually believe him.</div>
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<i>When will I learn to keep the Zincofax up and out of his reach? </i></div>
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<i>Seriously, he is the best!</i></div>
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<i>A little snack we shared during one of his weekly 3am meetings with me. You know . . . to touch base and to discuss our dreams, goals and aspirations.</i></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-anUB9UcyeZc/V_MaVTH-6yI/AAAAAAAAI2Q/UxyKwLgoau0o4EsXSFzfq20Emk2o7B-uwCLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_8962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-anUB9UcyeZc/V_MaVTH-6yI/AAAAAAAAI2Q/UxyKwLgoau0o4EsXSFzfq20Emk2o7B-uwCLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_8962.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>He is happiest in the kitchen, and has all of a sudden decided to stick out his tongue whenever I ask him to look at me.</i></div>
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<i>Peekaboo!</i></div>
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<i>Mr. Independent waits for no one, or anything as trivial as clothes, when he wants to do something . . . again with the tongue.</i></div>
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<i>Our Monday morning Peanut Butter Sandwich Party</i></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UfbyA7Nq_LA/V_Mbom3EbFI/AAAAAAAAI2s/8tOj-lbpiFEmvF6zP_diSrr77QwoPmMbACLcB/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_9123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UfbyA7Nq_LA/V_Mbom3EbFI/AAAAAAAAI2s/8tOj-lbpiFEmvF6zP_diSrr77QwoPmMbACLcB/s320/thumbnail_IMG_9123.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>After sandwiches and imaginary candies, the guests all watched an episode of Paw Patrol with their hosts.</i></div>
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<i>Caught, ya!</i></div>
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Leif, you bring me so much joy. Yes, you bring me to my knees, quite literally, with all your antics and mischief, but more times than not, I find myself on my knees, thanking Heavenly Father for the privilege of raising you and loving you. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-4345854868957169562016-09-30T03:49:00.002-03:002016-09-30T10:24:19.057-03:00Our Trek out West<div style="text-align: center;">
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I figured it was time to document our trek out West. Not because I have any grand insights into cross-Canada travel with four kids and a dog, other than: DO NOT DO IT! I repeat: UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD THIS BE ATTEMPTED. But, I want it documented here so that we will never do it again, even in a couple of years, when my brain chooses to forget the anguish, the suffering and the mind-numbing monotony my dear family endured over the course of those five days, and I suggest to Mr. Level-Headed:</div>
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<i>Let's drive home this summer to save on the cost of air travel. It will be fun! It will be an adventure. We are due for an adventure.</i></div>
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Because we all know it is inevitable . . . I really am that crazy. </div>
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Future Krista must be stopped. So, here goes:</div>
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Our first mistake is that we made this trek with two vehicles (the Uhaul and the Loser Cruiser) and only two drivers . . .<i>what were we thinking!</i></div>
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Our second mistake was deciding to leave late Tuesday night after Avery's soccer game. Sure it was nice having the day to attend to any last minute details, having lunch with Grammie at McDonald's, napping at Nanny's and finally watching Avery's playoff game with all the grandparents and a dear friend from high school, BUT <i>hello!! </i>I had just said goodbye to my parents and our 18 year old Baby Girl, who needed to stay behind to finish her summer job, AND I had spent the past two months packing, prepping the house for sale and caring for five children all by myself, while Mr. Level-Headed worked up North. It was no surprise that after a mere three hours, I could drive no further and needed to stop at Grand Falls, NB, rather than push on to Quebec, which was the initial plan. I was in no physical or emotional shape to drive for five hours.</div>
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<i>No worries, Krista. We will just make up the time tomorrow.</i></div>
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That Mr. Level-Headed . . . he is always so flexible when it comes to meeting his adorable, but whiny wife's needs.</div>
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After finally finding a hotel that had a vacancy, which proved to be a very difficult task throughout our entire trip, we all had a good night's sleep and woke hopeful and eager to start our first full day on the road.</div>
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And it went great . . . well, for awhile. Sure Harriet cried, and I had to listen to the Backyardigans sing: "The Worman Polka" over and over again, and I kept thinking they were singing the Mormon Polka, which didn't make any sense because the Backyardigans are probably not Mormon . . .<i>Anyhoo</i> . . I ordered lunch for everyone at Subway in french . . . <i>woohoo! Yay, me!</i> and I found a great splash pad just outside of Montreal, where we ate pizza and the babies ran and played.</div>
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Elliot and I got the biggest kick out of this town name in Quebec: Saint-Louis-du-Ha!-Ha! I should have read it as an omen. The gods were laughing at us. </div>
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<i>Look at those fools. All hopped up on excitement and optimism. They think this drive is going to be a breeze . . . . muhahahaha! We will show them.</i></div>
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<i>Shake your booty! </i></div>
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Oh, and that dark speck on the right side of Harriet's hair is a knot that she created from twisting her hair and crying on the drive. <i>Oh, she is a treat.</i> She definitely won the worst travel companion award. </div>
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After our rest at the park, everything went downhill from there. Elliot did not eat supper and chose to lie down in the van instead. When we packed the van up and started rolling again, he complained that his back hurt. Before we hit the highway, we stopped at a drug store to get him some muscle relaxants, thinking his pain was from sitting in the car all day.</div>
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An hour later Elliot perked up and started to eat the left over pizza we saved for him. Two hours later, as were driving through Ottawa, Elliot started complaining that his stomach hurt. By then, it was dark, we were all exhausted and even though we had not reached Mr. Level-Headed's planned destination . . . again, we texted him:</div>
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<i>We need to pull over for the night.</i></div>
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For the record, most people stop for the night before 11pm, which means all those lovely hotels you see along the highway are booked up by then and you have to drive through tiny, backwoods towns in the dark to find sketchy, old motels that only the really desperate people, like ourselves, are willing to stay at. Just for the record.</div>
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So, after encountering many dead-ends and having to turn around countless times with two crying toddlers and a teenager who is getting progressively more sick, Mr. Level-Headed finally finds a vacant motel, and while he is getting the room keys, the babies run wild through the parking lot, the teenager throws up all over the parking lot, the pre-teen desperately tries to wrestle the dog away from the puke and I . . . well, I am ready to shoot someone and curse the day that attractive Mr. Level-Headed walked into my life because we all know this is his fault somehow.</div>
