the case for flushing

There is a standing controversy at our house surround the toilet. And the flushing of said toilet. The issues are complex, the arguments compelling on both sides.

The truth is, I don't always flush after each use. There, I said it.

I remember back in highschool spending the day on a house boat that belonged to the family of a friend. As soon as we got on board, we were taught the following little rhyme:

If it's yellow, let it mellow.
If it's brown, flush it down.

Obviously, in a house, we are not under the same fresh water restrictions as when you're living on a boat, however I still stand by my desire to conserve water. Not only does my, ahem, mellow attitude save water and therefore money, but I also feel strongly about water conservation in light of Peter's trip to the Sudan in 2007.


The knowledge that I use more fresh water to flush my toilet than most Sudanese children drink in their lifetime is convicting. Sure you could argue that if Sudanese mothers HAD a toilet, they WOULD use it, but I'm not sure if that argument holds much water (pardon the pun). People there know what a precious commodity clean, fresh water is and they don't waste it.

They don't take it for granted as we do.

My guilt over flushing peaked during my pregnancy with Andrew. I just couldn't justify using several liters of water to flush the measly few ounces -or mere drops!- of output I was producing hourly. Often I'd stand up from the toilet and have to go again by the time I was done washing my hands! When you're using and flushing the toilet dozens of times each day IT ADDS UP. I was trying to use water more efficiently.

Unfortunately, Liam seems to have adopted my aversion to water use. And he is less -much less- discerning when it comes to when he should, or should not, flush.

Things came to a head this week when Peter came stomping out of the bathroom and stated (rather loudly, I might add) that, "I work hard everyday so that my family CAN AFFORD TO FLUSH THE TOILET."

While I found this hilarious, I have come to the conclusion that a harmonious marriage is of greater importance than water conservation.

(Which just means that I'm trying really hard to remember to flush and clean both toilets before Peter gets home from work.)

E-W-W-W spells "BUG"

I have bugs in my house.

Specifically these guys. Potato bugs or pill bugs or roly poly bugs. Their scientific name is Armadillidiidae, I assume because they roll up like armadillos. Their name around here is, "THOSE BUGS THAT ARE EVERYWHERE."

Everywhere downstairs that is. Thankfully, I don't think any of them have managed to scale the staircase yet. BY THE GRACE OF GOD.

I know that these bugs are really pretty low down on most people's list of bugs to be feared. Truthfully, they don't disgust/shock/terrify me as much as they annoy me... it's the quantity of them! I find at least a dozen everyday and that's without really searching them out. That's just the ones that I happen to see making their way across the basement floor.

And, um hello, where are they coming from??

Although I don't think roly poly bugs are much in the way of community, I'm still horrified by the idea that I might come apon a nest of them. A NEST.

Dear Lord.

The mere idea of it.

(I'm shaking.)

The thing is, I'm pretty sure this is just the beginning of my bug issues for the year (I'll be making a new blog category, I'm sure).

When we first moved in last June, we were doing some major cleaning of the house, garage, our car, etc. At one point, some Coke was spilled. Coke that I cleaned up with a cotton rag. A cotton rag that I later went to grab to throw in the wash only to discover it was teeming (TEEMING... shudder) with teeny, tiny ants. Teeny, tiny ants that we clearly didn't see or notice prior to buying the house.

Those who have battled ants know what they're like. They scout out and find any morsel of food mere seconds after it's hit the floor, then invite several hundreds of their friends to the feast.

WELL I HAVE A TODDLER.

Although he's (marginally) better now, last summer he would throw food for the sheer joy of hearing it hit the floor. The ants were very happy and surely thanked their lucky stars for the time of plenty they were experiencing. I, however, was very, VERY unhappy.

I hate ants.

Especially swarms of teeny-tiny-yet-fat-and-happy ants that force me to do much more cleaning than is my norm.

The ants plagued us all summer until I took the boys to visit family in Regina for three week. By the time we returned, the ants were gone. GONE. I'm not sure if they figured the well had run dry or if Peter took a chemical approach to getting rid of them... I didn't ask. I didn't care as long as they were gone.

I'm worried that the warm weather will bring them back. With a vengeance.

And don't even get me started on the spiders in this place...

(sigh)

Please tell me I'm not alone.

questions for my Ottawa area peeps

I have a few questions for those of you in the area who read my blog. I'm looking for a few leads or recommendations for the following:

- A source of local, pastured: beef , bison, whole chickens, maybe even venison or other fowl.
- A good -yet not terribly expensive- family photographer. Not for photographs in a studio. More of the outdoors walking-as-a-family-down-a-tree-covered-path variety. Emphasis on the not too expensive bit. Really, I just want a picture of all five of us together. That's in focus. I promised my mom one for Christmas (hi, mom!) and it's now almost April...
- Someone with raspberry shoots and/or strawberry creepers to give away this spring.
- Anyone who might want to buy an alto saxophone.

