This Saturday will be our 11th wedding anniversary – he’s definitely my record.

But in addition to it being our anniversary, it’s also “Dress Day”.  The one day a year I try my wedding dress on.  Why you ask?  Well, silly, to make sure it still fits, of course.  That is my goal.  To always fit into that dress.  Sure – it may be slightly tighter than it once was, but as of last year, I’m proud to say it still zipped up!

I never intended to keep my wedding dress in my closet this long.  It just kind of happened.  It seemed like such a shame to have it cleaned, boxed and stored somewhere out of sight right after the wedding.  So I figured I’d wait a few months before I did that so I could enjoy seeing my dress a few more times.  Then before I knew it, it was our first anniversary and I thought “wonder if it still fits”?  So I tried her on.  And she did!  And she was still SO pretty.  I walked down the hallway of our little apartment like it was the aisle of a cathedral.  And by our second anniversary I had a three month old baby and wondered if it would still fit.  It was close, but – yep!  (and I assure you that my dress is not made of anything stretchy)  And thus began the annual challenge – I would not clean, box and store my dress until the day she no longer fit.

And then the second son came along and we decided that there would be no more babies.  Which also meant no little girls.  Girls that LOVE to see their Mommy’s wedding dress.  To touch it and smell it.  And try it on.  And imagine.  And pretend.  And dream.  And if there wasn’t going to be any little girls, then who would love that beautiful dress?  It was just too much to bear.  So I decided that if there was not to be a little girl to play with the dress, then I would just have to do it myself.

So every year . . . out she comes!  And when the boys were little they thought it was kind of wondrous and exciting.  I would ask “Who wants to see Mommy’s big white princess dress???” and they would come running.  But now they have all seen it.  Many times.  And now it’s not so wondrous anymore.  Nope.  Now it’s just kind of silly.  But I don’t care.

So this weekend I will put on that dress.  And that veil.  And I will glide down our staircase and through the Family room with the train trailing behind me.  And I will bat my eyelashes and ask “how do I look???” and they will smile and say “you look pretty Mommy” and go back to whatever they were doing.  And off I will go.  Smiling.  And gliding back up the stairs.  Where I will stand in front of the mirror for a few more minutes before I lovingly put her back in her cover in the corner of the cupboard.  Until next year.

Happy Dress Day to me!

I almost lost a kid yesterday.  And his friend.  And I don’t think the friend’s parents would have been to happy about that.  Even though they are also my friends.  But I doubt we would have still been friends after I had lost their child.  And that would be a shame because I quite like them.

Allow me to explain.

The Eldest (aka Octo-Boy – or sometimes Sporty because of his deep love and natural ability at all things sport, which he clearly inherited from his Father – certainly not me) tried out for and made his school’s junior soccer team.  And I should frickin’ hope so!  He plays Rep soccer for our town 12 months a year.  As well as playing hockey all winter.  And running cross-country in the Fall.  And being an excellent swimmer.  And really good at beach volleyball.  Oh, and by the way he’s musically inclined, very good looking,  reasonably polite, well mannered, incredibly patient with young children and loves to cuddle.  Get your daughter’s name on the dating list now my friends – he’s a real catch and he’ll go fast (spots are currently selling for only $100 each – just email me your credit card details . . . )

Any whoo . . .

The games are after school.  The soccer coach arranges for all the kids to be driven to the soccer field location but parents are responsible for picking them up once the game’s over.  No problem.  Although I’m a working mom who’s a 45 minute drive away, my Mom, known to all simply as “Gramma”, was on grandson sitting duty at my house that afternoon and had volunteered to pick up Sporty and friend before the end of the game.  So she heads over to the field, which is only a few blocks from our house.

And then I got the slightly-anxious-but-not-yet-panicked phone call while I’m still at work . . .

Me:  Hi Mom

Gramma: He wasn’t at the soccer field.  There was no soccer game there.  There was just hundreds of cross country runners.  I’ve checked the schedule.  We were definitely at the right park.

Me:  you’re kidding me.