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<i>Families are such a blessing.</i></div>
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After a quick text to Zoe informing her that I love her and to warn her that if she never hears from me again, I have been murdered and left to rot in some sketchy motel in Ontario, I fall asleep.</div>
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The next day, everyone was worn out, but Elliot had stopped vomiting and was ready to sleep off the apparent food poisoning in the Uhaul with Mr. Level-Headed. We grabbed some breakfast at McDonald's and hit the road.</div>
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See the mark on her forehead? That's where Harriet scratched herself during one of her fits. Yep, like I said: <i>Worst Travel Companion Ever.</i></div>
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It was a grey, drizzly day and it was one of those days where the weather matched everyone's mood to a tee. Our excitement had dissipated. We were ready to be done, but we still had two more days to go. After driving all morning without a break and with two babies crying and no playgrounds in sight, I texted Mr. Level-Headed:</div>
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<i>Find somewhere for the babies to play.</i></div>
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He stopped at a mall. I lost my mind.</div>
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<i>The babies need fresh air. They need water. They need to run. So, we are going to take them shopping?</i></div>
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Oh, I pitched a fit, and once my tantrum was done, we went shopping. Elliot still was not feeling well, so he stayed in the car and slept with Scout. We bought Leif a pair of sneakers (because he somehow managed to leave NB with only one shoe . . . <i>insert eye roll here</i>), snacked on smoothies and let the babies play on the mall rides.</div>
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Everyone enjoyed themselves. I was wrong to pitch a fit. There, I apologized. And really I should apologize because little did I know but this was our last taste of the modern world for another 36 hours. <i>Oh, Northern Ontario. You are such a doll!</i></div>
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The next two days can pretty much be summed up as follows:</div>
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trees</div>
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lake</div>
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convenient store</div>
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trees</div>
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lake</div>
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convenient store</div>
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repeat</div>
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and repeat</div>
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and repeat</div>
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Two freaking days. . . I now have a better understanding of what Chinese Water Torture must feel like. Oh. My. Land.</div>
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Oh, and just another tidbit of information, you will never see a grocery store on your travels through Northern Ontario, but you will come across a strip club that rents rooms AND North America's largest porn rental shop. I kid you not.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo</i> . . .</div>
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Somewhere along the line, I managed to pitch another fit in the parking lot of a restaurant . . . <i>who am I kidding? I was the Worst Travel Companion Ever</i>. We found a playground, an old, rusty playground with a vicious dog incessantly barking and growling at us through a chain-linked fence, but oh, that playground was like a gift from the heavens. I swear I heard angels sing when we drove up to it.</div>
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That right there is what joy looks like.</div>
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And Elliot got sicker and sicker. For two days, he laid in the back of the van, not moving a muscle. We kept telling ourselves he was getting better, but he wasn't. Finally, late Friday afternoon, I started to get really worried and scared. Thankfully, the scenery started to change. The lakes disappeared and the road widened. Suddenly, there was a sign:</div>
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Thunder Bay</div>
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<i>Population</i>: 108,359</div>
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<i>Hallelujah!</i></div>
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We had entered the modern world once again. As soon as we turned onto the off-ramp, I saw a sign that pointed in the direction of the nearest hospital. I looked in my rearview mirror and knew without a doubt that Elliot needed to be seen by a doctor. Once we pulled up to the intersection, I texted Mr. Level-Headed (it was a red light)</div>
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<i>Go straight to the hospital.</i></div>
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I pulled up to the emergency doors, hopped out of the van and started barking orders.</div>
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<i>Avery, you stay with the babies in the van.</i></div>
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<i>Derrick, go park the Uhaul. Then, get the van and find somewhere for everyone to eat. </i></div>
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I can be such a treat sometimes. I felt bad. I knew Mr. Level-Headed really wanted to be in Winnipeg by Friday, but we couldn't go any further without Elliot being looked after.</div>
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<i>Oh, and get a hotel. We are done driving for today.</i></div>
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I rushed Elliot into the hospital. As soon as we were done in Triage, they sent him into an examining room, and within moments, he was hooked up to an IV and saw the doctor. At this point, I was still thinking it was food poisoning, so when the doctor told us Elliot needed a chest x-ray, I nearly pitched another fit.</div>
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<i>What? Have you not been listening to me?</i></div>
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But I didn't. I did what I was told and headed to X-ray. Low and behold, the doctor was right; Elliot had pneumonia. He prescribed an antibiotic, some Gravol and Tylenol, and sent us on our way.</div>
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<i>CRAZINESS!</i></div>
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It really should not have come as such a shock because crazy seems to be what we do best. </div>
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That night, we slept in a nice hotel. Before we went to our separate rooms (<i>Hello! Our family size is not hotel friendly), </i>Mr. Level-Headed kissed me on the forehead and assured me it was almost over. We only had three and a half more driving hours to go, and we could do this. </div>
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<i>Right. We do hard things.</i></div>
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The next day, after being all hopped up on his medicinal cocktail for a good twelve hours, Elliot felt much better. We had breakfast in the hotel dining room and enjoyed eavesdropping on all the older, retired couples, sharing their travel tales and words of wisdom with one another. Their trips sounded remarkably different from ours, I should have shared our story . . . <i>tee hee! </i></div>
