Whaaat?...

I must be crazy. Jamie has asked if he can color with markers and I've agreed.

Surely hell must be getting a tad chilly right now.

The Best Job On Earth...

Today was one of those days when I wonder why on earth God made me a mother. I'd like to believe that the kids are the ones to blame, but really, are they? I mean, just because things started off this morning with both boys screaming outside the bedroom door as they chased one another up the stairs (from the basement), jerking me out of a sound sleep that only came after being awake for three hours with Emma during the night, does not necessarily mean that Ian and Jamie are to blame for the tone of today.

And just because four children seemed to forget how to put on four sets of snowsuits and misplace eight mittens, four hats, four scarves and eight boots just as they were getting ready to leave for the school bus doesn't mean they are solely responsible for the pounding headache that began around 8:30 this morning.

Let's also make it clear that Emma and Jamie fighting (to the point of pushing and punching each other) to determine who would get to go to the bathroom first when they got home at noon (despite the fact that we have two bathrooms-yes, I said, two bathrooms...two bathrooms, two children, you'd think it would be simple, no?) did not put me in a bad mood all on its own.

Nor did the constant screaming, fighting, whining and complaining (especially about dinner) in any way, shape or form cause me to blame them for my crankiness.

Oh, wait a minute...yes, it did. And that is why I feel this crushing guilt, now that they are all quietly drifting off to la-la-land...because no matter how crazy the day is, at the end of it, I see Carol Brady and Mrs. Partridge in my head and think, "They would never have yelled like that...", and then I wonder just what kind of mother I am and whether my children will still love me in the morning. After a few minutes of self-pity, I realize that, of course they will, and that today is just one of those days that every parent has to deal with from time to time.

It's too bad that insight didn't come earlier in the day...

"Why? Why are they doing this to me?" wailed Avery. She put her head in her hands as she stared at the paper in front of her. "What are they trying to do to me?"

Grade 1 math can be very rough, you know.

Can You Say Brrr...?

So today was one of those frigid Canadian winter days when all you want to do is stay curled up under the covers, only coming out to grab a nice, hot cup of cocoa or maybe a wee snack to keep you from gnawing your arm off. Today was not a day I wanted to haul my kiester out of the house, and yet, the children still had to go to school, so crawl out of my cozy nest is what I did.

Sometime around 8:15 or so in the morning, Ian decided that wearing a short sleeved shirt to school would be a good idea. Brian tried to convince him that this was in fact a very bad idea. Ian, being 8 years old and absolutely convinced that his father was simply trying to exert some sort of parental control, would not believe that it could possibly be that cold outside.

So I decided to prove him wrong. "Ian," I said (quite calmly, I might add). "C'mere for a moment, would you?"

I opened the front door and the frigid blast of cold air nearly froze our breath as we stood in the front hall.

"AAAUUUGGGGHHHH!" screamed Ian,standing barefoot and bare armed. "Shut the door! It's freezing out there!"

After carefully closing the door, I turned to my son. "Now will you wear a sweater?" I asked.

"Uh, yes, yes I will," came the response.

See? It's all about speaking to them in a language they can understand.

The Aforementioned Jamie...

Jamie is Emma's twin brother. He is younger by 46 minutes. Yes, that's what I said, 46 minutes. In the land of twin births, my understanding is that most twins are born within minutes of each other. As just mentioned, however, this did not occur while my kids were making their way through the birth canal to the outside world.

Emma was born first, she being head down and ready to shove her way out any way she could. Which is kind of like Emma today. Who knew? James was in a full on breach position. The doctors were waiting to see if he would turn himself and make his way out on his own. He didn't. In the end, the attending physician had to reach up and pull Jamie out by his feet. Which is also appropriate, given the child's personality today. No one can make Jamie do something until he's good and ready to do it.

My little boy is an adorable (if I do say so myself), not quite blond little boy with big, sky-blue colored eyes. When he was still a baby, I would look at him and think, "he looks like an angel".

But angel he ain't. Oh no, this kid can be hell on wheels. We're fairly certain the child has ADHD (and what with his mother, father, older brother and possibly twin sister also having it, the likelihood that he doesn't have the condition is fairly low), but this knowledge does not necessarily make it any easier to deal with a mexican jumping bean at the dinner table.

