Back to School 2013/2014

Where does the time go?

 

My baby, who it seems like just started crawling yesterday, is in grade 4.

 

Grade 4.

 

*Sigh*

 

Back to school is notoriously hard for us in the M household. 

 

The week before starts with major anxiety (Q's yes, but I'm not going to lie...me too...), tummy troubles, mood swings and tear.

 

Oh, the tears....they kill me.  They break my heart.  I want to say, "Okay, okay, you do not have to go to school.  Ever.  Who needs to read and write?"  And then common sense gets the better of me and I remember that even if I want to keep him home, it's kind of well, isolating and uhhhh, illegal. 

 

Sooooooo, we try to deal with it in other ways.

 

We do some cognitive therapy (who knew that depression in my early 20's would come in handy when parenting!!!).  As in:  What is the absolute worst thing that could happen?  Like the most outrageous, ridiculous, impossible thing that you can think of?  And then let's work our way back from there.  Forgetting your homework isn't such a big deal when you stat by being kidnapped by aliens.  And then we can kind of laugh about all the ridiculous scenarios.  Not to make light of the situation, but to acknowledge that by talking about things, you immediately take some of their *scary* away. 

 

We went to the school early on the first day so that we could walk around before too many people were there.  We became familiar with the surroundings again.  We found his class.  We came prepared. 

 

He was super moody the night before, and I was beyond frustrated.  I received some really good advise though, from some moms with 8 kids combined.  And so I tried it.  Even though I was irritated and angry, I said...

 

"Q.  I love you so much.  I always have and always will.  Nothing you do will ever, ever change that." 

 

Slowly, his mood changed. 

 

He said..."Mommy.  Can we talk about school before I go to sleep?"

 

And so we did.  We talked about his friends, the teachers through the years, his classmates, his favourite class, recess, lunch, everything.  We talked about everything.  For a long time.  I told him I was so proud of him and he was so brave for tackling this fear head on.

 

There were minimal tears.  A few the night before, but he did not burst into tears while standing in line.  He did not cling to me.  Even other parents commented on how well he did. 

 

I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting thing...although every time I think I've reached a comfort zone in parenting, everything changes and I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. 

 

Here's to Grade 4.  May it be the least stressful year yet!!

 

 

Well....there were no tears but I guess a smile was too much to ask!!!  Cool kids don't smile, and I'm pretty sure I was lucky the two of them stayed still long enough to take a memory :) 

Yes I AM the Boss of You

I had a dream the other night that I was living in an institution for unfit mothers.  Me and Q, we lived there together.  I had just had my hearing and the review panel ruled that I needed to stay another year.  A whole year.  So we went back to my room...which turned out to be my office at work...with no furniture in it.  Everything was grey and white.  And I was stuck there for another year.  Because I sucked at being a mom.

I'm not gonna lie...it's not really so far from how I'm feeling right now. 

My child has decided that he's going to go through a super annoying phase where he pushes all the buttons and tests all the boundaries every. single. day.  I'm not kidding.  There hasn't been a day in the past two weeks that I haven't had to discipline him for something he's done.  This is completely out of the norm, because my kid is usually a really, really good kid.  Everyone talks about the terrible two's, but no one ever, ever mentioned the sinister six-almost seven's.  I feel completely unprepared. 

I make him something for breakfast and he refuses to eat it.  Then, after I've told him there is nothing until lunch, I have to chase him around the house and pry food out of his hands.  He whines incessantly.  He asks the same question over and over and over again..."Can I get a new toy?" "No." "Can I get a new toy?" "No." "Can I get a new toy?" "No." "Can I get a new toy?" "No."  He talks back.  He says "No" to me when I ask him to do something.  He calls me fat.  He says, "you're not the boss of me..."  Like, do they teach kids these things at school?  How do they all know these phrases?  I think we as parents need to sit in a class every once in a while, just to find out what's really going on in there...

I've given him time outs (where he yells at me the whole time), taken away video game privileges, cancelled an evening out to the movies to watch "Cars 2" which I really, really wanted to see, so I was super bummed about that one.  Sometimes he just gets me so worked up, I just have to leave the room and give myself a time out so I don't hurt him.  I was talking with a girlfriend who says that when her daughter starts acting out she just hugs her and kisses her because she knows that if she doesn't hug her, she's gonna hit her.  So she uses the hug to remind herself how much she really loves her little bundle of trouble. 

Of course, if I really truly thought that his behavior was a direct reflection on my parenting, I wouldn't be blogging about it right now out of sheer embarrassment.  I would guess, though, that I'm not completely blameless.  Sometimes when we're in the middle of a "why not/because" argument I ask myself, "Why not?"  Just give in.  So he doesn't want Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast, throw them out and make him waffles.  It would be sooooo much easier.  So he wants another two dollar Hot Wheels car.  Two dollars isn't going to break the bank.  Who cares if he has two hundred cars already?  It's self preservation and it only costs two dollars!!!!  Do I really need to win all the time? 