Gramma:  No, I’m not kidding.  They weren’t there.  Could they be at the school field?  At a different park?  Could the whole team have been abducted? (okay, so she didn’t really say that last part but I’m sure the possibility had briefly entered her mind)

Me:  what the hell???  You’re sure there was no soccer game anywhere at that park?  Maybe they moved it to a different corner  because of the cross country?

Gramma:  No.  There was no soccer at that park.

So I think quickly.  Like a cheetah.  Aha!  I’ll call one of the other mothers that usually goes to all the games on her cell phone and ask her what park they’re at.  Great idea!  Too bad she didn’t answer her phone.  Strike one . . .

So I call her house.  Maybe she’s not at the game, but perhaps she has some information for me.  A clue to the whereabouts of an entire soccer team.  But she didn’t answer that phone either.  Damn.  Strike two . . .

So I call the school.  Surely they’ll know where the game is!  Too bad they’d all gone home for the day.  Strike three . . . I’m out ideas.

Now what?!?  Drive around town, going from park to park?  Um – No.  We have about 100,000 people in our town.  There are a LOT of parks.  And the game is scheduled to be over in about 15 more minutes.  After which time all the other boys will be picked up.  But not Sporty and friend.  No.  They will be standing in the middle of an empty soccer field with an unhappy teacher that is forced to stay with them.  And all the while Gramma will be frantically searching.

So we decide that she’ll get back in the car, actually turn her cell phone ON so I can call her back, and start checking our school and the few parks in our immediate vicinity while I get back on the phone and launch a “find the soccer team” campaign.

I try the other Mother’s cell phone again.   “Hello?” she answers.  She answers!   A few polite niceties and then the urgent question.

Me:  Sorry to bother you but do you happen to be at the boy’s soccer game?

Her:  No I couldn’t make it today.  My husband went instead.

Me: Um – any idea where the game is?  The original park is full of cross country runners.

Her:  Oh yeah, a new schedule came home yesterday.  It was changed to such-and-such park.

Me:  A new schedule, eh?  Hmmm.  It would appear that MY son didn’t bring that home.  Okay great.  Thanks very much.

- Click -

Immediately followed by a hot burning sensation making it’s way up my body.  Starting from the pit of stomach and ending up in my clenched teeth.

I make a quick call to Gramma and redirect her.  She kicks her 1999 Buick into high gear and burns some serious rubber.  She arrives at the field about 5 minutes before the games ends.

Crisis adverted.

Upon my arrival home I immediately launch an inquest.  An inquest where Sporty is interrogated about the revised schedule – Where is it?  Why didn’t you bring it home?  Did you not notice that you weren’t at the original park that we had discussed?  Do you know what would have happened if Gramma and I hadn’t tracked you down?  Do you know how important schedules are?!?!?!?  Do you know that we were very worried?  And on it went . . .

Turns out that there was a soccer team meeting mentioned during the morning announcements at school the previous day, but Sporty did hear that announcement.  And even though one of his team mates – THAT’S IN HIS SAME CLASS -  asked him if he was going, he wasn’t sure where or when it was.  And rather than asking his Teacher – WHO HELPS COACH THE SOCCER TEAM – or one of his soccer friends – OF WHICH ONE IS IN HIS CLASS WITH HIM ALL DAY – he just didn’t go.  And that,  my dear readers, is where they passed out the new schedule.  The new schedule that would have saved Gramma much angst and distress.  The new schedule that would have saved The Only Girl from cursing her son the entire 45 minute drive home from work.  The new schedule that almost got 2 boys lost.

Last night I took both boys to Toys R Us to get a birthday present for a friend’s party they’re both attending on the weekend.  This is something we do often (my children are popular and get invited to lots of birthday parties -  clearly I’m a fabulous mother).  So they’re no stranger to Toys R Us.  And they’re always very well behaved.  Neither of them have ever had one of those “but I WANT it” temper tantrum breakdowns that I all-to-frequently witness some poor red-faced parent experiencing.  I simply remind them, before we’re even out of the car, that we are there to pick a toy for their friend – not themselves.  Sometimes they bring their own wallets if they do anticipate treating themselves to a little inexpensive something-or-another while we’re there.  And although every aisle seems to have some item that is particularly eye-catching, I usually nip it in the bud by saying “oh yes, that does look good.  Would you like me to add that to your birthday/Christmas list?” and then we continue on.  Good boys.  Good boys.