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With our bellies full and our hope returning, we hopped back into the vehicles and headed for the Manitoba border. We were quite eager to be done with Ontario. Thankfully, the travel gods were done with us too, and the remainder of our trip was uneventful. Once we saw the flat fields of Manitoba, our excitement grew. We had made it. We may have been a day late, but we made it!</div>
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Welcome to your new home, Websters! </div>
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Now, all we had left to do was unpack . . . Seriously, what were we thinking?</div>
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. . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-22899346150057757282016-09-28T12:49:00.001-03:002016-09-28T12:49:43.120-03:00The Difference a Year can Make<div style="text-align: center;">
Yesterday, the babies and I drove Mr. Level-Headed to the airport because he was needed in Rankin Inlet, Nunavut. As we drove, I kept exclaiming:</div>
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<i>This is soooo weird.</i></div>
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<i>This is just too weird.</i></div>
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<i>I can't believe we are in Winnipeg and I am going to see you in just ten days.</i></div>
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<i>This is too weird.</i></div>
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Last year, at this time, we were getting ready to send Derrick up to Rankin Inlet for his new job, knowing we would not see him for three months. Zoe was uber sick and Harriet was only four months old. We were scared, really scared, but we were hopeful. We had prayed about it, and we continually felt like this was the best decision for our family even though it sure did not look like it at the time. So, on our drive to the airport yesterday, I kept marveling over the fact that we survived it all, and we made it out of that long, dark tunnel. I don't know how, but we did, and we are in a much better place today because of the sacrifices we made last year.</div>
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Often when we reflect on the past, it is easy to forget how much we struggled. Being on the other side of trials sometimes leaves us with the impression that we just muscled through it and never looked back. That was not the case for me last year. I did not muscle through anything, I simply muddled, and there were plenty of times I wanted to give up, but I kept moving forward with the sincere belief that it would all work out in the end. </div>
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With all this fresh in my mind and now currently living in our "happily ever after", I wanted to impress upon my boys the importance of never giving up because in this life, the only thing we can be certain about is that trials and challenges are coming. So, on Monday night, as our family held Family Home Evening, one night a week we Mormons sit down with our families to have a brief lesson on something spiritual followed by games and treats, we talked about the importance of never giving up. Then we watched a video my aunt shared with me on Facebook about a football player and his coach:</div>
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I knew it would grab their attention! Afterwards, I posted a quote on our wall:</div>
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Don't you give up.</div>
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Don't you quit.</div>
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You keep walking.</div>
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You keep trying.</div>
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There is help and happiness ahead.</div>
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-<i>Jeffrey R. Holland</i></div>
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I really hope my kids get it. They have done hard things, they survived and they will continue to have to do hard things. That's life: getting the poop kicked out of ya' and getting back up time and time again, a little bit stronger each time. The new buzz word you will hear in parenting and education is resiliency, and it is simply that: teaching kids they can do hard things and not get discouraged by them. Our life has not been easy, and there have been times when it felt like our challenges outweighed the rest times, but I think my kids will be stronger because of it.They have seen their parents struggle, but more importantly, they have never seen us give up.</div>
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So, last night, after I put the babies to bed and texted Mr. Level-Headed to make sure he arrived in Rankin safely, I sprawled out in the middle of my bed, grabbed a book and enjoyed my downtime. This is my time to rest. Unlike last year, there were no tears and no fears . . . <i>ugh! did I just write that? . . . gag! </i></div>
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It's crazy how much can change in a year. For instance, Harriet went from being a four month old baby to a teenager . . .</div>
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<i>You knew I was going to figure out a way to put some pics of my babies up on this blog . . . tee hee! I am shameless!</i></div>
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<i>Put that boy down now, mom, and help me down these stairs.</i></div>
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<i>Listen here, mom. I am in charge and you are going to listen to me.</i></div>
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<i>NOW!</i></div>
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Thinks to herself: <i>Oh my goodness, she is really not going to listen to me.</i></div>
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<i>My super powers have vanished.</i></div>
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Hahahahaha! Oh, this girl is fun.</div>
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Yep, I am going to enjoy this time of rest. We have reached a plateau, and I can look behind me and bask in how far we have come, but I can also look ahead and get excited for all the possibilities out there waiting for us to reach up and claim them. This is my time to heal, to take a deep breath and to muster up some energy for whatever does come next because, let's be honest, whatever it is, it will most likely not be easy.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-63740834729845912342016-09-21T16:17:00.001-03:002016-09-21T16:17:51.561-03:00Our New Hood<div style="text-align: center;">
Excuse me while I gush over my new neighbourhood for a moment. I am currently sitting on my back deck; it is overcast but it is warm and there is a gentle, cool breeze blowing. I can hear the birds chirping and the chipmunks chattering. I am eating my lunch and blogging, while the babies snooze in their stroller beside me. They are exhausted because we just spent the morning at our local YMCA, where they ran for 45 minutes with other toddlers and preschoolers in the open gym that was filled with balls, ride-on cars, scooters AND a ginormous bouncy castle. Then, we headed to the pool, which was a lot of work for this mama who only has two hands but also has two independent, adventurous, free-spirits to protect from drowning . . . <i>hello, workout!</i> We all managed to survive, though, and only one of our threesome was crying as we headed out the door. That's a pretty good ratio for us . . . and no I was not the one crying . . . this time . . . <i>tee hee!</i> But the best part of all this is that these activities, plus a ginormous indoor play structure, are only a fifteen minute walk from our house and are available every morning of the work week. <i>Excuse me while I do a little dance. </i>I am currently living in stay-at-home mom heaven, which leads me to think that there has to be more of us out there. I briefly chatted with a few mamas this morning, and I hope that by going more regularly we will make some new friends in no time. Because, let's be honest, that's the biggest downside to living here in Winnipeg right now, we are without our people, and it can get pretty lonely and boring without your people, even with so much cool stuff at your fingertips.</div>
