Urban Suburban Mommy

Category Archives: The Struggle is Real

My name is “NO”

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sullivan noOn mommy’s agenda for me today:
  • getting dressed
  • going to school
  • eating dinner
  • bath
  • bedtime.

Um, no. I will not be doing any of that. At least, not with any discernible amount of ease.

GETTING DRESSED

I know that I wear the same uniform every day, and most days I’m cool with it. But today, I don’t know… I’m just feeling like it’s a pyjamas-to-school-type day. No, not these pyjamas on my body, Dunderklumpen. I want to wear the pyjamas at the bottom of my dirty laundry hamper.

Why?

Because they’re friggin’ COOL. You might not remember what cool feels like because your fashion criteria is whether or not your leggings roll down and you think musical ingenuity ended in the 80’s.

I don’t give a rat’s a** what the weather is outside. I will wear the exact opposite. I will also wear my pants and/or shirt backwards because I am expressing myself. I am an individual who will not live under your Reich of conformity. I also have first rights of refusal regarding outerwear. You can be sure I will complain about being cold and that my pants are falling down. Because, individual.

GOING TO SCHOOL

Give me the keys, please. You know the drill. I press the buttons to open all the doors (yes, even the trunk). You may have them back once I’ve shut all the doors and locked everyone inside. Just because you drive like Hunter S. Thompson on a bender doesn’t mean we all have a death wish. I’m concerned about safety.

You’re welcome.

(After school)

So, about today. I may or may not have licked my friend’s face at lunch. I was pretending to be a puppy. You know, a small, warm, furry pile of love that I want more than the very oxygen I breathe but you say we can’t have because you have “allergies” and basically don’t care about my happiness?

Also, the teacher got a bit annoyed because for the fourth time this week, I brought in a piece of paper with random letters typed on it for show-and-tell, which apparently only happens on Mondays. Pfft. They’ll all regret not basking in my genius and technical prowess. I know how to use a computer. I am the future.

EATING DINNER

It smells nice in here! No doubt some healthy concoction of proteins, carbs and veggies. Chicken? Isn’t that the animal on my Fisher Price See ‘N Say farm toy? Are you suggesting that I eat the cute, smiling cartoon animal? Everywhere a tsk tsk.  You say I like chicken? Come on poo monkey, chicken is so five seconds ago.

Unless it’s nuggets. I like those.

Besides, chicken nuggets aren’t really chicken, that’s just a name, like eggplant or…soup. You’re a dummy.

(Ten minutes after dinner is finished.)

I want macaroni. I want MACARONI. I WA-A-A-A-A-A-ANT MACARONI!!

What the hell is wrong with you? I HATE macaroni! I want cookies!

BATHROOM BREAK (Not on the list but the four year old is nothing if not flexible when it comes to routine and schedule. Sorry, I tried to keep a straight face.)

I don’t have to wash my hands after I use the toilet, because I never touched my thingie and I even wiped up the floor pee with your face towel so I never touched anything. Besides, I washed my hands two days ago, so they’re practically like new. I have bacteria on my hands? That sounds like a word you made up. I’mma smell my fingers and very likely put them in my mouth. Just to be sure.

BATH

A bath? Sure, I’m down with a bath. Here is my list of demands:

a) I get into the tub first. I don’t care if the baby gets undressed faster and has to stand there while I spend the next 10 minutes running around naked screaming “I have a penis!” I don’t care if the bathwater goes tepid. If anyone starts bathing before I get into the bath, my head will explode and you will have to clean it up and you’ll be sorry.

b) I am in charge of putting all the tub toys into the tub.

Every. Single. One.

c) I will not be washing my hair. I washed it last week and it’s fine. If you come at me with the shampoo I will literally flip my s**t and try to drown you. The baby, however, looks dirty and needs a shampoo. I will conduct the rinsing. I’m holding him under to rinse out the shampoo. This is called rinsing. He’s rinsed when he starts to panic a little. Can you please tell him not to be such a big baby?

BEDTIME

I want 2 books. No wait, 5 books. No wait, I’ll just pile up all the books. Wait, I don’t want to read a story anymore. I want to play with the Gro Clock. What do you mean I broke it? I just took off the back panel to see what the buttons did. What shoddy manufacturing! I have a curious mind, I’m thirsty for knowledge! Speaking of thirsty, I want a drink. I know very well that “bedtime” is what you call the bottle of red stuff on the counter. Before you get to the bottom of your “bottle of feigned happiness and forgotten dreams”, where’s my drink? I want water in a cup with a lid, but just to make things interesting, I have no intention of telling you which cup I want, and will only yell “no” at each selection until your eye starts twitching. Then I’ll get bored of the game. Also, I’m laughing at you because I’m not even thirsty.

(Two hours later)

By the way, even asleep I know you’re crazy about me. See you tomorrow.

Love, the Despot.

 

 

Can a mama get a minute for herself?

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I had all the time in the world before I had kids. I had no IDEA how much free time I had, how much time I wasted doing literally nothing.