But last night The Youngest happen to spot the WWE “Money in the Bank Ladder Match Ring”.  And he was smitten.

(I know – I don’t get it either)

I’m going to stop here to mention that he has never even seen any show at all related to the WWE (Mom – it stands for World Wrestling Entertainment).  He doesn’t have any toys that are at all related to the WWE.  And from what I can figure, the closest he’s ever come to the WWE is playing with a WWE item at a friend’s house . . . ONCE.

So I suggest that we add it to his Christmas list.  Nope, not good enough this time – he wants it right now.  But since he didn’t bring his wallet on this particular outing, he suggests that perhaps I could purchase the coveted item and he could pay me back when we get home.  A fair suggestion.  I appreciate his initiative.  Except that the item is $30.  And I think that is just a little too much for an impulsive, he-doesn’t-even-know-what-the-heck-WWE-is item that will undoubtedly promote a flurry of wrestling moves against his brother.  And then things will get all crazy in my Family Room.

So I responded “No, not today.  We’re here for your friend’s gift, remember?  Let’s pay and go home.”

I decide to head over one aisle to the cash.  The Eldest (aka Octo-Boy) was still with me but The Youngest had wondered back to the WWE aisle to lovingly gaze at the object of his affection.  And he wasn’t budging.  By this point I was getting tired of calling out his name and telling him to stay with us, which I had to do at least four times already.  So I decide to give him one of those little “controlled scares” that us Mother’s must sometimes give.  So Octo-Boy and I walked away from the aisle we were in – without him.  Then we went through the cash – expecting him to come sauntering up at any moment like he owns the place.  But he didn’t.  Then we waited just inside the exit doors.  Still no sign of him.  Now I’m getting worried/angry.  I’m partially expecting to hear some kind of “could Kieran’s Mother please come to Customer Service” announcement over the P.A.  Maybe I shouldn’t have walked away.  The guilt sets in.  So I send The Eldest back in to get him while I stand guard at the exit door.

The next thing I see is The Youngest on his knees being pulled by his hands through Toys R Us by The Eldest.  And he appears to be smiling and kinda laughing.  And then accidentally, through my guilt and anger, one of those spontaneous laughs spewed from my mouth.  I couldn’t help it!  It did look kinda funny.  But I dare not let him see that laugh.  No.  He must see nothing but irate frustration.  So as The Eldest deposits him in front of the exit doors where we had been standing, I gather my composure and angrily demand between gritted teeth that he “get in the car”.  To which he grins and replies “no”.

No.  Just like that.  Can you believe he said that?!

Again, I turn and choke back a spontaneous laugh because honestly, it was such an unlikely response to my demand that I almost didn’t believe he had just said it.  So I decide I’m gonna show him who’s Boss.  “Okay then” I say “bye bye” and just before I head out the doors towards the car with The Eldest in tow, The Youngest smiles and waves and replies “bye”.

Damn him!  I’m supposed to be the boss!

So I throw in the towel.  I’m out of ideas.  He’s clearly gotten the better of me.  I’ve been defeated.

As we’re walking to the car, which by the way is parked immediately outside the store (let’s pause here for a sec and give kudos to me for the great parking spot!), The Eldest asks “Are we really going home?  Are we really going to leave him here?” to which I quickly think hmmmm, the lesson may be lost on The Youngest, but perhaps it’ll teach The Eldest something . . .

“Yes – we’re going home.”

“Without him?” he asks with wide-eyed astonishment.

I don’t bother to answer so as not to find myself in a lie.  No – of course I wouldn’t go home without him!  But I don’t want them to know that or it would have blown my whole cover.