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Harriet was so tired from all that playing that she fell asleep mid-sandwich . . . <i>what a sweetie!</i></div>
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Last night we took Avery to his basketball class at the Y and let the babies play on the indoor playground. I thought Harriet would only climb to the top of these stairs and then stand around and watch all the kids whizzing by her. Leif tends to get into these mazes and stands there, looking all pathetic and cute until some little girl takes pity on him and comes along to guide him safely through. The funny thing is that it actually works! I tell ya' he might be our smartest wee Webster yet . . . <i>Sorry, Baby Girl. </i>But Harriet was having nothing to do with this helpless baby routine, and the minute she got up those stairs, she took off! I panicked and headed into the playground after her. She was on the third level by the time I caught up to her because I had to squirm through tiny holes and dodge kids coming at me from every direction, and those same kids would give Harriet a boost if she needed to get up to another platform. It was total mayhem in there, but I can see why kids love it. It is an adult-free zone, they get to make the rules and from what I could tell on the inside, they manage it quite well. It was neat to see how the older ones look out for the younger ones. It warmed my heart . . . after I had my fifteen month back in my arms . . . <i>sheesh</i>!</div>
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It really is a monstrosity!</div>
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Yep, all of this plus lots of outdoor playgrounds, a swimming pool, splash pads, all three levels of schools, restaurants and major shopping chains all within walking distance and I think you can see why I am quickly falling in love with our new neighbourhood. Winnipeg, despite your mosquitoes and your notoriously cold winters, I may actually be developing a crush on you.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-51218208392073445212016-09-21T02:52:00.001-03:002016-09-21T02:52:30.422-03:00Doing Hard Things<div style="text-align: center;">
A couple of weeks ago, Harriet and I flew to Toronto to meet Zoe, whom we had not seen in three whole weeks, and helped her get settled into her new home at the University of Toronto. It was a fun, exhausting, expensive, and exciting weekend! When it was time to say goodbye to Zoe, I kissed her on the cheek and said:</div>
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<i>Don't do anything stupid. There are lots of stupid things to get into in university. Don't do them! I love you, Baby Girl.</i></div>
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And then I pushed Harriet in her stroller, while lugging her carseat and our luggage, outside to the sidewalk, where I planned on calling a cab. I must have been a sight! I truly am a traveling gong show.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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Once we got outside, I noticed a family also saying farewell to their daughter, and I was struck at how emotional the father became. He tried so hard to fight back the tears, but he lost the battle and had to walk away to try and compose himself. I almost cried for him. Then, it occurred to me that I never shed a tear when I left Zoe and the first words to pop out of my mouth were: "Don't do anything stupid".</div>
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<i>What kind of mother am I? I am a monster.</i></div>
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My callous reaction really bothered me, and I thought about it the entire flight home. Sure, I felt a brief moment of panic when our plane took off and I saw how incredibly huge Toronto is:</div>
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<i>Eeeek! I just left my Baby Girl amidst all those people all by herself.</i></div>
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But it was just a moment, and that feeling passed.</div>
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<i>Seriously, how can I be so heartless?</i> </div>
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Then it came to me: leaving Zoe at the university of her dreams was not hard. Watching her endure a crippling disease like Colitis was hard. Sitting by her bedside nursing her while she healed from an extremely painful surgery was hard. Helping her manage an ileostomy bag, albeit only temporary, was hard, and helping her finish an entire year of school in only three months was extremely hard. So, no, saying goodbye to Zoe, who has been given an opportunity to live her life disease-free in a big city she loves, studying what she loves, was not hard. We have done hard things, and this was not one of them.</div>
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Lately, a lot of people have asked me how I am doing. I am sure if you follow me here on the blog you know that my life has been one major shit show for the past year. I apologize for cursing (and I apologize for making you curse when you read that . . . just tell the Big Guy it was Krista's fault and He will understand completely), but as hard as I try, I cannot come up with a better description. Poop is just not strong enough to sum up all that we went through.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . . </i></div>
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Since everyone keeps asking me how I am doing, I have been doing a lot of reflecting on that question.</div>
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<i>How am I doing?</i></div>
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Well, to be honest, I think I am doing pretty, dang great (see . . . I don't swear all the time. Only when I really have to), which makes no sense at all because I really should be curled up in the fetal position, rocking myself back and forth, back and forth, singing the Hokey Pokey, but I am not. I keep waiting for my impending breakdown, but it hasn't happened. I wake up each day, like I always have, tired and a little cranky, and I get to work.</div>
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<i>What's the deal?</i></div>
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No, I am not smoking anything, and I am not a closet drinker; I just think I have learned how to do hard things. That's it. That's my big secret. I am stubborn, I do not back down from challenges, and I refuse to be beaten. I am determined to make this the best possible life for myself and my family, and I will not let a little thing like life get in my way. </div>
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It also helps that I am just about as crazy as crazy comes.</div>
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. . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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But seriously, if you think I can do hard things, this girl right here is the real fighter and my inspiration. No one else could have done what she did and managed to make it turn out exactly as she always dreamed.</div>
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I love you, Baby Girl, but like I said: "Please, don't do anything stupid"</div>
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. . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-65249895158430334662016-09-19T16:57:00.002-03:002016-09-19T16:57:38.952-03:00Just a Hop, Skip and a Jump Away<div style="text-align: center;">