Many people have tried to tell me that he's "just an active boy"...but the fact is, even very active boys are capable of sitting quietly once in a while. James (or Jamie, as he's known to me and the girls-and to his older brother when Ian's ticked off at him) makes Ty Pennington look calm. He's a boy who throws himself head first (literally!) into anything and everything, secure in the knowledge that he "can do it Mama!". He seems to have no fear (other than spiders in the downstairs bathroom), and that amazes me while scaring the crap out of me at the same time. I keep wondering if he will be the child to call me from the top of the bridge just before he bungee jumps off it.

But while he keeps me on my toes, my favorite moments with him are when he first wakes up, before his adrealine has had a chance to kick in. He'll find me, no matter where I am in the house, rush headlong into my arms and want to sit and cuddle with me.

It may only be for a few minutes, but in those precious moments, my baby is still there, still needing my arms and I soak it up for all its worth. And then he's off and running, ready to take on the world, with that little half smile of his that is going to break some girl's heart one day, along with mine.

Four Year Old Logic...

"Mama, I don't want you to be holding Jamie in dat picture, I want you to be holding me," said Emma, while staring at a four year old family photo.

"Uh, Emma," I began. "I can't just stop holding Jamie in that picture. It's a picture. It's not like I can just change the way it looks."

"Well, I don't want you to hold Jamie in dat picture. I want you to hold me in dat picture! Just erase Jamie out and den you can put me in it..."

This conversation occured just after she complained that she wanted me to fix her hair, but she didn't want it to look like Avery's hair. And when said hair was fixed, she got very upset because it wasn't a braid. When I pointed out that she hadn't told me she wanted a braid, she informed me, "I didn't want you to know dat I wanted a braid."

Maybe it's just me...

A Brief List That Explains Why No One Understands My Children...

One rare night, not too long ago, my husband and I were out. Alone. The children had been left at home with a babysitter, and we had escaped to spend some quality time alone (read: no one interrupting every 30 seconds to demand anything or squeal on one's sibling/s). We hadn't been gone very long when we received a panicked phone call from the intrepid young lady looking after the kids.

"Help!" she cried. "The kids want circles and kikis...I have no idea what they're talking about!"

Laughing, my husband translated for our confused sitter. "English muffins and their blankets," he told her.

I'm sure most families have their own unique language and slang that makes it hard for those outside the circle to understand what they are talking about. And so, here is a brief list of the terms that my children use...and explains why no one but Brian and I seem to understand them...

circles - as previously mentioned, english muffins to the outside world, circles to us (you can understand right? Their shape? Obviously, they are circles.)

chicken cereal - aka Corn Flakes; a name given to the illustrious cereal when Ian was about 2 years old...because of the big green chicken on the box

kazoo - ski doo - last Easter at my sister's house, my then 5 year old daughter came into the house telling me that "Auntie Shelley wants to take you for a ride on the kazoo"; when I asked what a "kazoo" was, she informed me, "You know, the thing-a-ma-jig!"

honey nut cheerios - Jamie's name for all Cheerios, regardless of brand name or flavor

kikis - Emma and Jamie's blankets...we think the name derives from them hearing Avery calling for her "blankie"...but kiki is what they call them...interestingly, Emma's kiki is a girl and Jamie's is a boy...I personally never knew blankets had a gender, but what do I know?

binny - pronounced "be-nay" - kind of like an Italian mobster from one of the "Godfather" movies...also known as Ian's blanket (and what he started calling it at the age of 2, and no, he's never seen a mob movie, so where the accent came from, I do not know)

heart cereal - Avery's favorite cereal. Most people know it as Bran Flakes; to Avery it is heart cereal because of the heart check symbol on the box

hanitizer - hand sanitizer... Ian couldn't say the word when he had to use it starting in grade 1, and so it is now "hanitizer" to all of us ...

pooter - computer...I'm sure we're not the only ones who use this term, but it is funny when it's a pair of four year olds using it...

orngin - oranges..."Orngin" is what Emma and Jamie call them, and no matter how many times I try to tell them the right way to say it, they are still "orngins"...although frankly, it's a little too close to the old slang word "injuns" for my liking...

So there you have it...my children in all their unique and highly amusing glory. I'm sure that as the years go by, more and more terms will be added to the list, but for now, I think I'll step away from the pooter, pick up kikis and go grab an orngin to eat.

Stop complaining, just do it!

I was watching tv yesterday morning for a few minutes (yes, only a few minutes, because most shows just annoy the crap out of me and I want to throw the remote at the television, which would just upset Brian to no end, what with it being a new set and all)...anyhow, the show I turned on was called, "The Doctors".

