Fancy

Yesterday I had to take Olivia to the doctor, and so I found places for the other two kids to stay while Grandma, Aunti Jenn, Olivia, and I went into Salem. We went to the Keith Brown closeout, (where I got great new kitchen hardware ... watch for photos coming soon), lunch, the doctor, and in between lunch and the doctor's, a couple of stores. In the Arbor (an awesome little boutique on State St), the sales lady was commenting on Olivia's big vocabulary. Aunti Jenn says, "Yes, she really likes fancy words ... Olivia, what's the fanciest word you know?" Without a moment's pause to even consider it, Olivia cheerfully (and immediately) says, "Ooh-La-La!"

WHAT?

So this morning  I was in the mood for scones ... maybe because I have been really wanting a girly tea party, but that's beside the point. I had the oven turned on and was sorting some papers waiting for it to heat up, when I started smelling something. Not realizing it was coming from the oven,  I started searching the house looking for the melting plastic smell. Finally, it clicked. I opened the oven, and there was a melting blob of green plastic. I scooped it out and ran cold water over it, hoping to discern what this odorous green blob was. Unable to discern its origins,  I began questioning my two "angels." Olivia seemed genuinely confused and shocked, but Corbin had this stricken look on his face and didn't say anything. I looked hard at him, and thought back to what he'd been playing with this morning .... ah-hah! "Corbin, did you put the green turtle in the oven?" After the solemn look for a moment, Corbin nods ... "Yeh." He says quietly. I began moaning and groaning and making a big deal about how it stunk and now the turtle is ruined and he can never play with it again and then made quite a ceremony out of throwing it in the garbage ... yes, overkill, but I'm  hoping he really gets the message. Drama can go a long way in these types of situations. But after I'd made my point and retreated into the kitchen to finish making my breakfast, I began snickering to myself. Seriously, it was funny.

Yummyness and Other Sundries

I tried a new recipe last night .... it was so yummy and healthy that I just have to share. It's from my favorite food blog, and I would say this is even better than the "traditional" chicken and rice with campbells from a can and/or the lipton soup mix. Here's the link to the recipe (it's on my favorite places list) ... so maybe you'll be inspired to try it too!

In a side note, some days I feel so lucky. Watching my children play together, I just wondered how I am so blessed. Three beautiful children and one more coming ... a great house, and we are comfortable. Even at our most "strapped" financially we have so much more than many many people ... I do not deserve this happiness, but I am so thankful!

Today, Olivia and I had a date. She wore a princess crown, and everywhere we went, people commented on her crown, her cuteness, and how well behaved she was. By the end, when someone asked her if she was a princess, she said, "NO! Why does everyone think that? I'm just wearing a crown!!!" Our first stop was Starbucks. She ordered (and I quote) "Hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and no lid." She also had a cinnamon roll that she licked off all the frosting and the cinnamon insides. She was discussing the people in the coffee shop, and I was trying to explain that it's not polite to point at people in a public place. I told her that she could explain "that gentleman in the green shirt" and nod her head toward him to indicate what direction he was. She thinks about it, tries out the head tilt, and says, "I can't because it makes my crown fall off!" When I burst out laughing, she said, "Mommy, you can't laugh like that in public, it's not polite!"

Olivia's Preschool Quotes

At preschool during play time, Olivia announces, "I am the ice queen!" and Mason (her "boyfriend") yells back, "I am your ice king!"

Later, "That looks Ooh, La, La!"

ANNOUNCEMENT!!

The blog that made me cry ...

The mother of four

ANDREA HEY

Four children aged 13, 11, 9, and 4

Looking after three children under 4 had been desperately hard work but the worst was behind us. So what happened five years ago, when my third child was within striking range of that welcoming reception class door? You've guessed it. As my mother mutters darkly, I have ended up with "more children than is strictly necessary."