Also, could you leave a comment and let me know if this is really spring. Is it here for good? To stay? Living in the prairies, I grew up never being able to trust spring thanks to the very real possibility of snow in May and the constant threat of frost into June.

So am I free to start planning my garden? What's a normal Ottawa spring?

more lazy talk

Yesterday at church, our pastor called everyone to the front of the sanctuary. I could go into a five point sermon here, but will simply say that he wanted us all to pray together - for ourselves, for each other, and specifically for our city and the province of Quebec.

As Peter and I knelt there along with everyone else, I realized that I wasn't praying. I was waiting for Pastor Martin or someone else to pray.

Is it that, after so many years of asking and having those close to me pray FOR me, I've just gotten lazy (I use that word a lot around here, eh)? Or has the pain that lead to me needing prayer in the first place made it too difficult to pray? It's not that I don't believe in God, and in His existence. I think it comes down to me not trusting Him.

You might be wondering how I can believe in God, but not find Him trustworthy? Well, He's let me down too many times.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this...

Last week, Sara shared her testimony (or birth story, an idea that I love) over at her blog. It got me wondering when was the last time I'd sat down at wrote my story.

It's been a while.

Years.

LOTS has happened.

So I've decided to give myself a bit of homework. I'm going to write out my story. All of it. The good and the bad (there's loads of both). I'm also going to volunteer to share at one of the next women's breakfasts at our church.

I'll share it here too... maybe.

Yikes.

Don't expect anything today or even this week. I'm sure this bit of homework will take a bit out of me to write and, in my attempts to make it perfect, will take several edits and revisions.

I'll keep you posted.

feeling sneaky

(I thought I'd posted this long ago, but found it saved as a draft. I think I was waiting to get the pictures off of my camera. So here it is.)

As you know, it was Peter's 30th birthday on the 8th of March. It was a Sunday and pretty low-key since he was studying for his big exams that Tuesday. We had a nice dinner and I made a cake, but that was about it.

Or so he thought.

(Here's where the sneaky comes in.)

Since I'd recently signed up for Facebook (yeah, yeah, I know, Facebook is SO last year. Everyone Twitters now...), I took advantage of their event planning application to send out an invitation for a surprise party for March 14th. All week long, I planned and plotted using detailed lists and Excel worksheets to satisfy my neurosis stay organized. Several times each day I found myself biting my tongue to keep from seeking his advice on food and drinks, etc. Since I couldn't ask his opinion, I talked to myself a lot that week... or a lot more than normal.

Most Saturdays I take advantage of Peter being home and let him get up with the boys while I sleep in. That weekend though, I was up right at 7am when Simon and Liam first stirred. THAT ALONE should've tipped Peter off to something being amiss! Before he was even out of bed, I had three loaves of bread baking, laundry going, the boys fed, and the playroom cleaned up and vacuumed.

I told him that I was doing spring cleaning.

The sucker fell for it.

Since Liam had been invited to a birthday party of a classmate that morning, I sent Peter -grumbling- to drop him off and run some errands. While he was gone, I prepared food like a mad woman and hid it in the laundry room. When I heard him pull up, I quickly sat down at the computer and opened my blog reader so he wouldn't be suspicious. I also insisted that he be the one to go pick Liam up. While he was gone, I made his cake.

Part of the plan was that I'd told him I'd arranged for a babysitter for the night so that he and I could go out on a date to celebrate not only his birthday, but also his fabulous exam results (He got an 'E' on both of them (!) meaning he's exempt from having to re-take those exams for as long as he's employed by the federal government. This is a HUGE deal and we're all VERY proud of him.)

We'd arranged to pick her up at 6pm. So I waited until about 5:30pm to say that I had to shower before we left and HE'D have to pick her up. He really put up a fight about this, but I managed to convince him to go. As soon as he left, people started to show up. The babysitter's family did a good job of keeping him there extra long (by tempting him with cake, which he predictably accepted) to give everyone the chance to arrive before him.

I'd called him ahead of time to say that Simon had made a huge mess at the back door so he'd have to come in the front. Everyone was gathered in the living room to shout "Surprise!".


I'd say that my first surprise party was a success. Hopefully everyone got enough to eat and had as much fun as we did. We were up til 2am cleaning up, but it was so worth it. Turning 30 is a big deal.

Isn't this the year that Christ started his ministry? NO PRESSURE, PETER.

Just remember that someone else will be celebrating an equally important 30th birthday this year... ME.

count down to Earth Hour

For Earth Hour 2009, the World Wildlife Fund set a target of one billion people shutting off their lights between 8:30 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. today Saturday, March 28, 2009.

Will you (or DID you, if you're reading this after the fact) participate? Last year, there was a Flames vs Oilers game on during that time slot, so everything was off except the TV.

