Kids

I have 3 kids.

What the hell was I thinking?!?!

Actually, if I’m to be really honest, I was thinking about sex at the time. I mean, who really considers the consequences of their actions at a time when pleasure is staring you in the face? Not this guy! – and probably not you either, so stop lying!

Sure, I should have thought harder about it at the time, but I didn’t. And now I have 3 kids.

3 boys.

15, 10 and 9 years of age.

3 miniature versions of myself, but much stinkier because they can easily go a week without a shower. Don’t judge my parenting, it’s hard to keep track of so many little lying humans.

“Did you shower?”

“Yes”

“Let me smell you.”

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LIFE?!?!?

When they are born, you experience sleep deprivation that surely would send most humans to the brink of insanity. But parents, well, we are a special kind of superhero that we simply do NOT get enough credit for being. Sleepless nights covered in feces and vomit – usually not your own. Enter teething. Solids. Potty training. Terrible twos. Horrible threes. You just keep telling yourself that everything will be okay – once you get over this hump.

And then that hump.

And then the next hump.

Guess what? It will NEVER be okay!

I’m convinced now that parenthood is actually the portal to insanity. The entrance to a whole other level of crazy that you never really recover from.

I used to be a mother before I became a bouncer. I used to be able to parent my children before I spent my nights breaking up fights. I used to happily avoid alcohol before having to go to bed early in an attempt not to turn to unhealthy coping strategies.

I miss the days of sleepless nights.

I even miss the feces.

Yup, I do.

I miss it because the kids were less annoying when they had little control of their bodily fluids and emotions. I couldn’t blame them for the things they did to upset me, in fact, I sometimes blamed myself for being upset. Those horrible little monsters were perfect in my eyes.

Sometimes, they still are.

Not right now because they are awake but in a couple hours, they will be sleeping soundly in their beds. I will tuck them in and kiss them goodnight and forget all about the hell they put me through tonight.

It’s crazy but so am I.

Parenting joys in a life with boys

Do you remember that episode of “The Simpsons” where Marge has the breakdown in the car?  She’s driving along and her mind is flooded with requests and voices and noise from all the demands of her children.  Suddenly, Maggie pries open her baby bottle and milk flies everywhere. Marge comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, blocking anyone from passing and casually shuts off the car’s engine. The bus driver walks up to her, knocks on the window and she calmly turns to look at him and roars like a wild ass lioness. Remember that?

That was me on the way home last night.

I can’t remember when that episode initially aired. I can’t remember if I even knew what it felt like to be a mother at the time. I can’t remember why I still remember that one episode so clearly. But I do.

Mentally, I refer back to that episode often.  It’s perfect.  It’s the way I imagine every parent feels at times, but few will openly admit it.  For me though, there is NOTHING that can make my emotions fluctuate from pure love to the brink of insanity more quickly than my children.  It’s incredible. Really, it is.

Yesterday was no different.

At 14, 9 and 7, my kids have entered a whole new level of asshole and it’s driving me crazy!

In my extremely limited spare time, I used to sit and quietly reflect on the beautiful things in life I wanted to see and/or do.  White sand beaches.  Surfing in Costa Rica.  Climbing Machu Picchu in Peru.  Easter Island.  Sitting on a patio in Paris, drinking espresso while reading a book written in French.  Backpacking my way through Africa.  Taking the dream trip my sister and I planned to Thailand, from Phuket to Bangkok – and yes, we planned it that way because we were kids and thought the names were hilarious!  There was no limit to the things my mind could imagine.

But that’s all changed now.

Somedays, the only thing I find myself fantasizing about is how good it would feel to walk around the house with a GIANT garbage bag, throwing everything out while my children watched.  In.  Horror.

EVERYTHING!!!  (insert evil laugh here)

I actually have it all planned.

In my head, it happens in slow motion – the visual might help you to follow along.  I would start with the things that bring them the most joy, you know, the toys they play with more often.  There would likely be some kind of background music…I don’t know, Eye of the Tiger or something along those lines.  Haven’t worked out all those details yet.  The smile on my face would be enormous though, as I load that bag with all the things that they know and love.  I would even go so far as to ask them how much they value that thing first.  I would.  I want to give them a glimmer of hope that I might let them keep it if they can describe their love for it well enough. Then, I would throw that out too.

In. Front. Of. Their. Little. Sad. Face.

Yup, this is what my lovely thoughts have turned to.