Now, free time is counted in the gaps between moments, where things still have to get done, but there is a little less…panic? Cacaphony? These are the moments when chores become luxuries and my to-do list becomes an opportunity to have time for myself. Below are some moments I never categorized as “free time” pre-kids, but now look forward to:

Going to the grocery store

When I was pregnant with my second, everyone would wake up super-early on Saturday mornings. My husband would take my oldest to soccer class (it should be noted that no actual soccer was played, but there was a lot of running, followed by chasing and herding) and I would go to Loblaws and buy groceries.

It was pure delight.

The glass doors would breeze open and I’d saunter in with my cart empty and my head full of tranquility. I took my time, wandering up and down the aisles, reading labels, picking things up, putting them back, or not. I’d meander around that store with a big stupid grin on my face. The cashiers must have thought I was nuts. For 45 minutes there would be no gauntlet, no mad dash to grab a few necessities à la Hunger Games. No screaming, no crying, no begging for chocolate at the checkout line (FYI, Loblaws? Putting candy at the checkout line? Genius, keeping the crack at the crackhead’s eye level. Bravo, well played.) For 45 minutes, I had all the time in the world.

Cleaning the basement

My husband took a week off to clean our basement to prepare for a small reno (read: we’re finishing the basement so that the Suicide Squad of cars, Lego blocks and tiny plastic toys that threaten my life on the daily will have a final resting place, other than under my feet or in my jugular.) He spent every day lugging, grunting and shuffling boxes and bins, deciding what stays and what goes, hauling everything up the stairs, and then back down again. All I could think to myself was “Lucky”.

Going to work

I’ve always liked my job, but never really saw it as a place to “escape” to. However, there are mornings where the kids are full of crazy and I can’t get them to my parents’ place fast enough.

I get to work early, and not only is the silence golden, but the perks are endless: completing a task, finishing an email, drinking hot coffee, going out for lunch, having discussions with grown-ups about topics other than projectile vomiting and daycare.

If you don’t work out of an office, I highly recommend that you construct a mini lean-to in your living room and just sit there with your laptop for an hour or so each day.

And now for the things I didn’t even know qualified as “free time” until they were taken away from me:

Being sick

It sure doesn’t sound luxurious, but pre-kids, I remember taking a sick day.

A. Whole. Day. To just be sick.

I could stay home, sleep, eat soup and take cough medicine. Today, there is no such luxury. For my oldest, daytime is awake time and those frozen waffles aren’t gonna toast themselves. I get a sick “15 minutes” if I’m lucky. There are no more “days off” when I’m not feeling well. It’s get up, suck it up, and get out the door. Oh, and try not to black out while driving.

Going to the bathroom – alone

I used to have an air of mystery about me. There were certain private indignities that I kept private because they were, well…undignified. Now that there are three men in the house, my secret garden is not so secret, and my toilet activities are not only available for public viewing, but are subject to a rating system. I tried locking the door…once. Based on the screaming and banging, I suspect they thought I had disappeared into a black hole and wasn’t ever coming back. And then who would have made toaster waffles?

Phone calls

Imagine you’re taking a very important phone call. Let’s say you’re trying to schedule a mover, book a doctor’s appointment and get your car seen by the mechanic because it’s making that Bloods vs Crips gangland noise under the hood again. Now cradle the phone in your neck, because someone has just handed you a wet, sticky washcloth in one hand, and a sticky toddler in your other arm (note: toddler will be reaching a pitch that only dogs and bats can hear because Newton’s fourth unpublished law states that a matter of urgency is equal to the volume your children will hit so that you can’t accomplish it.)

Still with me? Good.

Now wipe the toddler’s face and hands while perching on one leg like a stork, because your oldest child is pretending to be the “bad guy” while ramming your leg with his Fisher Price fire truck. Oh, you need to give a credit card number over the phone? Good. Now take an air horn and blast it against your other ear. That’s your oldest who, in perfecting his comedy of pain, is now screaming because you’ve diverted your attention for all of 15 seconds.

Feel free to cry at this point.

I’m in a brave new world, one where getting a root canal is considered a “spa day” and business calls are taken semi-dressed and covered in food residue. Though I’ve traded “free time” for phases of indentured servitude, I try to be present in the little moments before they’re gone, even the less-cherishable ones. I’d hate to look back and think that I didn’t enjoy the spaces in between the madness.

To quote Into The Woods:

Let the moment go…
Don’t forget it for a moment, though.

 

The mom bod

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Saggy breasts. Tummy pooch. Thunder thighs. Tiger stripes.

I think – I know – there was a time in my life that these things would have really bothered me. In fact, I remember times – pre-motherhood – that I thought my beautiful body was less than perfect. My 27 year old self liked short skirts and high heels and used all of that cleavage to her advantage.

Now, I embrace my mom bod. I’m not my pre-preg weight, and that’s okay. I’m working towards being healthy – that’s my goal. Those stretch marks and lines that grew with each baby in my belly? I’m good. This bod has served me well and I’m keeping it – stripes or no stripes – although I just might skip this summer’s short-shorts craze.