Not sure who's scheduled to play tonight but seeing as it's Saturday night, there WILL be hockey... Saving the earth or NHL hockey? You decide.

reflections of a lazy housekeeper

(Continuing this discussion.)

I've been thinking a bit more about the whole messy house thing.

Particularly about how it relates to friendships/hospitality/appearances, etc. I'm not going to deny that I frantically clean and tidy up prior to having company over. I want the house to look "clean and tidy" for my friends and family, even if that doesn't AT ALL necessarily reflect the state of my house on a daily basis.

Do I do this out of love and respect for those dear to me? To show them that their visit was looked forward to with anticipation and was thus deserving of extra care and attention to detail?

Or do I do it to hide the truth? The sticky-chairs, crumb-covered-floor, dust-bunnies-under-the-couch truth that...

I, AMY, AM A RELUCTANT HOUSEKEEPER.

I know that I'm not a BAD housekeeper. When I do DO it, I do it well. I'm generally good at anything I set my mind to. The problem is that my mind is almost always on things OTHER THAN HOUSEWORK. The exception being when we're having people in for a visit or a meal, when my thoughts are full of meal ideas, food prep, logistics of, say, feeding 6 adults and 7 kids at a table that seats four... and the currently level of cleanliness of my house. Or -more often than not- the lack of cleanliness.

If you go over to Her Bad Mother and read all 150+ comments to her post, you'll quickly see that those to claim to have a clean house also admit to having hired help to keep it that way. I'm not even sure it's possible to have a spotless home when said house also contains kids. So if it's not possible, than why do moms everywhere put such pressure on ourselves to have a clean house?

Is it because we think that every other mom IS able to keep a clean house? That we're the only one with a drawer/cupboard/closet/room of shame? That we're alone with our dirty little secret?

There's just so much more to being a mother than a spotless floor and weekly-disinfected door knobs. Being a mom is hard! I think it would be great if we could acknowledge that truth and not try to hide the constant challenges that come with the territory. Honestly, I think that all moms do acknowledge that truth, but we don't feel comfortable enough to admit it to each other.

At least not at first.

I think it takes a level of comfort and ease that comes with knowing another person well before we're able to drop the facade.

So, if you come to my house and it's all sparkly and shiny clean, take it to mean that I love you and wanted to make extra special preparations for you visit OR that I'm too intimidated by you to show you my normal mess.

If you show up to floors strewn with toys, the breakfast dishes still on the table and seven loads of laundry waiting to be washed, know that we've reached that level.

We're now THAT kind of friends.

Simon: month 28 (kids' post-modern wall art)

(A day late, but I'm getting better!)

Simon, this has been a huge month for you vocally. Your vocabulary and ability to structure a sentence have grown in leaps and bounds... as has your ability to talk back to your parents and fight with your brother.

We're so proud.

A few days ago, you came up to me with a mouth suspiciously stained blue, although you said "no" when asked if you'd been eating Playdoh.

I didn't believe you.

Turns out that while I was upstairs nursing Andrew and putting him to sleep, you'd decided to not only rummage in the garbage for some dried out Playdoh, but then proceed to bite it into tiny pieces and spit them all over the floor.

Who does stuff like this?!

Then while I was cleaning up and washing the floor, you followed me around, sighing. Like I must have been doing without realizing it until I heard your imitation. However I was sighing out of frustration while you were sighing to drive me crazy because you were trying to be funny.

This morning while I was occupied with Andrew, you once again came upstairs with a colorful mouth, this time green. I asked if you were eating the crayons I left you with, happily and carefully colouring with ON PAPER. You guiltily told me you'd made a mess.

Oh great.

The Charge: Colouring on something other than paper with what has turned out to be non-washable crayons.

The Evidence:


The accused Convicted:

Me: Simon, are we supposed to colour on the walls?
You: Yes!
Me: NO. We colour on paper, not on the walls.
You: I maka big mess?
Me: Yes, you made a big mess.

Me: (sigh)
You: (sigh)
Me: Yeah, (sigh).

Works For Me Wednesday: laundry

This morning I wrote how the sun was shining, the birds were singing and everything seemed right with the world... then I walked downstairs. Although I'd love to spend the day outside frolicking, I'm starring at NO LESS THAN SEVEN LOADS OF LAUNDRY.

(I'd take a picture for you all, but I don't own a wide angle lens.)

Why do I do this to myself?

For a while there, I'd gotten into the habit of doing a load of laundry every day. While this might seem excessive or wasteful to you, a family of five can easily create a load of laundry each day. Especially with three boys: one comes home with paint and marker on his clothes almost daily, one can't eat a meal without needing a bath afterward (despite him wearing only full-coverage bibs WITH SLEEVES), and one spits up several times a day and drools constantly. Peter and I? Well we're either being spit up on or being used as human tissues (Anyone else who can't go a day without finding snot or food residue smeared across their pants around thigh level??).