What do you think of the new title? After recently moving to Winnipeg, where there are no ferries in sight, I figured the blog needed a new name. And since I am desperately trying to convince myself that we really are not that far away, A Hop, Skip and Jump seems appropriate. Oh, and I finally added Harriet onto the blog header . . . only 15 months later . . . ooops . . . mama loves you, Harriet.</div>
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There have been lots of changes here at Shenanigans Inc. The OBG (original Baby Girl) is living in Toronto, attending the UofT, and loving every minute of college life. Even though she is far away, she makes her presence felt, and she is currently sending me angry messages about how much she hates the new blog header, hates how the title is laid out and is demanding I put more spaces between our pictures . . . <i>insert eye roll here. </i>But since I already caved on one of her wishes by adding the word "Away" to the end of the title even though I prefer "Just a Hop, Skip and a Jump", I am going to ignore her demands. So, I guess what I am saying is that even though we are living in a new house, in a new province, and without our <i>favourite</i> oldest daughter, life really hasn't changed much: Zoe is still running the show . . . .<i>tee hee!</i></div>
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<i>Anyhoo . . .</i></div>
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Life is good, and I feel tremendously blessed to be able to say that because for a long time it was just plain hard. The boys are making friends at school and are getting involved in different activities. Mr. Level-Headed comes home every night for supper and tries desperately to inject some level-headedness into our life that is nothing but one ginormous gong show, and I have finally recovered from the upheaval of moving seven people out of our home and getting them situated into two different provinces . . . <i>phew!</i> That was fun . . .NOT! And finally, the babies . . . our babies, who bring us to our knees, quite literally, a thousand times a day either out of sheer frustration and exhaustion or out of absolute adoration and love, are doing great. Leif has finally stopped begging to go back home, and he is currently watching the sky for the first snowfall because he knows that after it snows, Christmas comes, and when it is Christmas, we are going home to see all of his people. He can't wait! Harriet is finally walking, and that has been a huge game-changer around here because she feels like she is one of the kids now and loves to play with them, leaving her mama free to actually get something done once and awhile. Also, ever since she started walking, Leif changed how he introduces her, and it is the cutest! Leif used to say:</div>
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<i>This is Harriet. She is my baby sister.</i></div>
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whenever I would walk into the room after their nap, or someone would enter the house. Now, he goes:</div>
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<i>This is Harriet. She is my baby sister and my best friend.</i></div>
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Seriously, it kills me every time he says it. And whenever he is playing, he now asks Harriet to join him.</div>
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<i>Let's play with me, Harriet.</i></div>
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Yep, life is good right now, and I just pray it can stay that way for quite some time. Oh, and if you can think of a way I can convince my father that Winnipeg is actually the Canadian tropics so that he and my mom will move here, please share!</div>
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. . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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It might work.</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-4160547806137542932016-06-07T15:07:00.000-03:002016-06-07T15:31:26.444-03:00Reality Check<div style="text-align: center;">
The other day it occurred to me that it was time to let go of this year. It should not be that difficult because I really did not like it that much anyway, but for some reason, I have been holding on tight to the long list of grievances I had incurred over the course of this past year, as if I could wave this list in someone's face and say: </div>
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"But, look! I have been through all this. Isn't that enough? Please. I need a rest".<br />
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No matter how many times I go over this list in my head, no one has shown up yet to wave their magic wand and usher me into the land of <i>Happily Ever After, </i>that magical plateau in life we all reach after enduring a particularly challenging time, where we can rest for a bit and enjoy the sunrises before Life throws yet another obstacle in our way. </div>
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<i>WHAT?! You mean, that is not how life works? There is no such place . . . are you kidding me?!</i></div>
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Yep, that is not how life works. We are never guaranteed a break. Sure, Zoe was sicker than she had ever been before; sure, I had two babies under two and two teenage boys pumped full of testosterone and the stupids to deal with day after day; sure, my hubby worked far, far away while all of this was going on, and sure, I packed up our entire house all by myself in preparation for a move far, far away only to learn that . . . SURPRISE! That awesome job we were moving our entire family up north for no longer exists.<br />
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<i>Seriously?</i></div>
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So, not only did I not reach any plateau, or a place where I could take just a moment to breathe and recover after, by far, the most challenging year of my life, but without a job, it now feels like the entire mountain I have been climbing just unleashed one nasty avalanche and I have been buried under three feet of snow without a shovel or a dogsled team on its way.</div>
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<i>Yes, please feel free to roll your eyes now. I am well-aware that I am ridiculously over-dramatic and whiny. Go ahead! I feel your pain. You should just stop reading right now.</i><br />
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No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to muster enough energy to face this battle with a smile and my usual pep to kick it in the derriere. I am tired. I don't have enough patience or strength to do this right now, and that is frustrating me. I feel beaten.<br />
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Then, something happened the other day. Instead of beating myself up for not being able to handle yet another obstacle, I started to acknowledge that yeah, I am not patient enough to handle all of this, and I am not strong enough to fight this right now. Then, I started taking stock of everything in my life and realized that I don't have enough love in my heart for all of my children and my husband right now. I am not smart enough to raise these kids in a world that I do not even understand. I am not kind enough to care for the people I know and love. I am not energetic enough to complete all that I have to do in a day, and I definitely do not have enough money to do what I need to do.<br />
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But here's the shocker . . . I have never had enough of any of these things, and I am guessing neither have you. And yet, day after day, I manage to get by. I manage to care for my family and my friends. I manage to put food on the table, get the laundry done, wash the dishes and still have time to read a bedtime story or two. Despite all of my inadequacies, my children are alive. They are happy and yes, for the first time in four years, I can honestly say they are all healthy! So, how do any of us manage to accomplish anything in our day, let alone our lives? We have a kind and merciful Heavenly Father, who loves us and looks after us, and He just happens to have enough of everything to help us.<br />