Now maybe you've heard of this show, maybe not. For those of you who haven't, it is produced by Dr. Phil's son, Jay (at least I think it's Jay; he's the only one I ever hear anyone talk about). The premise is that five real doctors deal with every day health issues and answer questions from viewers and audience members.

Yesterday's show was about being a "better you" in 2009. While I am all for learning about new ways to work out so I don't get bored, there is one topic that drives me insane every time I hear it. And that is the cry of "I-don't-have-enough-time-to-work-out-so-I-will-stay-fat-forever-and-just-learn-to-live-with-it". The doctors received a video from one of their viewers claiming she didn't have enough time to work out because she was too busy looking after her ONE child.

One! They showed the woman getting out of bed and complaining about changing diapers five times a day, having to do laundry, vacuuming and making dinner. Now, maybe I'm just jealous, because I had FOUR freaking babies whose diapers needed changing; two of them at the same time (twins'll do that to ya). But how freakin' long does it take that woman to change the kid's diaper?

And let's not forget that the kid takes a nap at least once a day...so why on earth is she complaining about not having any time to herself? Maybe she'd like to switch places with me, and then she can see what not having time to look after herself really feels like? Maybe she'd like to see what sort of mountain of laundry four small children can make, and then compare it to her one kid?

Yes, yes, I realize that I sound a wee bit harsh here, but give me a break. If I, with four children, a dog, a cat, a husband, ususally two neighborhood kids and a house to run can manage to get in a workout, so could this woman.

And she at least gets a full night's sleep.

And now, Ian...

One morning late last spring, just after Ian had turned eight, he asked me a question while getting dressed for school.

"Mama," he queried. "Did your boobs have milk in them?"

"Yes," I replied. "But not anymore."

"I know," he said. "Because you don't have babies anymore. Your nickels are closed."

"My...nickels?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I don't have boobs. I have nickels."

And then he pointed to his nipples.

Ahhh...

Christmas vacation is over and the children have gone back to school. The house is so quiet, my ears are having a difficult time adjusting to the lack of noise. I keep expecting someone to start wailing from the basement, "St-o-p!" or hear the sounds of small children pummeling each other as they jockey for space at the computer.

Two weeks in a house where four children were sick did not make for the happiest of vacations. They did not go outside to play. They barely cracked the spine on any of the books lying all over the house. (Ian, when asked if he'd read any books, informed me that he didn't have to do any homework on his vacation. Apparently, he doesn't yet see reading as profitable for its own sake...). They did, however manage to gorge themselves on candy and cookies and on all the other treats that are ever present over the Christmas holidays.

Yesterday, the tree and all the decorations throughout the house came down. Since Brian and I were the only ones originally involved in "striking the set" (ah, good, old theater days), I suggested we should inform the kids about what we were doing, because if they came up the stairs and saw everything gone, they would go into conniption fits the like of which has not been seen since we left the terrible twos behind.

Emma decided she wanted to help take the balls off the Christmas tree and put them in the plastic storage bin, informing us that she could do "three at a time, Daddy", and Avery and Jamie both came to help pull a few things off the tree. I called Ian to join us, and he adamantly refused to help the rest of us. "Why?" I asked.

"This place looks so boring without Christmas decorations. I can't take it!"

If only this would be the worst problem he will ever face...

He's right, though. The house does look a little sad right now, denuded of all its glorious Christmas finery.

Luckily, Valentine's Day is just around the corner...which means hearts and cupids and chocolate, oh my...

Is it too soon to start decorating?

Introducing Emma...

One night at dinner, our 8 year old son was being a trifle rude to his parents. I looked him sternly in the eye and demanded, "Ian, are you this disrespectful to your teacher at school?"

"What's that?" he asked.

After a brief discussion of what respect is, I levelled another question at him.

"Does your teacher cook your meals?"

"Ah, no," he replied.

"Does she clean your clothes? Make your bed? Help you with your homework? Read you stories before bed?"

To each question Ian answered no, while his younger brother and sisters looked on.

"Who does all that for you?" I asked.

Looking back and forth between his father and myself, Ian answered, "You do, and Daddy too, I guess."

"Yes, Daddy and I do that, and do you know why?" I questioned.

Ian shook his head no.

Thinking myself very clever, I delivered my coup-de-grace.

"We do it because we are your parents and we love you. So your parents deserve more respect than anyone else on this planet."

From the other end of the table, Emma piped up.

"I want to live on anudder planet."