Between clothes, towels, bibs, receiving blankets, muddy mitts, wash cloths, etc, there's ALWAYS enough for a load. And since I hang dry the majority of our clothes (it's more gentle on both our clothes and the environment) I run out of space quickly if I'm doing load after load...

After load...

It helps that I wash everything together (except cloth diapers) and everything on cold.I'd say that 95%+ of our clothes are 100% cotton, so I don't worry about special care instructions, especially knowing that most items will be hung to dry.

So, what works for me? NOT LETTING LAUNDRY PILE UP FOR A WEEK. Doing a load each day saves me from having to waste a B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L. day inside washing, drying and folding.

But as disheartening as a day full of laundry is, the prospect of using my backyard clothes line for the first time IN MONTHS is enough to make me positively giddy.

today's forecast: joy

As I sit here at the kitchen table, the sun STREAMING in the windows, the online weather forecast promising a down right balmy +11 C (that'd be 51 F for my south of the boarder friends), I heard an unfamiliar sound...

WHAT IS THAT??

It's birds.

Birds singing.

Birds singing LOUDLY.

Joyfully.

They're as excited about spring and warm weather and sunshine as I am. This is seriously the first time I've heard birds sing like this IN MONTHS. They're singing like they just CAN'T HELP IT and I'm sitting here with a big, goofy grin on my face to hear them. I love the sound of birds in the morning.

Til that darn cardinal that we've dubbed "the 5am cardinal" comes back...

I'd love you to love me

Peter and I met in high school. Although I'd known about him for a few years from mutual friends who he'd grown up with in Argentina, I don't think we'd ever had a class together or even spoken. He'd always been that cute guy whose locker was plastered with pictures of soccer players (read: other cute guys. Is that weird?).

During our senior year, a few girlfriends and I used to go watch the guys' soccer team play after school. When I heard they were looking for a team manager, I figured I'd volunteer since I was there anyways. That way I'd have an excuse for why I was there oogling the players every game.

One game early in the season, I was sitting with the staff adviser. He was acquainting me with the names of all of the players. He pointed at Peter, the captain of the team, and said (in his lovely British accent), "That's Peter. He's a beautiful player!".

I thought to myself, "You're not kidding."


That was September and we remained friends throughout the soccer season. Peter finally plucked up enough nerve to ask me out a few minutes before midnight on Dec 31st, 1996.

We've been together ever since.

There's been a lot of fun, A LOT of tears, exciting adventures, faraway travels, heartbreaking lows and amazing highs.

I wouldn't change anything that's brought us to where we are today.

(Will rustle up some pics to add to this post tomorrow. Pictures that are 13 years old. You know you'll be back.)

Also, do you have a story about marriage/love/engagement/wedding or maybe a bit of advice for a soon-to-be-engaged-but-the-gal-doesn't-know-it-yet couple? If so, write a post and head over to The Glamorous Life Association and add your link to the list... there's a secret proposal going on... shhhhhhh.

weekend watch

I thought I'd start a fun series to share some of my online discoveries.

I've been getting to know some other Ottawa-area bloggers. Here -in no particular order other than the order I found them in- are some great capital city blogs.

a peek inside the fishbowl

Postcards from the Mothership

Life is Good at the Beach

A Crafty Mom's Blog

Turtlehead

Two Hands Full

Loulou's View

Hopefully you'll enjoy the writing of some of these great Ottawa ladies.

(If any of you are visiting me here, hopefully we'll get to meet someday. What say we leave the kids with the men-folk and meet for something that isn't served in a sippy cup or as part of a Happy Meal?)

If you're an Ottawa blogger that I've missed (I'm sure there are loads that I don't know about since I only started looking a few weeks ago... You mean I'm not the only one?? Here I thought I was all original.), leave me a comment and I'll add you to the list.

confessions of a lazy housekeeper

Just for Catherine, who asked if anyone else would admit to their laziness regarding housekeeping, or who was losing the battle of the mess and ready to surrender...

I don't know if I'm quite ready to wave a white flag, but I do realize that there's a time for everything and that having young kids is not the time for an always (or even often) tidy house.

(There's also a time for showering each day and changing out of your pjs on a daily basis, again, not always possible with kids.)

What I've found works for me is to either have a playdate each week or to invite another family over for supper. This forces gives me the motivation I need to tidy up.

Now for the photographic evidence...

(Truthfully, this is my house ON A GOOD DAY. A day when TWO families are expected for dinner.)

The kitchen counter

Besides being ridiculously small, it's also currently covered in last week nights dishes, a bowl full of carrot peels and celery tops, three leftover containers of icing (that I sent to school with Liam, along with a container of cookies to decorate for St Patrick's Day), a big bag of almonds, and -oh lookie here!- not only are there a pair of scissors right near the edge but also a ceramic knife that is so sharp that I still have all my ten finger but for the grace of God!