Now before you get all judgey on me here, I wouldn’t actually do it.  Well, never say never, but I have yet to reach that boiling point.  I do, however, occasionally enjoy the thought because I truly believe that the level of asshole they have reached is one that can only be matched by an even bigger level of asshole.

And I am a much bigger asshole than they seem to believe!!!

You’re probably wondering what they could possibly have done to deserve this type of blog entry – unless you’re a parent, then you likely don’t even need to hear it to know that they earned it.  I’ll try to explain it anyway.

It’s not so much what they did, but what they’ve suddenly become.  Like everything that I’ve taught them about listening, using appropriate manners, being respectful and being responsible has been erased.  Like the universe turned their behaviour clock back about 5 years and I’m starting all over again.

It’s so weird!

I’ve never been the kind of parent that cleans up after my children; that responsibility has always been on them.  Now they’ve just stopped.

They’ve stopped everything!

Stopped cleaning up after themselves.

Stopped behaving.

Stopped following rules.

Stopped listening.

I can be standing directly in front of them and be saying something and they will completely ignore me. Like I’m not even there. Seriously.  And perhaps the most bizarre part of this situation is that they actually recognize they are doing it and feel bad about it!  If you pay close enough attention in the moment, you can almost see the internal struggle as they attempt to decide what their next move is going to be.

Am I in the Twilight Zone or is this just the type of hell I can expect while they figure out how to manage the insane levels of testosterone that flows through their little, formally angelic, bodies?!?!?

Children suck.

Where’s my garbage bag???

 

 

 

 

 

Date Night

A friend of mine posted this the other day.

Accurate!!!

Three kids is no joke. Three extremely active boys is hectic! All three have, or are currently playing competitive sports. All three practice those sports with each other. All three have had multiple injuries; mostly caused by one another.

Best friends and worst enemies. I truly spend my days breaking up their fights. Three is not an even number!!! When fights happen, it becomes two against one pretty quickly; the combination of the two completely depends on the situation. Either way, fighting, whining, complaining and brother bullying are a big part of my world. Together, they are a different set of kids.

Pearce thinks he is the boss, but the other two have no interest in his “rules”. Lincoln is the instigator, and also doubles as the biggest whiner. He is also the one who gets the most upset when someone gets hurt. Cam is the most violent, he will only take so much before you become victim to his sharp tongue or brut strength.

It’s definitely not all negative though. They are incredibly supportive of one another and there is a great bond between the three. While I sometimes worry that one of them will not make it out alive, I know without a doubt, that they always have each other’s backs. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Pearce and I spent a lot of quality time together in his first few years of life. It wasn’t difficult to notice the change in his personality depending on who he was around. As someone who thinks consistency in personality is important, this was a difficult pill for me to swallow. I understood child development, and I could see how certain behaviours in adults could change behaviours in children. My parents always spoiled him, so around them, he acted like an entitled little shit. I hated it but I understood it as part of his process.

What I did instead was implement “date nights” with him. Once a week, he and I would go on a mommy/son date. Just the two of us. Alone. It was amazing. It started as a coffee date when he was a toddler. We would go to Starbucks; I would have my coffee, he would have his hot chocolate and cookie. We would sit there and chat about life. As he got older, the dates became more fun/active. Sporting events, movies, arcade, the batting cage, the playground, playing soccer/basketball, whatever we felt like doing in that moment. The rules were simple, no one was allowed to infiltrate date night and no topic was off limits. If he asked, I answered (this rule wasn’t just limited to date night though). That was our time. I told him about my life, he told me about his. Some of our best conversations came from these moments. No distractions, just the two of us.

When he was 5, Lincoln was born. For the first time, he had to share his mom with someone else. Date night became even more important to me. Having Lincoln meant that the frequency of date night would change, but he truly embraced life as a big brother. No one could make Linc laugh the way P could. No one made Linc’s eyes light up the way P did. Still, there were a lot of changes in his life. Jeremy and I had just got married, we moved into a new place, and P and I became a family of 4.

Jer worried that P would think he loved Linc more, as he was his first biological child. He also recognized what the changes meant for him. I wanted to continue date night with Linc so we set up date nights a little differently. I would have date night with P and then date night with Linc, Jer would do the same. This way, they still got the same amount of dates, and we each got to enjoy the one on one time. 15 months later, enter Campbell.