So we get into the car as I watch The Youngest standing just inside the store’s entrance.  Just standing there.  Watching.  Probably thinking “ha – they’re not going anywhere without me.”

But then as we get into the car and I start the engine I can see on his panicked little face that his thought process has suddenly changed to “oh crap!  They really are going to leave without me!”  And out he comes.  Running towards the car.  Face flushed and eyes moist.

I have worn him down!  The lesson has been taught!  Victory is mine! (the crowd breaks into a spontaneous cheer and starts doing The Wave)

So home we go.  Where he proceeds to spend some alone time in my room.  Not in his own because it’s filled with toys and would be way too much fun to spend some alone time in there.  No – to my boring room.  From which I have removed the TV remote control.  So there’s nothing to do.  But sit and think about his behavior.  And come up with a good apology.  And promise it won’t happen again.  While I’m downstairs having a drink.

And as I’ve said repeatedly about this child over the years – it’s a good thing he’s cute.

This is an octopus . . .

This is The Eldest . . .

Do you notice any resemblance?  No, of course not.

And yet when he comes into our bed in the middle of the night, you’d never know the difference!  When he’s all arms and legs.  Spreading out like he owns the place.  I’m convinced that under cover of night, he actually morphs into a octopus.  An octopus with tentacles of steel.  Tentacles that are hell bent on getting me out of the way.  Out of the way in MY big comfy king-sized bed.  Pushing me on to the very edge.  Where I teeter.  Trying not to fall out onto the floor.

Till I, in my sleepy state, get fed up and pissed off and high-tail it into his very comfy and now empty bed.  Why is his own double-sized bed not enough for him?  How much bed does he really need at age 9?  Or is it a master plan?  A plan where he’s really just trying to drive me out so that the 3 of them can live happily-ever-after without She-that-nags-a-lot?

I can’t tell you how often we play “musical beds” during the night in this house.  You never who’s going to be in which bed by the morning.  It’s like we live in a co-ed college dorm or something.  It’s ridiculous.  And some weeks are worse than others.  It seems to go in spurts.  And the last week in The Only Girl Compound has not been a good spurt.

At what age do they stay in their own damn beds?!?!

I’m riddled with guilt.  I feel terrible.  I’m a bad mother.

The truth of it is . . . I forgot to pack my youngest son’s school snack this morning.

There – I’ve said it!  For all the world to read!  And through this cyber-confession I hope that one day, when he’s older and can actually read, that he will read this post and know in his heart of hearts that his Mommy didn’t forget about him.  That she really does love him.  That he really is very important to her.

Because I know what’s going to happen when his Grade 1 teacher happily announces “okay class – it’s snack time!  Go get your snacks!” and he runs over to his little backpack.  And he opens it.  And it’s empty.  He’ll think “why didn’t Mommy send me a snack?”.  And his heart will be heavy.  And he will be confused.  And he will be hungry.  And he will sit quietly alone while all the other kids enjoy the snacks that their Mothers have loving packed for them.

(honestly – would you want to disappoint this face?)

But in my defense, here’s what happened . . .

I prepare and pack their lunches and snacks at night.  I also plan out their breakfast for the next morning and get the plates/bowls/glasses/cutlery/whatevers out and ready.  Because there is simply no time to be messing about with that stuff in the morning because I’m trying to get myself ready for work while I’m getting them up and dressed.  And since Willie’s schedule is different everyday (sometimes he has to leave early, sometimes he leaves late) one never knows what mornings he’s around to help out.  So I try to have everything under control as much as possible.  Because I’m big on control.  And organization.

So everything was ready and waiting to be taken out of the fridge and put into the backpacks this morning.  I grabbed his lunch, and his brother’s from the fridge.  I grabbed both their water bottles.  I even grabbed his brother’s snack off the counter.  But his frozen yogurt tube snack was in the freezer.  And as they say – outta sight . . . outta mind.  And so there it stayed.  Not to be eaten today.  Not to be eaten by a very cute little boy that usually doesn’t eat much of his breakfast because he’s not very hungry first thing in the morning, but really enjoys his mid-morning snack at school.  Nope.