(I cropped out the chair that Simon had pushed up to the counter to look for anything that might be fun/breakable/dangerous like scissors, knives or butter.)

The bedroom

(sigh) Always the last room to be cleaned. Why is that?

The laundry hamper in the background is actually full of clean clothes (til Simon throws them all over the room and mixes them up with the dirty, thus forcing me to rewash everything). The one in the foreground is dirty. Oh, and there's a baby somewhere in that bed...


And finally, the playroom.

For those not familiar with the layout of our house, it used to be divided into up and down suites, so there's a full kitchen -minus appliances- in the basement. The extra sink and all the cupboards are really handy. I'm actually okay with this. More than okay. THIS is doable. It is a playroom after all, and I'm thankful to have a place where I don't have to worry about the mess.

However, this is how I like it.

But it rarely, if ever, looks like that.


I do feel slightly better after this little confession. That being said, we'll be having guests tonight, so I will be frantically cleaning everything this afternoon. I've already vacuumed the upper level, have ribs slow-cooking in the oven, fresh bread dough rising and a load of laundry in the wash.

And I'm wishing I could have a nap.

In all honesty, doing these big cleans makes me feel justified in letting things go (ie. totally slacking) during the rest of the week.

We used to try to do a big cleaning day on Saturdays, but I don't like to spend one of Peter's only days off bent over the edge of the tub or doing 10ish loads of laundry. Better to do it when I'm home with the two little boys sleeping so I can do it my way the right way myself.

Thanks, Catherine, for the confessional.

(Catherine is a super talented, honest and often hysterical blogger. AND SHE'S ALSO CANADIAN. Check out her post, Her Bad Mother: Good Housekeeping: Totally Slobtastic Slackermom Edition)

about me

Welcome to my blog!

(cracks fingers to warm up for the flood of inspiration that will ultimately follow)

And?





*crickets*


Nothing?? Nothing.

(sigh) People are TOTALLY going to want to read this blog.

Why is it that I have such a hard time with these? Maybe I'm just too much of a perfectionist that I know I'll never be happy with it even after the 100th edit. Maybe I'm suffering from flashbacks of all the testimonies we were forced to write in Youth Group growing up ("I grew up in a Christian home..."). Maybe it's the pressure that people may make their decision about whether or not to come back based on how clever I manage to come across in this post (HA. Is this thing even on?). Maybe I'm afraid that any effort I make to try to make my mommy life sound exciting will come off as trying too hard.

Or maybe sitting down to describe myself will confirm what I already suspect... that my life really ISN'T all that exciting...

But isn't it? I guess it depends on your definition of exciting.

Last May, with two days notice, my husband and I packed up our (then) two boys and moved 4000 miles KILOMETERS away (this is a Canadian blog, yo). From oil-rich, ranch-heavy Calgary, Alberta, to the capital region of Ottawa, Ontario. Since Peter's job with the Canadian Foreign Service requires him to be fluent in both of Canada's official languages, he started right away into an intensive French language course. Because we wanted to immerse ourselves in the language (read: couldn't afford a house in Ottawa), we settled across the river in Gatineau, Quebec.

(For those of you not familiar with the region, there's kind of a St Paul-Minneapolis thing going on here. Except that St Paul and Minneapolis would be in different states AND HAVE DIFFERENT OFFICIAL LANGUAGES.)

Even though we're only about 10 minutes from Parliament Hill, we're technically in a parallel universe different city and province entirely. It's been quite the culture shock adventure at times.

I have to admit that I'm not entirely sure what I want this blog to be. It started out as a private family blog, but is beginning to grow into something more.

I enjoy writing. I enjoy connecting with others online. I enjoy sharing the crazy, sometimes destructive, often funny (at least in retrospect) antics of my boys, who I think are pretty great.

I also enjoy -and NEED- this blog as an outlet. Not only as a place to record the life of myself and my family, but also a place to put my thoughts "to paper".

I suppose you could describe this as yet another mommy blog. Other areas I have or hope to post about would/will include:

- spirituality, God, grief, musings on eternity and the after-life (I can FEEL my subscription numbers soaring)
- crafting (mainly my sewing attempts... I'm great at STARTING projects)
- cooking (whole foods and issues relating to Simon's many allergies)
- photography (and my half-a$$ attempts to master my camera -a Nikon D40, if you're wondering)
- life in "the Nation of Quebec" (Seriously. That's what they call it.)
- frugal living (which will be my excuse to hit up garage sales every weekend come summer! SO. EXCITED.)

Are ya hooked??

So yeah, maybe not the most super exciting line up, but I'll try to make it a fun ride. And for those who stick with me, you'll be able to follow my family when we get posted overseas... hopefully somewhere in Africa.

The name of my blog, "muddy boots", came for the lyrics of a song I listened to as a child off the album, Bullfrogs and Butterflies. The premise of the song is that there's always sunshine after a rain and that, as followers of Christ, we have a "different kind of sunshine". One of my favorite lines says,

Rain's spreading blessings here and there.
My boots may be muddy but I'm going somewhere.