"How clever you were to get it all over with quickly," everyone said after my third was born. But the details were lost in the blur. It had all gone so fast. We'd started out young and now our friends were beginning to produce gorgeous bundles of their own. I felt broody and left out.

There were also deeper forces at work, less comfortable to examine. At some level, the idea of having four children appealed to my vanity. What a statement about the health of my marriage! Look how competent I must be as a mother! At the time we were feeling financially secure. If I put off building some sort of career for myself, never mind. I wouldn't be just a mother; I'd be a chief executive mother! And the small question of what to do with the rest of my life could be shelved for a few more years.

So I luxuriated in the pregnancy, savouring that "last time" feeling. This would be the child whose parents had finally hit their stride: the mother relaxed and experienced, the father competent and attentive. This time we'd do it properly — the activities, the social life, the table manners, all the niceties that had fallen by the wayside in the first crazy batch. Then we were handed 8 lb 4 oz of reality and a whole new set of problems.

Don't get me wrong. We adore her. We're beyond lucky to have four healthy children. But perhaps all mothers come prewired with a set number of times that they can perform certain tasks before blowing a circuit. Just how many repetitions of The Wheels on the Bus can anyone bear before reaching for the gin? Think hard about a fourth baby if, like me, you can't afford a nanny to sing the Postman Pat theme tune while you lie in a darkened room.

Maybe mothers, like other aging flesh, have a best-before date. I came to realize quite quickly that my energy for the more practical tasks would have been nicely used up by three-and-a-half children. That extra half has sometimes pushed me beyond fulfillment into despair.

The early months passed in a fog of exhaustion. My husband and the cat escaped expulsion from the house, but  I can recall banishing the dogs to a kennel: the numbers had to be reduced somehow. I couldn't cope.

A not untypical "first year" scenario involved driving to school with the baby screaming for some undiagnosed reason; Number Three being sick in a handy bucket; Number Two sobbing because I had put the wrong filling in his sandwich; and Number One announcing that I had forgotten her swimming kit again.

The packed lunches were made with the newborn ululating for the morning feed. Tummy-bug victims couldn't stay home alone but had to trail out on the school run. 

Nurturing another small personality has remained endlessly fascinating, but after 13 years I'm numbed by the practicalities. Forget 9 to 5, it's the monotony of the 0-to-5 routine that kills the spirit. When you shovel yet more gloop into the little mouth or gird yourself for another round of potty training, you know where this is headed and it won't be pretty.

As Number Four starts to develop her own collection of little friends, fitting her social life into the busy whirl of the greater family is like stuffing a balloon into a sock. My brain can't hold another classful of names, faces, and birthday parties. 

I am stale. Walking into her "first" third birthday party felt like stepping back in time. The roar of the bouncy-castle pump, the rioting of hyped-up toddlers, the impossibility of conversation with other distracted parents: hadn't anything changed? Well, yes. I had. 

Older children doing more grown-up things is exciting. Yet our late addition slows us down (or necessitates a babysitter).

Even the simpler aspects of family life — cinema trip, bike ride — are compromised by the little one's inability to keep up with the gang. Her infant illnesses tear up my agenda at a moment's notice. Last Saturday I was housebound with a very sick youngest. My husband was left to cope with the birthday disco party (including the scene where the teenage daughter locks herself in the loo five minutes beforehand, howling that her outfit is wrong). I can feel my eldest storing that particular maternal absence for future recrimination.

Whereas our third child's delight in the birth of his fan club has been constant, there is slight resentment in the older pair. "You said that when Freddie was bigger we'd go on a skiing holiday. Instead we got another baby," moaned the elder daughter.

Plus a bigger car ... financially, how naive we were. My broody self had "reasoned" that surely one more baby wouldn't add that much expense. What about all the hand-me-down clothes, toys, and equipment that we already owned?

But it transpires that the cost of rearing four children is actually about one third again more than the cost of raising three. 

Funny, that. The lesson I have learnt is that having four children is indeed a status symbol. But doing it in comfort is the preserve of the seriously rich.

