My Emotions

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Stitched by my love bug, Elizabeth Wilkie.

Note: I haven’t written anything in a while. This will probably answer why. If not, then I am ok with that and you and us and all.

A lot of kiddly things written focus on children’s emotions. How to deal with them, how to embrace them, how to talk about them, etc.

I find dealing with mine and the effect they have on them more challenging.

I’m going through some shit. We all are. But right now, my three and five year old are front row center to the trauma that I’ve finally come to acknowledge. Fun fact: I’ve started healthily (?) dealing with my emotions at the age of 44. I’m 44. Anyway.

My children watch me cry, melt down, become opulent, become broken, build myself back up, apologize, rinse, repeat. Elizabeth and I talk. We converse. We ruminate. The kids sponge.

I’m a bit of a mess. I’m getting on the other side of it (I think), and the kids are along for the ride because they are my family and I love them and I don’t want to hide real feelings from them and my partner agrees. I’ll leave that there and move on.

What Elizabeth and I have figured out is, do not hide from them. They are real, they are big, they are valid. They sometimes consume you. They sometimes tsunami you. It is what you do, when you can, that defines you.

I have trouble sleeping. I cry a lot. I need more hugs and snuggles. I tell people I love them more (only the ones I actually do). I have more anxiety attacks. I deal with them better now. My counselor thinks I use sarcasm as a sword and I think her face is made of farts (unsarcastically). I love my wife more than I ever had yet I am scared that I can’t fully let her know how much because I’m a fucking broken hurt machine that thinks it can pretend it is not.

I tell my kids, subtly, why I’m upset. When they offer me hugs, I scoop ’em large. I try not to yell. I talk to them not at them. I treat my mental health like a broken arm. I’m ok with my broken arm, don’t touch it. YOU TOUCHED IT TOO HARD.

And here I am.

Emotions are real, just like food, or rain, or the flu. If something is in your heart, talk about it freely and honestly. Those who love you will get it. Those who don’t are lucky to hear you talk about it with honesty. Be true to what you are going through, it is the only decent thing you can do. With that said, failure is a test and failing is fine as long as you try to figure out what it all means. If you can’t, ask someone. Also: fuck the haters and those who diminish your feelings. They will someday regret the fact that they decided that emotions are something you can intimidate into healing. Anyway.

I hold my kids longer. I love them muchly. I snuggle them more. I sneak some sleep snuggles from Elizabeth when I can but sometimes it is tough because there are two other awesome humans there that I have to snuggle around. It is tough being the best snuggler, right Elizabeth?

Anyway, hope your holidays didn’t suck. Stay rad you fucking monsters.

Sidenote: I’m off all social media. Elizabeth and my councilor agree that it is not good for me. I can’t fix the world by yelling into the void. Memes are gonna meme. That’s how shit be. Email me or text me. Or don’t. Stay way rad. 

 

Happenstance Happy Dance

Picking up the littlest from daycare the other day provided me with a healthy reminder to check my assumptions.

“Before you check out, I have an incident report to review with you.” the daycare employee said to me.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. My brain screamed. I turned my head. I squinted at the little one. I braced myself for the bad news I could sense was coming. I prepared to remind her of all of the do’s and don’ts and consequences we had reviewed with her brother the evening prior.

“Unfortunately one of your daughter’s little friends got upset at her today and bit her.”

Say what?

I must have look confused or concerned, probably because I was confused, very very confused.

“Oh, she’s ok. It just left a little mark and I…”

My brain was having trouble keeping up after having hit the assumption brakes so darn hard.

“It was not my daughter that did the biting?”

“No.”

“That’s awesome!” I responded with, perhaps, a little too much exuberance.

Discovery. It is so much better to be responsible for the bitten than the biter. I guess, this may only apply when kids are involved. I am sure the same rules don’t apply to zombies or cannibals.

I tripped over my words trying to explain my overwhelming enthusiasm for my injured child.

I shared the incident report I had received the day before.

I told her about “people don’t bite people.”

I left the daycare feeling awesome. My kid wasn’t the biter.

I am still winning, and as my little one someday recaps that day her mom did a happy dance after she had been ‘gravely’ injured at a childminding institution, hopefully someone will remind her that our experiences and responses are relative and you never know why or how or what causes a reaction in someone else.

We are beautifully unique and sometimes finding out your kid wasn’t the biter is the best possible news.

Xoxo,

Mrs Undad

Aka proud mama of a not the biter and a recovering biter

Don’t Poke the Bear – Quick Quips about Chores

Marriage is the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done.

My parents made it look easy. They always seemed to be in love when I was growing up. As an adult, I see they fight and struggle – constantly. My mom has high expectations. Dad is stubborn. I’m a perfectly lovely mix of both.

My dad definitely embraces a happy wife, happy life philosophy. He’s an extraordinarily hard worker and seems to find satisfaction in the compromise (you know, until he doesn’t). Both my parents maintain extensive to-do lists with entirely different plans and wildly differing priorities.