Living, loving, learning -blogging?? It's all a journey. Hopefully at the end of it all we'll be able to look back and say that we were better off for it.

~ Amy

my kid's a genius

This is what's left of a block of butter that Simon got into. Yes I did leave it out on the counter to thaw (I bought a bunch when they were on sale), so bad me. But really. REALLY. He pushed a chair over to the counter, found the butter, managed to unwrap the butter, then proceeded to EAT. THE. BUTTER.

(blech)

Not only that, but HE'S ALLERGIC TO BUTTER and all other dairy.

Fabulous.

not me!

I just stumbled into this Not Me! carnival a couple minutes ago through a link on Mommy Always Wins . This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week. It seems like the point is to confess some of your less-than-super-mom moments. Hmmm, let's see if I've had dozens any of those this week...

Heck, I've had a few today, but this one takes the cake:

I did not discover that celery and Kit Kat bars taste really good when eaten in the same mouthful. Not me!

I'll leave it at that for this week.

Anything that you "didn't do"?

it's that time

That wonderful postpartum time when ALL MY HAIR STARTS TO FALL OUT.

For real.

On average, a person loses 50-100 hairs a day. During pregnancy, the higher estrogen levels result in a longer growing period for hair follicles. With fewer hairs falling out, one of the benefits of pregnancy -other than the baby you get at the end!- is long, thick, luxurious tresses for nine months. Once the baby's out and the estrogen levels take a nose dive, your head decides to catch up on all the hair shedding its been missing out on.

Awesome.

So now I find myself not only constantly picking hair off of myself, but also unraveling hairs from Andrews fingers, toes, arms, legs, neck... I find hair in all this chubby baby creases and cracks. I did a search on google to see if there's ever been a case of a baby strangled by it's mother's hair, but didn't come up with anything.

(Although I did this for kicks, it actually brought up a lot of really disturbing articles about infanticide and murder. Don't do it, m'kay?)

This is usually the point where I decide to cut my hair. The hairs still fall out, but they're short enough to barely be noticed and certainly not long enough to be used as a tourniquet. But since I don't have a Heidi here to cut my hair (although I miss HER much more than her mad scissor skillz), I might actually end up keeping it long this time 'round.

Maybe I'll get the dreads I've always wanted... (Heidi, I can hear you groaning from here!)

can girls eat this?

To set the stage a bit, the boys and I were eating lunch yesterday and Liam was finished, but still hungry so I told him to get himself a yogurt from the fridge. He chose a mixed berry one. On the front of the container, it was obvious that the printing machine had missed the mark with the red ink, so the raspberry ended up looking a greenish yellow.

Liam: What kind of berries are green?
me: (not really paying attention since I was nursing Andrew) I'm not sure.
Liam: boysenberries? (at least that's what I thought I heard)
me: Sure.
Liam: Maybe this is boysenberry yogurt.
me: Hmmm, it could be.
Liam: Well are you sure I should eat it? IF THERE'S POISON IN IT??
me: (paying attention now) Poison?? (cluing in) No, Liam, it's BOYSENberry. With a 'B', "buh".
Liam: Ohhhh, BOYSENberry.

(a short pause, then)

Liam: Can girls eat boysenberries?

hey Beavis

Peter came home early the other day. We were all downstairs watching Yo Gabba, Gabba and playing Lego (for those not familiar with it, Yo Gabba, Gabba is also known as" toddler crack"). Paul Williams was the guest and, in this particular segment, was sitting at the piano singing a song.

By the time I saw the glint in Peter's eye, it was too late.

Peter: Liam, do you know what they call someone who plays the piano?
Liam: No.
Peter: A "pianist".
Liam: A PENIS??

This was, predictably, followed by fits of laughter.

Peter was laughing hardest.

Cause he turned how old this week? THIRTEEN??

Happy Birthday Old Man!

Peter was whining mentioned the other day the fact that he doesn't get a monthly letter. I told him he wasn't reaching enough of his developmental milestones each month to warrant a letter. But, he probably does enough of interested in any given year to earn a yearly letter on his birthday. And so, here it is and, like the boys' monthly letters, it's late.


As I was trying to decide what I could say about you, Peter, my first thoughts were about what a great dad you are and how lucky I am to be your wife. But if I go on at great lengths about you as a dad and husband, I'll have nothing to say on Father's Day and our anniversary!

Instead I decided to take this time to say publicly how proud I am of you. A year ago, the only french you knew was "Ma maman fait le menage chez moi." (My mom does the cleaning at my house.) Eight months later, you french is better than mine... a confession that pains me somewhat to make.