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<i>Yes, I went all spiritual on you again. Feel free to roll your eyes a second time. I did warn you not too long ago to stop reading.</i><br />
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We try our hardest day after day and inevitably fall short, but He is there to make up the difference. He is how I survived this past year, and He is how I am going to face this next setback with my usual smile and optimism. I may not have enough time, money, energy, patience, love or strength to do this all on my own, but I have enough faith, and thankfully, that is all I need.<br />
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So, instead of fretting or complaining or whining that life is being completely unfair, I am going to let go of this downright nasty year and move forward with a lighter heart and a smile on my face because with Mr. Level-Headed home to shoulder some of the responsibilities that go along with running a household of seven, I can finally get back to the important stuff like playing in puddles and building bridges and dams.<br />
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My life is far from easy, and it is definitely not perfect, but I am going to love it nonetheless.<br />
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-18823606426281597392016-05-05T15:57:00.002-03:002016-05-05T15:57:50.787-03:00Curve Balls<div style="text-align: center;">
Last Monday evening I threw myself a little victory party; I had just completed boxing up our kitchen, which meant everything was packed to be shipped up to Nunavut for our grand adventure which was to begin in July. All that was left was the bedding and the toys, but I wanted to wait until the night before the movers came to pack these critical items. This was a huge job! I spent all of April sorting, packing, purging and giving away items we no longer needed, and now that it was done, I was itching to get on with the next phase of our life. </div>
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I texted Mr. Level-Headed each morning wondering if he had, in fact, received the go-ahead from his boss to book the movers. We only had one more week left if we wanted to get our stuff on the first sea-lift of the season, but unfortunately, the new president of Derrick's company seemed uncomfortable with making final decisions. He kept putting it off and assuring Derrick that he was simply finalizing the details of our move.</div>
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By Thursday afternoon, I was getting anxious:</div>
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<i>Have you talked to David today?</i></div>
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An hour later, Mr. Level-Headed responded to my text:</div>
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<i>Yes, I did. My job was terminated.</i></div>
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And just like that, it was over.</div>
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We are not moving to Nunavut.The boys will not be riding a Ski-doo to school. The babies and I will not be working in the local library. Mr. Level-Headed is home. We do not have a job, and we have no idea what is next. </div>
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And why do we no longer have a job? Well, it all comes down to a local election and Mr. Level-Headed being on the losing side, which was drawn upon lines he did not even realize were there - small town politics at your best.</div>
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<i>Anyhoo</i> . . . </div>
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So, here we are, and to tell you the truth, I am heart-broken. Sure, I am a bit relieved that I do not have to move to the land of perpetual winter, or say goodbye to friends and family, but I am sad. Mr. Level-Headed loved his job! He was excited about the work he was doing, and he grew very fond of the community he has lived in for the past six months. I feel terrible for him. </div>
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I am also sad because, as crazy as it sounds, I was really looking forward to moving to Rankin. I wanted to learn how to drive an ATV. I wanted to see the Northern Lights. I wanted my boys to learn how to hunt caribou and carve knives. I wanted to experience what twenty-two hours of sunlight feels like. I wanted to experience something new and something different. I wanted an adventure.</div>
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Life is crazy! Like I told the kids, the only thing you can hope for in this life is a chance to breathe in between dodging all the curve balls it throws your way, and the only way you will survive is by being thankful for what you do have. Right now, my entire family is together under one roof. Mr. Level-Headed was given a good severance package, so we should be okay until he finds another job, and Zoe is healthy. In all honesty, life is pretty good right now and I am guessing that this is my time to take a couple deep breaths and prepare myself for whatever is coming up next . . . </div>
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Like unpacking all those boxes . . . <i>ugh!</i></div>
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God sure has a strange sense of humour . . . <i>tee hee!</i></div>
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And for no other reason than she is adorable and she brightens my day, here is little Miss Harriet:</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-2452489727809377482016-02-13T23:19:00.000-04:002016-02-13T23:19:29.001-04:004:52<div style="text-align: center;">
One of the hardest parts of having Mr. Level-Headed work in Nunvut is that I am always "on". There is no downtime or break. It is me who stays up with Leif in the middle of the night when he decides that sleep is for babies, and it is me who has to wake up with Harriet every morning at 6:24 like clockwork. It is me who has to stay up and talk with one of the Big 3 at 10 o'clock at night when something is on their mind or they have something extremely important to share, which typically ends up being some weird YouTube video that has recently gone viral. And it is me who has to talk to disgruntled drama teachers when they call to inform me late one Sunday evening that: a) my child has a major role in the school's upcoming play. b) my child does not know his lines. c) my child only attends about 50% of the scheduled practices and d) which is my favourite, the play is in two weeks. Which all comes down to the fact that it is me who will have to help this dear, sweet child of mine (<i>cough, cough . . . Avery) </i>to learn his lines.</div>
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With all of this responsibility weighing heavily upon me, I get tired and cranky, super cranky, and I feel like, lately, that I spend most of my time either yelling at the kids or doling out punishments. This is not how I like to parent. It drains me physically, emotionally and spiritually. I love nothing more than being a mother, but sometimes I want nothing more than to run away.</div>
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Luckily for me and my kiddos, who have faced the wrath of dragon mama far more often than they deserve lately, we got to run away this weekend. I swear there is nothing better for your soul than a good old fashion road trip. On Friday morning, Elliot, Avery, Leif, Harriet and I piled into the Loser Cruiser and headed up to Woodstock, NB for Elliot's provincial basketball tournament. All week as I planned and prepared for this trip, I had to squash many panic attacks and negative Nelly thoughts like:</div>
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<i>Are you crazy? Taking 4 kids between the ages of 14 and 7 months on a road trip . . . ALL BY YOURSELF!</i></div>
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But I knew it needed to be done, I knew we could do it and I knew we would enjoy it, and thankfully, it didn't take long for me to prove to myself that yes, this was a good idea:</div>