Life out there feels closer now but I still can't quite touch it. And when my baby starts school in September, I face my fourth encounter with the same reading scheme. 

There is a look that I recognize in the eyes of mothers of four. No matter how much we dote on our brood, it's as if we left something important behind and can't quite remember what it is. Socks? Wipes? Car seat? No. It was our better judgement.

Dinnertime Conversations

At dinner, Eliana says, "It really bothers me when people say things like they have to pee or poop. Like in the lunch line today, Gypsy said, 'I have to pee.' It was so gross. And rude. I wish they would say, 'I have to use the bathroom.'"

So Steven proceeds to tell this story how he was in kindergarten and he told his teacher that he had to use the pot and his teacher thought he was being rude and wouldn't let him go. (Yes, I think it's scarred him ... I've heard the story a number of times.)

There's silence for a moment, and Olivia says, "What's the pot?" So I tell her it's a rude way of saying toilet. There's another moment of silence, and Olivia says, "I think we should make a rule in the Wages family that no one is allowed to say 'pot' because it's bad!" And Eliana says, "Well, at least when we're talking about the toilet."

The Joy of Siblings

Corbin is getting really really good at picking on his sisters .... specifically Olivia. He decided to demonstrate it for me this evening. He ran up to Eliana, grabbed ahold of her hair, and yanked as hard as he could. He kept pulling out the cords that attach the DVD player to the TV while Olivia was watching her movie. He stood next to Eliana beating her with a pillow while she said, "Please stop, Corbin. Please stop, Corbin. Please stop, Corbin." Later, that failing to get an emotional reaction or attention, he threw a little people dinosaur at her. I'm pretty sure it hurt a lot. He's also been calling names. His sisters have taught him two lovely names that he uses occasionally as his attention-getting weapon. He says "stupee" (stupid) and "dumb-ball." Gotta love that older-sister influence. So while I was cleaning up from dinner, he was repeatedly calling Olivia his prize names.

After getting him in trouble a couple times, it clicked. Yes, he was being naughty, and his goal was ATTENTION ... from ME!! (brilliant, Mommy). So I decided the next time I would ignore it. Sure enough, 2.5 seconds later, the opportunity presented itself. Olivia yells from the toy room, (yes, she's in on it, too), "Mommy, Corbin called me dumb ball again!!" So I yell back, "Thanks for telling me, Olivia." And do nothing. Corbin realizes I haven't taken the bait and I hear him yelling "Dumb-ball, Dumb-ball, Dumb-ball!" I take a deep breath, tell myself, wait. wait. wait.

And then Eliana, my miniature Mommy, decides to take action. She marches herself into the toy room and begins to lecture her siblings. "Corbin, you are being very naughty. If you don't change your behavior, you're going to have consequences." (Yes, that is really what she said.) When he continues, she says, "Corbin, you're going to lose this balloon if you can't behave." (Corbin responds, "I will NOT.") "See these scissors, Corbin? I'm going to cut up this balloon so you never use it again." And apparently it elicited enough of a behavior change, because I heard quiet for awhile in there .... or at least the good kind of noise. Quiet would be alarming.

Until Olivia got mad at Corbin for something and apparently hit him over the head with a toy. And Eliana decided to intervene again. "Olivia, you have the choice to walk away, or ask him to please stop, or if he does something really bad and it's a big problem, that's when you involve a grownup." I just about died laughing in the other room. Later, I was asking Eliana about it, and she says, "Well, Mrs. Beam has this webkins that's a green frog named gerbil and it has these rules for if people get in a fight ... you know, what you can do." I asked who Mrs. Beam was, "She's my counselor. Well, the school counselor."

Wow.

Ultrasound

Today we scheduled our ultrasound. It's going to be this thursday afternoon!!! I am so excited I can hardly wait! My mom thinks we should start a betting pool whether it's a boy or girl! So let the betting begin! The kitty goes into the diaper fund!