Now, I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to pack his snack till I was halfway to work – at which point it was far too late to turn around.  I immediately placed an emergency call to Willie, but he was also halfway to work.  So we tried to come up with a good excuse.  First we thought of telling him later that night “you didn’t get a snack today because you only ate half of your snack yesterday, so maybe you’ll appreciate your snack more tomorrow!”  But that sounded a little harsh.  Then we thought of “you didn’t get a snack today because it’s your punishment for waking us both up when you came running into our room from that nightmare you had last night!”  But that didn’t really sound good either.

So I’ve decided to go with the “honesty is the best policy” defence.  Because that’s one of the life lessons I try to teach my boys.  So I will simply tell him that I’m really sorry, and that I simply forgot to get the yogurt tube out of the freezer.  And that I felt really bad and that I’ll try really hard to remember his snacks in the future.

And maybe, just maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll say “oh – I didn’t even notice that I didn’t have a snack cause it was so-and-so’s birthday and his Mom sent in treats for the class at snack time”.  Fingers crossed!

Yes, it’s back.  The dreaded return of hockey season.  Already.  Before we’ve even had a chance to close the pool.  Sadly, I spent both my Saturday and Sunday mornings this past weekend in cold, depressing hockey arenas.  And this weekend wasn’t the first time.  No, no.  I was at the cold, depressing hockey arena last weekend too.  And although it may technically still be Fall, once Hockey Season arrives, it may as well be Winter to me.

My eldest plays hockey twice a week.  My youngest plays hockey twice a week.  My husband plays hockey once a week.  My husbands helps coach both of my boy’s hockey teams.  They all watch hockey whenever it’s on TV.  My husband builds an ice rink in our backyard every Winter so they can play a little hockey whenever they feel the urge.  Hockey, hockey, hockey . . .

I hate hockey.  No, I really do.  I just don’t get it.  Sure, I enjoy watching my eldest’s games now that’s he’s a little older (9 years old) and it’s more competitive.  But my enjoyment is really more about being excited for him as he races down the ice towards to goal than for the games itself.

Hockey equipment stinks.  It smells really, really bad.  And so do the boys that have just taken it off.

The arenas are always cold and my nose always drips.

The whole “off side” rule still puzzles me even though it’s been explained to me over and over and over again.

The games and practices are always so God damn early!  Why?  Why do they have to be so early?  Are the people that make up the schedules not parents too?  Why do they think it’s acceptable to have a 5 year old dressed in his equipment and on the ice at 6am???  Come on!  WTF?

But alas, this will be the extent of my weekends from now until Spring.

So suck it up Princess – as they say!  I’ll get my coffee on the way to the rink like everybody else, find my spot in the stands and smile.  Like the good Hockey Mom that I am.  Because they love hockey.  And I love them.

And I’ll be thankful that they’re not into ice-fishing . . .

Brothers . . .

Buggers . . .

Best Friends . . .

I can only hope they are always this close and love each other this much.

But don’t be fooled.  They have their moments.  Like when they put on the boxing gloves and hockey helmets.  And duke it out good and proper . . .

Don’t you just love boys!

This weekend my boys wanted to go camping.  But The Only Girl doesn’t so much like camping.  In fact she’s really more like a hotel girl.  Or a cottage girl.  Definitely not a tent-in-the-middle-of-the-dirty-woods girl.  And besides, the only camping equipment we own is a tent (that we got for free when we cashed in some of our credit card points) and a flashlight.

So I gave them my list of requirements.  If a campground meeting those requirements could be found, we would go.  And no – I don’t think I was asking for too much:

- somewhere less than 1 hour away

- MUST have clean, bright, bug-free flushing washroom facilities

- must have clean, bright and bug-free showering facilities

- hydro must be available at all times

- there must be hardly any bugs

- there must be no threat of animal attacks

- there should be a playground in the vicinity (at first it appears that I’m a really nice Mom who requests this for the sake of my children, but really, it’s just to keep them busy so that I can get some relax time)

- and in an attempt to sabotage them, I requested that it must be near water that’s suitable for swimming and at least 80 degrees warm

But even with such a demanding list, they were able to find such a campground.  So I packed up everything and everyone, and away we went . . .