Campbell was very sick in his first year of life. He was in and out of the hospital, and I was right there with him. I couldn’t leave his side, even though it killed me to be away from my other two. Again, the frequency of date nights had to change. Still, the tradition continued.

As the boys got older, they started to compile their own lists of things they wanted to do on mom dates and dad dates. Today, they are 13, 8 (in a couple weeks) and 6. Their sport schedules mean we spend a lot more time on the court/field/rink then we do on dates. Frequency has continued to change, but date night continues.

My boys are growing up! They will always be my babies but I know there will come a time where they won’t want to spend as much time with me. The feeling will be more than mutual, I’m sure.

I used to decide when date night would happen; work it into my schedule. Now, they ask me on dates when they feel they need one. As a mother, it’s an amazing feeling when your 13 year old son still asks to spend time with you.

One on one time is important!

Being a bouncer isn’t always pretty; there is a lot of yelling and discipline in my life. That, I believe, is equally important for their process. All I can do is hope that my kids grow up knowing how much I truly loved them and appreciate the effort we made in getting to know each of them individually.

Date nights have provided some of my best memories with them, they are as much for me as they are for them.

Boys are gross.

So my preteen (from hell) decided to lose his shit the other day.  It was awful. Hours of screaming, crying, threatening to run away. His hormones are raging and he’s struggling.  

Luckily, or unluckily for him, he has two parents who are in this field. So, he gets a mix of conversation and problem solving possible strategies for helping to manage his anger. Not in those words exactly but let’s just call it what it is.

One of the things we tell him to do sometimes when he starts to escalate is to go take a bath. Cool down. Relax. Enjoy some quiet time in a private space. Process your thoughts before reacting. Take the damn time out.  Take it before I throw you out the window!!!!  But I don’t tell him that last part, that’s an inside voice. 

This was one of the options presented to him the other day. He thought it might be a good idea, which made me happy. His time out also helps me get MY time out!  It’s a double bonus. 

We decided to go for a mommy/son run first.  I love those times. We have some pretty serious conversations while walking. He tries to talk when we are running but that’s not my thing.  Normally, I run with music but I’m on momma bear high alert when I run with my kids, so listening to music is not an option.  To not have music is already annoying enough but when he tries to talk, I’m not having it. Our mommy/son runs involve intervals because of this; jog, walk, sprint, walk, jog, etc.  

We jog next to each other during our jog periods.  

We have serious conversations about serious issues while walking.  

We full out race during the sprints (I still kill him in the races).  

This is what we do. It’s our thing. One of our many things.  I love it. 

So, we choose to do that on this night, which brings me back to the original reason for this blog…

BOYS

ARE

GROSS 

The bath was an option that was on the table for cooling down.  We had already established that before going for a run.  Going for a run meant he would be taking one anyway. So, when we got home, I asked him if he was going to take his bath now.  

He looked at me and said “I’m just going to take a bath to relax, I’m not going to use soap or anything.”

Really?

You’re already doing EVERYTHING else, why not take a couple minutes and wash the preteen/just went for a run stink off your body?  

Gross!  Gross!  Gross!

It got me thinking about the million times this, or something like this has happened. At home. At work. Everywhere.  People “fake” clean themselves ALL the time!!!!  I see it everywhere. 

I see it at home all the time with my disgusting boys.  I see them wet their hands with water and run as far away in the other direction in hopes I don’t notice. I’ve seen them sprinkle water on the soap to make it look like they used it. I’ve seen them put just enough soap on their hands to make them smell good in case I ask to smell them when they leave. Gross!  

I see it in public washrooms from the door cracks. I watch people turn on the water and stand in front of it and play with their hair until the water has been running long enough to make whoever is in there believe that they washed their hands.  Then they ruffle some paper towels, throw it out and call it a day!  Gross! 

That shit takes thought and effort.  You could have actually washed your hands more easily and quickly then in the time it took you to pretend. 

If you’re already making all that effort anyway, why not just do it?  Or not do it. Pretending just seems like a waste of time. Own your grossness or clean yourself properly.

I don’t get it.

After all that, my son and I decided to make smoothies before the bath. Chocolate peanut butter banana strawberry almond milk hemp hearts and chia seeds smoothie, to be exact. Yum!!!  Somehow we got to talking while enjoying our smoothies.  Then it was bedtime and he kissed me goodnight and went to bed.  

About 20 minutes later, I realized there was no bath.  He got me!  Punk!!!!  

He IS gross but at least he owns his grossness.