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We had been driving for about an hour and the sun was shining. We each had a bag of penny candy on our lap, and our favourite song had just come on the radio. Immediately, Elliot started rapping, while Avery and I took care of the backup vocals. Leif and Harriet, who were enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere in the car, began to laugh and squeal. The song became louder but it was no match for us wee Websters and a Skov, who are known for being a pretty loud bunch. We belted out the lyrics and danced in our seats. At one point I turned to look at Elliot, who was waving his arms like some mad maestro, and it suddenly hit me: </div>
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<i>Gosh! I like this kid. I really like him.</i></div>
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And then I looked at Avery, who is smack dab in the middle of puberty and who has lost all brain function because of it, and I thought:</div>
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<i>Oh my goodness! I even like him too.</i></div>
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And hearing Leif and Harriet giggle made me forget how difficult they had made it to pack our bags earlier that morning.</div>
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For 4 minutes and 52 glorious seconds, while our song played, I was able to block out my to-do lists, my concerns, and my responsibilities, and I was able to just have fun with my munchkins. It was priceless! And it was exactly what I needed to help me get through the next five weeks until Mr. Level-Headed returns home,</div>
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On a side note, I guess I should make this blog official . . . Shenanigans Inc. will be relocating to Rankin Inlet, Nunavut as of July 2016. Crazy, right? Crazy and exciting!</div>
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And now for some photos of our weekend:<br />
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This face . . . <i>I will crush you boy like I crushed this cheerio that is now stuck to my hand . . . hahahaha!</i></div>
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<i>Go, Huskies, go!</i></div>
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Poolside!</div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-78126050507967352452016-02-04T22:23:00.001-04:002016-02-04T22:28:36.103-04:00The Storyteller<div style="text-align: center;">
I love toddlers! Sure, they are wild, and crazy, and volatile, and stubborn, and downright difficult at times, but that is all part of their charm and let me tell you, Leif is charming. I swear he has me cast under his spell because no matter how much I want to throttle him when he does something foolish like eat his brother's deodorant and then throw it up all over the floor or colour over every inch of my walls in brown crayon, in the next breath all I want to do is smother him in kisses and cast my own spell over him so that he will stay exactly like he is . . . right now . . . forever and ever and ever. Since I have been unsuccessful at tapping into my inner witch and, like the rest of my children, this tiny bundle of energy, mischief and curiosity is bound to grow up on me, I am left trying to bottle up the moments we share on the ol' blog.</div>
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So, here goes . . .</div>
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Tonight, as Leif and I sat on his tiny bed in the corner of my room reading stories, he decided to tell me his very own story, complete with actions.</div>
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<i>Mom, what is this?</i></div>
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Leif flipped through the books beside his bed and pretended to pick something up. I could tell it was tiny.</div>
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<i>It's a key! It fell from the sky.</i></div>
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I asked him what the key was for.</div>
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<i>To that door . . .</i></div>
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As he pointed across the room.</div>
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<i>What do you think is behind the door, Leif?</i></div>
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<i>Fishes and oh, look a lion! The lion runs fast, mom. Oh, he jumped up to the sky! We need a ladder. </i></div>
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<i>Where is the ladder, Leif?</i></div>
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<i>Oh, no! The monster has it. Wait! I see the monster's feet.</i></div>
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<i>Are those his footprints, Leif?</i></div>
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<i>Yes, they are his feet. And there's the giraffe's feet.</i></div>
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<i>Where do they lead?</i></div>
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<i>In there . . .</i></div>
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As he points to the bathroom.</div>
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<i>What are the monster and the giraffe doing in the bathroom?</i></div>
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<i>They are playing with a star.</i></div>
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<i>Oh! Is it a bright star?</i></div>
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<i>Yeah. </i><i>Juice, mom?</i></div>
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<i>Are you ready for your juice, Leif?</i></div>
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<i>Yes.</i></div>
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And that was it; Leif's first story.</div>
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Perhaps he will be our writer. </div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-56861083420215735092016-01-25T22:55:00.000-04:002016-01-25T22:55:09.705-04:00Change is Good<div style="text-align: center;">
I had to blog tonight because I just spent the most precious thirty minutes of my life with Leif. It was incredibly special, and I want to remember it forever.</div>
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Recently, I decided that Leif and I were done nursing. As he was nursing to sleep that fateful night, we discussed the matter:</div>
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<i>This is going to be your last milkies, Leif.</i></div>
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<i>Aww right. </i></div>
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<i>(All right)</i></div>
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He answered with a twinkle of mischief in his eye.</div>
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<i>You are a big boy now and all big kids have to say goodbye to their milkies. Zoe did it. Elliot did it, and Avery did it too</i></div>
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<i>Aww right.</i></div>
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This time he smirked. I am sure he thought I had finally lost my mind.</div>
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<i>Seriously, Leif, after tonight, there is no more milkies.</i></div>
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<i>Aww, right, mom.</i></div>
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And then he fell asleep.</div>
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That was four nights ago, and Leif has not nursed since then. Sure, he has asked a couple of times; usually with a smirk on his face, but I simply remind him that he is a big boy now and then I offer him something else:</div>
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<i>Let's get some juice. Would you like to watch a show?</i></div>