As I write this letter, you're writing your second of the three exams that you need to pass in order to complete your language training. With the exception of waking once last night to dislodge Andrew's feet from your ribs, you seemed to sleep like a log. I, on the other hand, felt like I was awake all. night. long. I have no doubt that you'll pass these exams. I think my anxiety stems from knowing how badly you want to excel at them. Hopefully I'll sleep more soundly once we know your marks... unfortunately that might not be until Friday.

(For those who don't know, Peter has to get at least a 'C' on his exams in order to be officially hired by the Foreign Service. The grades aren't 'A', 'B', 'C', etc, instead a 'C' is a high level of fluency in French. Once this level is obtained, he'll have to re-write the exams every five years to maintain that level. However, if he does really well and gets an 'E' on his exams, he's exempt from having to write the exams ever again. Seeing as he's currently studying french 8 hours a day, if he's to get those exemptions, it kind of has to be now.)

I love that, while I wouldn't call you super ambitious (at least not in a wanting to make loads of money/be some powerful business mogul/rule the world sort of way), you are so determined to excel at whatever you do. I can honestly say that you have the strongest work ethic of anyone I know. Your attention to detail and your honesty and integrity impress me daily. AND YOUR ABILITY TO NOT ONLY BE ON TIME BUT EARLY (every. single. day.) is nothing short of amazing, and -as you well know- an almost completely foreign concept to me.

Although you are very driven, the driving force isn't money or wealth or recognition or power. Taking care of your family, doing something that interests you, being in a position to help those who are powerless to help themselves... these are the things that drive you.

I know that during my dad's illness this fall you felt guilty about "being the one who moved us out here", and even more so when I wasn't able to be there the night he died. Even though my dad wasn't thrilled about the idea of us moving - with his grandsons- to the other end of the earth once we're posted abroad, he knew this was what we wanted and, like us, he could clearly see God's hand in the circumstances that lead us here. He was excited about what the future held for us and where He would lead us.

I'm excited too...

I'm excited that you'll soon start a job that you'll (hopefully) love. One where you can use your degree and one that will challenge you and play to all your many strengths, especially your heart for people who are suffering.

...and I'm thankful.

I'm thankful that I'll be able to be a part of this adventure with you. If life is indeed a journey, with mountains and valleys, smooth roads and rocky paths... If there are muddy fields to be crossed... We've had times where not only have our boots been muddy, but we've found ourselves chest deep in some mucky bog threatening to suck us under, and having to use the rotting corpse of some dead sheep as leverage to pull ourselves free (a la Bear Grylls from Man vs Wild). But we made it. I don't think we're at the top yet, but the view is pretty great from where we're at.

So here's wishing you another wonderful thirty years, Peter.

Happy Birthday!

I love you.



The photos in that slide show are all from the last year. We're only in three of them together. There were a few more, but not many. So this year, let try to be in a few more pictures together. Maybe even a few sans kids.

Andrew: month 2

(I think I'll cry when we're out of the single digit months.)

Andrew, I have to admit that I've often been critical of other parents when they've gone on about how hard it is to parent a sick child. Your brothers have been sick on many occassions -we've also dealth with operations and broken bones- and I've managed. It's not ideal, but life as we know it doesn't grind to a screeching halt.

But I'd never had to deal with a sick baby. A sick infant.


Currently you're getting over what the doctor called "a upper respiratory viral infection". So a cold. It started late last Friday night as a little cough (which I admit to thinking was cute at the time, silly me), Sunday night you woke up at 4:30am crying and wouldn't stop unless you were held upright and being patted HARD. To make matters worse, I was exhausted from being awake with Simon from 11:30pm til sometime after 4am when he finally passed out. But it wasn't so much that you were awake and crying, but all the fluid in your mouth/throat/chest. It sounded like you were drowning. Very unnerving.


For the past week, you've only been happy (and by that I mean not screaming) when you're in a wrap. Wrapped snug and in the upright position so that your nose and mouth can drain... all over my shirt. Although I did managed to at least do the dishes yesterday, that was the first real housework I'd done IN DAYS. Even though you've been closer to your normal happy-baby self today, I still feel like the house is a total mess. Not necessarily dirty, but definitely in need of a serious tidy. In addition to that, during this last week here's a list of the things I didn't do:

- I didn't cook anything remotely worth eating
- I didn't pick up any toys (close your eyes and imagine heaps of toys, dried playdoh, broken crayons, bits of paper, several odd socks, and hundreds of Lego and you'll be close)
- I didn't vacuum an already dirty floor
- I didn't fold any of the clean laundry or wash any of the dirty
- I didn't brush my hair
- I DIDN'T SHOWER TIL THURSDAY

Thankfully, you don't notice or care. If you promise to be blissfully unaware of the carnage that was your house this week, I'll promise to be less judgmental of other parents of sick kids.

Oh and I realize that this post was more about me than you, but cmon, you're 2 months old. You're cure, but ya don't do much.

Love, mum

1000 hits!

