The Truth or the Edited Version?

Last night Scott and I attended a kindergarten information night. Part of the process involved handing in a short questionnaire about our child. I understand that the information is meant to be helpful in assisting the teachers to better get to know each child. And I wanted to be honest on that form. I really did.

Q. How does your child handle frustration or disappointment?
The truth: she falls on the floor and has a massive temper tantrum.
A. At home, Hannah will sometimes cry when disappointed but around others can usually hold herself together. When frustrated, she knows to ask for help.

Q. Can your child dress him/herself independently in winter clothes?
The truth: no, not at all. I zip up her snow pants, adjust the shoulder straps, help her with her boots, zip up her coat, adjust her hat so that it fits securely over her ears, and finally I make sure her mittens are tucked tightly into her sleeves.
A. She required some assistance this past winter, but I am confident she will be able to do everything independently this upcoming winter.

Q. Describe your child in social settings.
The truth: she is so shy she becomes non-verbal and can only grunt in reply to questions.
A. She is somewhat shy initially, but once she has adjusted is quite outgoing, friendly, and funny.

For the Sake of the Children

Today was both Jacob's birthday and a national holiday. A happy coincidence which brought us as a family to the Butterfly Conservatory nearby. Before I explain the experience, I should mention that I don't like things that fly. For whatever reason, flapping wings near my face (or any part of my body, for that matter) freak me out. If it's a bigger animal, it seems to be better. I can predict what it's doing or where it's going. But little flapping things make me uneasy. Very uneasy.

Fighting back my own reservations for the sake of my very excited children, I entered the butterfly sanctuary. I was immediately alarmed. I had only taken one step inside and already things were fluttering about. I wasn't even in the trees yet. "Oh look!" I exclaimed to my young, impressionable offspring. "Look at all the butterflies. Wow!"

We continued walking. I continued to exclaim with joy over all the pretty colours, so very many colours flitting around my head. I know I ducked a few times, but I think I managed to hide the increasing fear, no make that panic, that was pulsing through my frightened veins. I told Hannah if she stood still and held out her hand, a butterfly might land on it. She wanted this so desperately. I stood to the side, making sure all parts of me were moving to discourage anything from landing on me. I smiled serenely at my hopeful daughter while silently enduring an internal panic attack. I wondered if it would be offensive to swat the closer ones away.

It's very difficult to smile and speak cheerfully when you're hyperventilating. I can't wait to see the pictures Scott took. I'm sure I look downright thrilled in every one. But the kids loved it. And in the end, that's all that really matters.

Apple Pie, Here I Come!

In my last post, I mentioned that Hannah made a comment about hoping one day I would make apple pie for her. And she's right. I will. To top it off, I will make the crust from scratch and use fresh apples for the filling.

"Isn't that outside of your realm of abilities?" you might ask.

The answer is: Yes. But not for long. Because I am starting a new and exciting project called Project: Martha Stewart Me. In the short span of one year, I am going to transform myself into the type of domestic champion I've always wanted to be. The type of mother who can make an apple pie for her daughter. Without breaking a sweat.

To follow me on this ambitious journey, visit my new blog:
http://marthastewartme.blogspot.com/

I am not abandoning this blog - I am simply adding another blog. Because that's what supermoms can do.

Through Hannah's Eyes

This is my official Mother's Day entry. Which means I'm either incredibly busy, or incredibly lazy. This year, Hannah made me a lovely little booklet where she had to finish pre-established sentence starters all about her mommy. Here is what she knows/feels about me:

My mom has brown hair.
This was followed by a picture of some brown strands of hair mixed in with a few blue ones for good measure. Hmmm, must be time for highlights. I always thought I was a blonde.

My mom has brown eyes.
I know they're not exactly a brilliant blue, but that's what my ID says. Brown? Really?

I like when my mom makes apple pie.
This was my favourite. I don't recall EVER making apple pie. When I asked Hannah about it, she said: "I know. I just thought you would one day."

I like to go for a walk with my mom.
On this page, she drew a picture of 2 stick people holding hands. Ahhh... then she informed me it was a picture of her walking with her dad.

I love you mom!
Okay, this one really was for me. I could tell by the uneven ears on the stick person she drew, brown hair and all.

Democracy... Part 2

I left off with me standing at the edge of the parking lot, half-dropping Jacob, while Hannah was having a meltdown on the sidewalk behind me. I desperately needed to get Jacob to the car, partly so that I wouldn't drop him and partly because I would be much better equipped to deal with Hannah if I had my hands free. But I couldn't go to the car because I was worried that Hannah would follow me into the busy parking lot. I continued to smile at the sympathetic passers-by while pondering what to do next.

Finally, I resorted to old stand-by from Hannah's terrible two's. I counted to 3. And miraculously, it worked! She took my hand and stumbled across the parking lot, still sobbing, still making a scene, but at least headed in the right direction. She climbed into the car and I went to the other side to buckle Jacob in. Ah, one down. I went back to her side and phase 2 kicked in. She arched her back, tried getting out of her seat, and made it virtually impossible to do up her buckles. Somehow, I succeeded, and we were on our way home.

I took the opportunity of having both kids restrained for a little lecture. I talked to Hannah about her embarrassing behaviour using language far too sophisticated for a 4 year-old. She, however, agreed with everything I said and grudgingly offered an apology. It was one of those "sorry"s that was more grunted than spoken, but I took it anyway. And the next day, when she smothered me with kisses, I knew that was her true way of asking for forgiveness.

One for Democracy, Zero for Motherhood

I had one of those busy sort of days where you feel like you're doing a lot, but accomplishing nothing. By the time I left work, I was late picking up the kids. More rushing around. Then, before going home, I planned to quickly stop at the local school and vote like a good citizen. I stopped at our house to zip in and grab my voter's card and that's where things began to fall apart for me. I couldn't find it. The kids were waiting in the car in the driveway so I felt a certain sense of urgency. And I have this "thing" where it drives me absolutely insane when I can't find something, which unfortunately happens all the time. I become obsessive about finding it, even if I no longer need it, because where could it go? It's not like things just disappear!

At any rate, I thought there was a strong possibility it was in the garage because I thought we had stored a box of "office stuff" in there while clearing the house out to make it look good as it's up for sale. So, I opened the garage door and waved to the kids in the car so they could see where I was. Mistake. Hannah didn't care about seeing me, she only cared about seeing her bike, which she now wanted to ride so she began to cry hysterically because she was trapped in her car seat instead of on her bike.

I gave up on the voter's card and headed to the school with ID in hand, hoping I also had some proof of address in my bag. I did. But it was a photocopy. Which means I obviously had the original in there somewhere, too. But, no. Apparently, I did not. So I spent another 10 minutes going through all of the crap in my bag trying to find a piece of paper that wasn't there. If you're counting, that's twice in like 20 minutes that I hadn't been able to find something. Minor annoyance now turned to major frustration.

I went into the school anyway and discovered that all I needed to vote was my driver's license. Ah, so easy. But I still want to find that #$%! voter's card and the original of that photocopy! See? Obsessive. I'll probably dream about it tonight.

As we were leaving the school, Hannah decided that she didn't want to go home. In front of dozens of good, voting citizens she had a full-out, fall-on-the-floor tantrum. It continued all the way out to the car where nice people smiled at me with that sympathetic I'm-so-glad-that's-not-my-kid smile. I smiled back. By the time we got to the parking lot I was ready to drive away without her. She had to hold my hand to get to our car safely. She didn't want to go to the car. People were watching. I was carrying Jacob and already half-dropping him. Things weren't looking good.

Alas, this post is too long... Part 2 will have to wait.