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And it works . . . with minimal tears. I am shocked. I think he must have been ready for this too.</div>
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Up until last week, I enjoyed tandem nursing him and Harriet. In fact, we were getting really good at it, and they were so cute nursing together! Leif would hold one of her hands, while she played with his hair using her other hand. Seriously, there is only so much cute one heart can handle and these two push the limits on a daily basis. But, very quickly, it became not-so-cute anymore for me. It became a chore. In fact, it made my skin crawl when Leif would latch on, and I found myself getting very frustrated with him while he was nursing. I knew immediately what this was - nursing aversion, and recognized it was a sign that my body was done. Feeling this way toward Leif broke my heart. I had surpassed my goal of nursing him until he was two, which was when all my other kiddos were weaned, and so I knew in my heart that it was time for us to move on.</div>
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To help Leif transition away from nursing, I built him a little nest in the corner of our room. I placed his crib mattress on the floor, put the two fleece blankets that I made for him and Harriet on top of it, then surrounded the bed with his bins of books and placed a huge basket of stuffies at the end of his bed. He loves it! I often walk in and find him curled up in his bed "reading" his books. Perhaps Leif will be my reader. Surely I will get at least one reader out of my five kids! The past couple of nights, Leif has asked to read books in his big boy bed and then sleep up in my bed, which I do not mind at all.</div>
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But tonight . . . oh tonight! Leif climbed into his big boy bed, and as he was going through his bin of books, he came upon my all-time favourite book to read aloud: <i>Another Monster at the End of this Book </i>(I do an awesome Elmo impersonation . . . just saying).</div>
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<i>This is funny, mom.</i></div>
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And as I read it, he would shout: "turn the page" and then giggle as he saw how frustrated and scared Grover was becoming. Of course, we had to read it twice. Then Leif noticed his shadow, which lead to a rousing game of shadow puppets. When my alligator tried to eat his shadow head, Leif broke out into a belly laugh and it was infectious. I began to laugh too. It felt so good because ever since Mr. Level-Headed went to work in Nunavut, I find I am so busy taking care of the house and the kids that I don't laugh as much anymore. I always laugh. I love to laugh. Why am I not laughing? It's sad, I know, and clearly, it has to change.</div>
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<i>Hand, mom?</i></div>
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<i>Yes, Love. I will hold your hand.</i></div>
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With his tiny hand tucked inside of mine, Leif snuggled up under his blankets, laid his head onto his pillow and fell asleep. It was our shortest bedtime yet, but it was the most precious. It took every ounce of strength I could muster up to not scoop him back up into my arms and smother him in kisses. </div>
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I love nursing my babies, and yes, it is always hard to close the door on a phase in your child's life, but this new phase is good, it is really good, and I am going to treasure it for as long as it lasts.</div>
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Leif, thank you. Thank you for enjoying my favourite book, for laughing at my silly impersonations, for making me laugh and for reminding me just how much I love being a mama to you . . . and the rest of the crew. </div>
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ferrycrosserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12240348328204287600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4904957182059402412.post-31142310455631785532015-11-11T23:04:00.002-04:002016-01-25T23:06:08.708-04:00TWO!<div style="text-align: center;">
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I am in complete shock that when we wake up tomorrow morning the blonde ball of mischief and shenanigans, who sleeps beside me each and every night and who I lovingly refer to as Thing 4, will be two years old. Two?! Cue the typical responses:<i> </i></div>
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<i>How did that happen?</i></div>
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<i>Where has the time gone?</i></div>
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<i>Yada . . . yada . . . yada</i></div>
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<i>blah . . . blah . . . blah</i></div>
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But yeah, my baby boy is turning two tomorrow and as exciting as this is, it kind of makes my heart hurt. I love the fact that he is growing up because, in all honesty, the alternative is something I never want to experience, but I hate the fact that no matter how many pictures I take, or how many blog posts I write, or how many nights I cuddle up to him while he sleeps and try to soak in all of his adorableness, or how many hours we spend lying on the living room floor building Legos or playing trains, I will forget. I will forget how he smells when he comes straight out of the bath and I wrap him up and have to show him what picture is on the hood of his towel. </div>
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<i>It's the ducks! Quack . . . quack </i></div>
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<i>Look, it's a boat!</i></div>
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I will forget the sound of his laugh when he thinks I am about to catch him as he tears through the kitchen with a pen or marker in his hand. I will forget how cute he is when he pulls a chair up beside me saying: <i>I help, </i>while I am making dinner or washing dishes.I will forget how it feels when he wraps his little arms around my neck and I kiss him over and over again just to hear him squeal with laughter. I will forget the look of excitement he gets on his face and how he pats his chest when I ask him who he is:</div>
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<i>Nee . . . Nee</i></div>
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(me . . . me)</div>
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I will forget.</div>
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And that sucks. </div>
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I have been blessed with a gift, the gift of writing, but during moments like this, on the eve of Leif's second birthday, that gift feels far too inadequate.Words cannot capture what I want to capture - the way he looks, the way he smells, the way he sounds, the way he runs, the way he cries, the way he nurses, the way he kisses, the way he jumps and the way he feels. Words cannot express how much I love him, or how much I enjoy spending my days with him. Words cannot stop time or even make it slow down just a tinch, just enough for me to soak it all in before . . . <i>gasp! . . . </i>he becomes a two year old and I no longer have a two-under-two crew. On top of losing my baby, I am even losing my beloved catch-phrase. This is too much!</div>
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So, Leif, know this: I tried. No matter how busy my day was, or how difficult you were being (truth be told, Bud, you are difficult) I tried my best.Where words fail, I pray my actions will speak volumes. I pray that each kiss, each laugh, each story, each game, each lesson, each walk, and each hug we have shared will have a lasting impression on you; so much so that will never, ever forget just how much your mama loves you.<br />
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Happy Birthday, Thing 4!<br />
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