Well, yes.  Yes, I do.  Most of the time anyways.  I guess I don't buy him the Lego Ninjago (which forever I thought he was saying Kilimanjaro - as in the mountain, and I kept wondering why he wanted me to buy him a friggen mountain.  When did I become the uncool parent who didn't know about things like Bey Blades and silly bandz and Lego Ninjagos....I used to be totally up on all the brand names.) I don't buy him these things all the time because I don't want him to be one of those adults who expects everything to just be given to him because he hasn't worked for anything.  Same with the cereal.  It might not seem like a huge deal now, but in ten years time, it might come back to bite me in the ass. 

For the meantime, it's not so fun being around me and Q.  My mom left the house the other morning amidst me yelling and Q whining.  I keep praying it's a phase.  I keep praying it gets better.  But then I remember that pre-teens are just around the corner, and then testosterone is waiting just beyond that.  Where did my baby go?  My baby, who's bum fit perfectly in my hand when I carried him around; who's beautiful blonde curls bounced when he ran. My baby is going into grade two.  *Sob*

I guess this means I should stop doing up his seat belt for him.  He can probably dress himself too, right? 

I think I'll just pour another glass of wine!

cute lil chubby toddler :)

Toothless

Stop the Clock

My life lately has been a mish-mash of mommy things.  This isn't much different from the past 6 years, except for the fact that it's been 6 (Holy Moly!) years.  I no longer have a baby or a toddler.  I have a boy.  A real live 6 year old boy!  He's growing before my eyes, quite literally.  Some times when I pick him up from his dad's house, I hardly recognize the child standing before me.  

It's a crazy ride, and so surreal sometimes.  I know everything about this little person.  I know how he acts when he's tired, I know he love the Calgary Flames because his daddy loves them.  I know that he's a worrier just like his mommy.  I know he falls asleep in 2 minutes flat, and sometimes talks in his sleep.  When he's asleep, I lay beside him and listen to his breathing, trace my finger over his little nose, his rosy cheeks.  Man, I am in love with this kid.  I know he's not so much into Shrek 4 (but really, who is...I lost interest after Shrek 2...), but he's excited to see Toy Story 3.  I know he won't lie to his mommy, ever (or at least until he's a teenager...), and that given the choice of a Moose (a quarter) or a duck (loonie), he'd pick the Moose any day.  

And I know he's got a wicked slap shot.  A true Canadian boy, he'd rather spend the day playing ball hockey in the street more than anything else.  Last weekend, I was the "Goalie" while he whipped (I'm such a girl when it comes to this stuff...whipped...is that the right word?  I don't know, but it was effin' fast...) a slap shot right into my left knee.  It was a bonding experience as we sat there and watched the bruise form in front of our eyes in 5 minutes or less.  Mommy's a little gun shy now, to say the least.

Every Saturday morning at 11:00, I'm at the ball hockey rink with little man while he runs around with 25 other 5-6 year olds.  It's truly the cutest thing ever.  I'm a hockey mom.  A proud hockey mom.  I cheer when he scores a goal, although between you and me, he's an awesome defenseman.  Two weeks in goal, though, was enough for him (and me...geez that's alotta pressure), "One things for sure, Mommy.  If they ask who wants to go in goal, I am NOT putting my hand up again!"  The poor little guy who got chosen had to be picked up by the coach twice after he fell and couldn't get up for all the padding he was sporting.

Mr. Ex is the annoying hockey dad.  "Hustle Q! Hustle!  You gotta hustle!"  and then to me, "What's he doing?  He can shoot better than that?  He knows better.  He's not playing his position.  He's defense, dammit, not foreward.  What's the coach doing?  That's not a slap shot.  He can do a better slap shot than that.  We spend 4 hours a day playing hockey, he's freezing out there.  What's he doing? He's zoning out...he's not paying attention!"  To which I respond, simply, "Uh...he's five.  He's having fun.  It's ball hockey.  Relax.  We should be glad he's running in the right direction."  I try not to sit too close to him, because he's just so darn embarrassing.  But whatever.

Here's the future star...

And look at how little they all are...

One more reason to stop the clock...he's lost his first tooth.  And I wasn't there to see it.  He was at his daddy's house.  He called me as I was on the skytrain to work, and my heart almost stopped.  It was comparable to his first steps or his first hair cut.  His first tooth.  My baby is growing up.  Soon it will be grade one and then high school and then marriage, and big adult smelly feet with hair...oh, his little toes are still so cute.  How do I stop the clock?  Can I just bottle him up and keep him little forever?