To our backyard.  For the night.

And it was fun.  And if you used your imagination – you could have been in the middle of nowhere.  Like Survivor Man.  With only the bare necessities to keep you alive.

But we weren’t.  We were in the comfort of our own backyard.  With our heated swimming pool.  And our swing set and sand box.  And my own washroom nearby.  And in case of extreme discomfort or an unpredicted storm – several cozy beds were just steps away.

And in the morning when we woke up, Willie went for Timmies!

Now that’s my kinda camping!

This is Joey.

Joey is not our dog.

Joey is not our dog because I am VERY allergic to dogs.  And cats.  And anything else with fur or feathers.  Which is why we currently only have a fish and a guinea pig.  Although even the guinea pig makes me wheeze.  But I try to avoid him as much as possible.  A dog on the other hand is too difficult to avoid when they, and all their fur and dander, live in your house.  So even though I’m SURE all three of my boys would trade me in for a dog in a heartbeat, I’m not prepared to leave – just yet.  So no dog for them.  Until this weekend.  When we were on dog-sitting duty for our neighbour.

It’s been a much anticipated event in our house.  They’ve been counting down the days.  Asking many questions about dog care.  Curious to know how it’s all gonna go down.

Joey lives right across the street.  And due to the aforementioned allergies, was not to be let inside our house.  He would sleep at his own place (we did however keep a close eye on the place to ensure there were no rowdy parties or late night romantic encounters), but was allowed to hang out in our backyard during the day.  I was actually looking forward to the morning and evening walking schedule because I would really like to go for more walks, but can never convince any of my boys to join me.  But this weekend I had enthusiastic partners.  All fighting over who would get to hold the leash.

And then about halfway through our first walk . . . he pooped.  As dogs are known to do.

And the boys were grossed out.  And my eldest had to reach down with his bagged hand and pick up the warm pile – “ewwww . . . there’s a fly in it already!” he squealed.

And then having a dog didn’t seem as good as he had first thought.  In fact it may have extinguished the “I want a dog” fires for just a little while.

Gotta take the good with the bad, boys!

But it was nice having you, Joey.  You can come back again anytime.

I somehow got talked into going go-karting yesterday.  Willie was at work so it was just the boys and I.  We were out and about doing a few errands when they started to ask beg for me to stop in at our local indoor kiddie go-kart track.  “Did you bring your own money?”  I asked.  Yes, they had – there goes that excuse.  So off we went.  But my youngest was too short for his own car, so I had to go in a double kart with him and do the driving.  Ok, maybe I drove a little too slow for his liking, but it was my first time!

But all this brings up another point.  Being the only girl, I’m always doing “boy” outings with them.  Go-karting, hockey museums, historical old jail tours, video game arcades, sporting events, dinosaur exhibits and such.  Never a girl outing is had.  Nope.  No trips to the Butterfly Conservatory for us!  You won’t find us at  any craft shows or Barbie exhibits.  No shoe museums or Home & Garden shows.  No Stars-on-Ice or The Nutcracker Suite.

Same goes for TV shows.  I’m constantly subjected to their shows.   Survivor Man, Man vs. Wild, any and all NHL /MLS / NFL / Premier League games, UFC, the Family Channel in general, and of course The Family Guy.  But do they tune in with me to my shows?  Will they agree to sit through “Say Yes to the Dress”?  Is HGTV ever on?  Do we sit down together to watch the latest episode of “Desperate Housewives” or re-runs of “Sex in the City”?  No.  In fact I’m not even granted access to the remote control so that there won’t be any accidental girlie show mishaps.

Nope – you see it’s 3 to 1 . . . and they always win.