I just logged on and my hit counter (on the left below categories) was at 999.

If you're my 1000th visitor (okay I know most of you are repeat visitors, but whatever, play along), let me know in the comments!

No prize, just all my love and affection.

no sense of humour?

That's right, I'm Canadian and I spell it H-U-M-O-U-R. Unlike our N-E-I-G-H-B-O-U-R-S to the south.

So seriously. How can no one have left a comment on the sleep walking dog video? That's some funny stuff! Liam watched it at least eight times consecutively and laughed EVERY TIME. Am I cruel for thinking that a dog running into a wall is funny? IT. IS. FUNNY.

Moving on.

I should have written and posted Andrew's letter today, but I've been doing our taxes. Honestly, I love doing taxes and this year has been no exception. In fact, for the first time in five years, we'll actually be getting a refund. A big one too. Although the majority of it will be going towards paying off our line of credit, I think we'll treat ourselves... to a... new bed!

What? No trip? No new TV or jewelry? NOTHING FUN?

This might not seem all that exciting to most of you, but we've been sleeping on a futon mattress since we got married almost nine years ago, and Peter bought it almost two years before that. A futon mattress that's over 10 years old.

AND IT'S A DOUBLE.

If I get my way, we'll buy an organic latex mattress... a queen. A king size would be lovely -especially given the fact that we always have (at least) one child in our bed for the majority of the night- but I'm not sure that our room is big enough. But even a queen size will feel VAST after our piddly little double. Double FUTON. With curved edges. That's resting on just the box spring so that it's not a far drop should little ones fall out.

We live like college students.

We're also looking at getting the boys bunk beds for their room. Although I'm hesitant to take Simon out of the crib -it's necessary for containment- we'd really like to get Andrew used to sleeping someplace other than burrowed into either of our armpits.

Do you hear that sound, Peter?

It's Ikea calling.

Liam: month 69

A day late. (sigh) Guess this will push Andrew's letter back too.

You're home from school this week, Liam. I was hoping to have lots of fun activities planned for the week, but with Simon's ear infection and Andrew's viral infection I fear you'll be left to your own devices and likely end up watching more TV than I'd like.

Two weeks ago, we finally opened up the "Chore Chart" that Grandma gave us over a year ago. It has lines to list various chores and little vinyl stars to mark off the ones completed. We have the chart divided into two sections: those things that you need to do each day to take care of yourself and your things, and then extra things that you get an allowance for doing. The second section consists of things that your dad and I would otherwise have to do like helping fold and put away laundry, empty the dishwasher, putting groceries away, filing taxes, small home improvement projects, etc. Daddy's favorite is to have YOU be the one to ensure that Simon always has socks on his feet.


Generally you earn around $2 each week, out of which you put aside at least 10% to give to the church, and then the rest is divided into two different jars. One jar is for saving and the other is for spending. You've already decided which Lego you want to buy from your spending money and are quite excited to be working towards something. You likely won't have enough saved until May or June, so hopefully we can keep you motivated until then.

This system has the added benefit of giving us a ready answer for any "I wants" that you come up with... "Do you have enough allowance saved? Oh too bad then. Keep saving." I definitely helps teach that we have to work and save to get the things we want. Unfortunately, getting to buy a new toy with a gift certificate you were given at Christmas also taught you a lesson: You can buy lots with little plastic cards too... and it's easy.

With the mountains of debt that most US and Canadian families are being crushed under, we're hoping that having an allowance will teach you some good money skills while you're still young. We're impressed with how quickly you've caught on to the give/save/spend lesson.


The other day, we were talking about birthdays, specifically WHEN your birthday is and WHY you have to wait a whole year between them. A year is an almost unfathomably long time for you. You have a firm handle on days and weeks, and know that a month is equal to one calendar page. When it finally sunk in that a year was made up of twelve calendar pages, you threw yourself on the floor with a wail of, "TWELVE?? TWEEEEEELLLLLLLLLVE?!? But that's too LOOOOOOONNNG! I can't do TWEEEEEELLLLLLLLLVE!!!" Luckily I was able to show you that we have in fact already completed eight of those months, and that after March, April and May we'd actually be able to SEE YOUR BIRTHDAY.

Crisis averted.

Then you asked how old I was, to which I responded that I am 29 right now and will be 30 this year in July. And what did you say, my darling boy?

"Thirty? That's almost a grandma!"

Thanks, son.


Liam, so far you've had the best luck in getting Andrew to laugh. He swivles his head around like a bobble-head toy when he hears your voice. If the time ever comes when Simon no longer idolizes you, Andrew will be there to jump in. Hmmm, maybe that's why you want so many younger siblings.


Love, mum



.

too funny not to post

I saw this just now over at dooce and, because I'm far too tired to come up with anything original to post, I'm just going to let you all enjoy this little video.



The end totally made me laugh out loud. I wasn't expecting it.