Liam and I had dentist appointments this morning. Knowing there was absolutely ZERO CHANCE of Simon sitting still and Andrew remaining happily in his car seat for the better part of an hour, I dropped the two younger boys at some friends on the way to our appointment. Afterwards, we returned to lunch (all of us), playtime (the kids) and a bit of desperately needed adult conversation (Shannon and I).
Since we were already out, we headed from our friends' house to the grocery store to pick up a few necessities (broccoli, leeks, bananas, mandarin oranges, Ritz and goat cheese... mmm, goat cheese... necessities). By the time I managed to load the kids and food into the van, Andrew was beyond the point of being able to wait til we got home to nurse. I plied Liam and Simon with an orange each, promising them a trip to Toys 'R Us (JUST TO LOOK) in return for a few moments of peace, then settled into the front seat to feed the
hysterical sweetly insistent baby, but not long after starting I heard Simon utter those six little words that can strike fear into the heart of any parent...
"Mummy, I have to go peeeeeeeee!"
Remember that we were in the parking lot. Nary a bathroom in sight.
I interrupted Andrew's meal while saying to Simon, "Can you wait til we get to Toys 'R Us, sweetheart? Can you hold it til we get there? Then we can go to the bathroom at Toys 'R Us??". He said he could wait, but he's only two and every mother knows that TWO YEAR OLDS ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED. Especially when concerned with their newly-trained bladder function.
(Don't tell anyone, but I didn't even bother to buckle Simon into his car seat for the drive across the parking lot to Toys 'R Us. Bad frantic-to-find-a-bathroom-and-avoid-an-accident mommy.)
We drove the short distance to Toys 'R Us, I got myself and the boys out of the car and headed into the store. While the boys ran on ahead, I stopped in the front entrance to put Andrew's car seat in a shopping cart. When I turned to go through the next set of doors, I found Simon standing just inside the door WITH HIS PANTS AND UNDERWEAR AROUND HIS KNEES.
I did tell him he'd be able to pee when we got to Toys 'R Us, but had no idea he'd take me quite so literally!
I screamed for him to stop and amid squeals of laughter from the two young girls at the customer service desk (conveniently located right next to the front doors), I pulled Simon's pants up, threw him in the cart and raced to the washrooms. I was quite literally running FULL OUT. Pushing a big blue shopping cart.
We made it.
Simon was able to relieve himself and I was just plain relieved.
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Speaking of our dentist appointments, the dental hygenist who did Liam's cleaning AND the dentist who did the exam both mentioned repeated how clean his teeth are and how healthy they look. Even the receptionist made a remark. My mothering was praised, my attention to dental hygiene extolled. BECAUSE MY CHILD HAS CLEAN TEETH.
I can't believe I'm admitting this to you all, but I brush Liam's teeth maybe, maybe, three times a week. When he eats dessert. If he eats something sweet before bed, we'll make sure he brushes. Most of the time. When I admitted this to the hygenist and dentist -yes I did!- they looked at me in amazement. Given how many fruits and vegetables he eats, how little candy and how infrequently he drinks anything other than water or milk (raw, unpasterized goats' milk mostly) it really shouldn't come as that big of a surprise.
So although the good mothering accolades are not due to my rigourous tooth brushing regime, I'll still take them FOR MY SUPERIOR ATTENTION TO NUTRITION (and for having a son who loves vegetables more than is normal for any six year old).
I, however, get to go back on the 29th for a cleaning, a cavity that needs to be filled, AND A WISDOM TOOTH EXTRACTION. Super.
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While I'm baring my soul and coming clean here on ye old blog, I have another confession to make.
Something else that I've never admitted here, but that I think you should all know before you commit (anymmore of) your time to reading me.
I love Gossip Girl.
There. I said it.
I love Gossip Girl. I love Chuck Bass. And Blair and Serena and Dan and Nate and the crazy high fashion world of the Upper East Side. I'm not sure if you can get any further removed from the life of a 30-year old stay at home mom living in French Canada. Ha. I doubt I'm the target demographic they had in mind!
Peter would stick a fork in his eye rather than watch Gossip Girl, which is why I'm eternally grateful that he plays hockey every Monday night. Thanks to this scheduling, I don't have to hear my loving husband complain about me watching that garbage and I don't have to remind him that HE SPENDS HOURS WATCHING MEN WHACK A HUNK OF RUBBER AROUND A SHEET OF ICE.
I'm a good mom AND a good wife... who boast impeccable taste in qualiy television programming.