When I was preparing to marry my husband, my dad’s advice was:

“You can never stop working on a marriage. There be times where you don’t like your spouse. People change. People grow. Your job is to always remember why you love your partner, and rediscover new reasons for liking them.”

Apparently the advice he gave to my soon to be husband was: “Don’t poke the bear.”

I recall sitting with an older neighbour years ago, as she shared where she thought kids these days were getting it wrong. Her thoughts were: “50/50 is a myth. There will never be an equal division of labour and responsibility. People have strengths and weaknesses.” Her recommendation, instead was “to en-devour to do 100% of the work, and then each and every time your spouse completes a task, you’ll feel gratitude.”

Yuck. I like the idea of a partner that’s in it to win it with me. Who can bend when I stand tall, or lift when I’ve fallen. That can be the yin to the yang and the hilarious to my way too serious.

Lately I’ve taken to asking my son what is a mommy job and what is a daddy job. Pink jobs versus blue jobs do not exist in our household, or do they?

Whose job is it to make a grocery list? – Mommy’s

Whose job is it to grocery shop? Mommy’s if it is more than bread, milk and bananas.

Whose job is it to clean the house? Mommy’s

Whose job is it to fix the car? Mommy’s and Daddy’s.

Whose job is it to fix the house? Mommy’s

Whose job is it to take care of babies? Mommy’s and Daddy’s

Who can have a career? Mommy and Daddy

Who can paint a house? Mommy

Whose job is it to do laundry? Mommy’s but Daddy can help

Whose job is it to wash kids? Mommy’s for baths and Daddy’s for showers.

Whose job is it to take care of a yard? Mommy’s

Whose job is it to pay bills? Mommy’s and Daddy’s

Whose job is it to buy us new clothes? Mommy’s

I always end these chats with a reminder that gender doesn’t determine responsibility. So, it’s fascinating to me that we (he) still re-calibrates and find a response that once again assigns a task based on gender.

As I continue to establish routine with the kids, I’ve been pushing to add responsibility in their world. Some days it works well and others its a disaster.

Each morning we make our beds. We’ve only been doing it for a week, but boy does it feel good to tuck them into a nicely made bed each night.

We collect all of the clothes that didn’t make it into a hamper at the end of the night.

We put everything in the playroom into a drawer or a bin before heading upstairs for bed.

We clear the table after each meal, including breakfast.

We put our shoes in the bins at the front of the door.

We all search for Mommy’s keys (of course she’s lost them AGAIN) and return them to the key box before bed.

We’ve started sweeping, mopping or vacuuming once each day. Sometimes the kids do it, sometimes I do it, but we’re all part of the process. We’re not striving for perfectly clean, we’re searching for better than we started.

It’s only been a week, but I can already tell these daily responsibility routines are building their confidence and their respect.

I still dream of being extraordinarily wealthy and having a live-in maid and chef though. I’m sure I could still teach confidence and respect while be waited on – truly.

xoxo,

Mrs Undad

Saying “have a good day” without saying “have a good day” at camp.

I’ve been trying to find a new way to say “have a good day” as I leave my son at day camp each day. I don’t want to nag. I don’t want my words to get lost in the routine hustle of day-to-day.

So far I’ve used:

“Be the kid I know you are.”

“Be the love you want.”

“Be the kid you’d like your sister to be.”

“Be the kindness we all need”

“Be the friend someone’s waiting for.”

“Find the smile in everyone.”

“Treat the day like there’s a cookie behind every corner.”

We’ve got 7 days of camp left, wish me luck.

xoxo,

Mrs Undad

People Don’t Bite People- This Kid, Take 2

Today I had reason to check out Lisa Wheeler’s People Don’t Bite People.

Of course I did, that’s the exciting part of climbing a parenting hurdle. Just when you think you’ve secured the guide wires, everything shifts.

Every night this week I have arrived just as the daycamp counselors are preparing Bean to wait in an administrator’s office. I have arrived, out of breath, with an exhausted, and dirty, toddler in one arm, and my identification clutched tightly in my opposite hand.

On day one I broke Bean’s heart because they had prepared him for the toys he would play with while he waited to be picked up, and my showing up just in time threw a totally not fun wrench into the mix.

On day two Bean queried why he is always the first to be dropped off and the last to be picked up.

On day three, as I raced to the sign out table an incident report sat waiting for me.

My first thought was that I had been written up for always arriving just as after care is ending.

Unfortunately, there had been an incident in the swimming pool. The Bean had coveted a plastic frog already claimed by another camp participant and/or previously stolen from bean. A battle over ownership ensued and Bean staked his claim whilst biting another kid’s face.

Multiple witnesses and the injured party all identified Bean as the face biting culprit.

Bean was beside himself.

He wanted to talk about everything but the face biting.

We had a snack before leaving the YMCA.

We chatted about how we treat others. We discussed he we have to actively ensure we treat others with kindness, compassion and patience. We discussed how physically hurting someone is not an option. We discussed how we can also hurt someone with our words.

What are three things you could have done instead of hurting someone?

  1. Told a counselor that he wasn’t sharing.
  2. Found a different toy to play with.
  3. Not bite-ed his face.

What do you have to do tomorrow?

  1. Apologize
  2. Be kind
  3. Not bite anyone’s face

We headed out to the car. Bean held back.

I strapped his sister into his car seat. He continued to keep his distance. I got down on my knees and held my arms wide “hey, little dude you look like you need a hug.” He came running.

I wrapped him in my arms, tightly. “You know, I love you. Making mistakes happens.”

He leaned in. I carried him to the car and strapped him into his seat. I had him phone his dad. We ran home for a few minutes. Moments later he was out. Tired kids are crazy kids. As his head dropped down I understood so much more about this day.

We headed to the public health clinic for immunizations and then dropped by the library. I stumbled upon Lisa Wheeler’s book. I signed it out.

It is funny, to the point, and does a pretty fab job of reminding little ones that “People don’t bite people. No matter what their mood.”

We read the book twice. By the end of the second reading both kids were totally on top of “Biting is for food.”

So, here we are. Two steps forward. One step back.

Tomorrow is day 4.

We have a pretty detailed plan for tomorrow developed. We are committed to:

  • Not biting anyone
  • Not hitting anyone
  • Not punching anyone
  • And using words to love by.

Bean didn’t think he should have to take a practice run with his sister this evening, but he did.

Thank goodness for hugs, libraries, boundless love and second (hundredth) chances.

Xoxo,

Mrs Undad

A Rain Coat and a Cookie

Last year The Undad and I were invited to a Facebook group that has changed how we parent and spend money.

A private group with slightly less than 300 members entirely set up to give unwanted items away

I rarely buy anything new now. Clutter is increasingly limited in our house. Santa brought Kijiji finds last year.

Outgrowing shoes is no longer a nightmare.

We love it.

I also search Facebook marketplace religiously for things I know we will need in the very near future like snowsuits, bikes, skates, and boots.

Today we bought an excellent pair of winter boots for the littlest, because this morning as I lay freezing in my bed I noticed all of the leaves I could see were already turning yellow. I think we may skip fall. I am embracing the possibility.

Yesterday I stopped by St. Albert’s LoSeCa’s $1 sale and bought a raincoat for ages 3 to 6. Both kids love it.

So, basically what I am saying is we pinch our pennies, but then feel ok grabbing an hour for a mommy date complete with a kid’s hot chocolate and a giant chocolate chunk cookie.

We sat. We chatted. We counted the lights. We talked about coffee beans. We giggled at silly winky faces. We held hands. We discussed heading over to the drugstore for new toothbrushes.

This evening as we ate our dinner on the floor while hosting a teddy bear picnic for our stuffy friends, my littlest tipped her head towards mine. Her cheek touched my cheek. “Mom, you’re wonderful.”

I love these beautiful beans.

Xoxo,

Mrs Undad

This Kid

Last year, on three occasions, over two weeks my husband was engaged in conversations about our son’s disruptive behavior at day camp. Including one occasion where our son had bitten another boy’s face.

We had registered our son in a two week camp for 4 to 6 years olds the week of his fourth birthday on a whim. The two week camp started the next week.

He was little. His emotions were big. A group of boys teased him about his size, his speed and his age. He didn’t have anything in his toolbox reassembling resilience.

There were discussions and tears.

A young counselor in training made him an anger cushion to wear around his neck.

We spent the last year talking a lot about how we treat others and how we respond to stimuli from others that doesn’t align with our expectations.

Preschool was stressful. We know our son kept the teachers busy. Was kindergarten going to be a disaster?

We cautiously enrolled our Bean in three weeks of camps.

We talked a lot about managing expectations, emotions and our responses.

We talked about responding to bullying.

We talked about losing.

We talked about not biting other people’s faces.

The YMCA includes value beads as part of their day camp delivery. Each day a head ceremony is held and kids are awarded beads based on the values they exhibited that day.

In Edmonton Value Beads are
awarded to individuals for demonstrating
friendship, caring, honesty, diversity, social inclusion, responsibility, respect, leadership, and excellence.

On day 1, our kiddo was already glowing with pride. First of all, he hadn’t bitten anyone’s face and second instead of struggling to find a reason to give him a bead, he had already earned him self several beads.

On day 2, he decided he was going to actively try to earn beads. “Mom, I am going to be extra kind and listen and start cleaning up crafts before anyone asks me to.”

By day 4, he had received an excellence bead and had demonstrated every value.

He was abundantly filled with joy.

I told his counsellor of last year’s challenges. She shared what a delight he was. She let me know she never once needed to assert any kind of corrective discipline.

We phoned The Undad and shared the good news.

We phoned Grandma and Grandpa.

We discussed the hard work that went into earning each and every bead.

We hugged.

We high fived.

I exhaled air I have been holding since the day of the face biting incident.

He explained to his sister the types of things she will need to learn if she also wants to earn beads of every color, including an excellence bead.

Watching these little ones grow up, take shape, and take flight, is amazing.

I can’t wait for the wild ride ahead.I am not saying we are done with face biting. I am just saying we know we can get through a day without needing to, so kindergarten looks a whole lot rosier.

Xoxo,
Mrs Undad