The saggy boobs? When you’re bigger than a DD, it’s just inevitable, right?

(I remember once someone telling me about the pencil test, now I understand.)

I was supposed to get a breast reduction before I had kids because of back issues. The doctor convinced me that I’d want to wait until after having kids because it might interfere with breastfeeding. Joke’s on me – I wasn’t a really good lactater, these boobies are just for show! I could have eased the strain on my back 10 years ago!

I have to admit, a boob job just might be in my future. Slightly smaller, slightly (ha ha, “slightly”) perkier. While I don’t feel any shame or embarrassment over my mom bod, I don’t see why there’s any shame in changing things either. Why is there a stigma about tummy tucks and lipo and botox, for that matter? Why shouldn’t we ditch the veins and plump things up if we want? Why shouldn’t we accept who we are, embrace ourselves as mothers and feel free to do what we want and look the way we want?

I say “Raise ’em and tuck ’em, if you got ’em.”

(No, I don’t actually say it, but I’m going to start.)

I’ve talked to too many moms that aren’t happy with their bodies. Sometimes it’s that breasts got smaller, asses got flatter or things just aren’t where they should be. Frankly, I’ve got way too much to do in my day to waste time on my waistline woes. Accept it or change it – those should be the only two options. Dwelling – that’s not a real option, that’s just a way to make yourself more self-conscious.

You know what self-consciousness leads to? It leads to all of those family photos without mom – or with mom grudgingly appearing, hiding in the background because she isn’t comfortable with herself. It leads to mom not wanting to spend the day by the pool or at the beach. Or sitting covered up in a 10,000° heatwave instead of running around and playing.

Frolicking.

Comfort. Confidence.

Now reality may have to set in for some. I don’t have the energy to go back to being a size 6, but having kids is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my whole life, and my mom bod is proof of that, with every line, curve and added shoe size that came with each baby.

(Actually, I think I’m most upset about the change in shoe size. Carrying those boys somehow pushed my feet up to an 11. This does not make for a happy shoe shopping experience, never mind my beautiful collection that no longer fit. I can only hope they went to a dancing queen and socialite that put them all to good use. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about the feet, so I had to switch from shoes to purses.)

Find beauty in your mom bod. You earned it for the most wonderful reasons of all.

We all go through it and there’s a wonderful blog that explores everything about the post-pregnancy body. Visit The Shape of a Mother to see how beautifully and perfectly imperfect the mom bod truly is.

Don’t you love the unsolicited advice?

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For me, the most annoying part of parenthood has nothing to do with how to raise my children and everything to do with everyone else’s opinion of how to raise my children.

I’d be giving my baby a bottle, and perfect strangers would tell me “You should give breastfeeding a chance.”

I struggled with extremely low milk production caused by a medical issue – people would tell me not to put so much effort into pumping – that formula would be fine.

One person said “They should sleep on the tummy” while the next article insisted back-sleeping for infants.

Time-outs are good. Time-outs are damaging their confidence.

Put them to bed early. Put them to bed late. Add Omega 3, stop adding it…

AAAAAHHHHHRRRRRGGGHHHHHHH

It’s no wonder that we have these poor moms in every mommy group on Facebook (and there are hundreds of these groups) crowdsourcing Every. Single. Thing. Which formula is the purest? Should I put my toddler in Nike or New Balance runners? My baby sneezed, should I go to the emergency?

All of this unsolicited parenting advice is turning all but the most confident people into jittery parents who constantly second guess themselves and don’t have any faith in their own parenting instincts any more.

I was just out with my friend Carol – a mom of three boys and a well-loved mommy blogger, friend, and founder of Plenty, and we were commiserating. It’s not just “boy mom” stuff, because I know that there are some little girls that are a serious handful. It’s not just a “mom-of-2” thing or a “mom-of-3” thing – because there are parents of singletons that have way more than enough to handle with just one, but let’s face it. Two or three rambunctious little boys only two years apart is a much different parenting experience than a quiet, well-behaved singleton.

We shared a laugh at some of the unsolicited advice we’d recently received.

“Put them on a schedule” she chided. “Like ‘OOOHHHHH! I never thought of that!’ Don’t they think that if it worked for my family I’d have done that?” I countered with “Well I just expect my child to listen to me. They know what I will tolerate and what’s not allowed.”

Yes, seriously, we laughed and laughed.

And while whatever works for your family is fine, we, as parents, are all just trying to survive our offspring.

Good for you if you have a child that will come, go, listen and obey “because you say so” but that doesn’t fly with my 6 year old son that I’ve always (lovingly) called “The Triplets” because I feel like he’s the effort and has the energy of at least three. Every family is so different. Sure, there are truisms – like “if you don’t want cavities your kid should brush and floss after every meal” but schedules, sleep routines, discipline, feeding issues and other dynamics are very individual.

We’re all special snowflakes.

Carol and I laughed as we compared notes on the things we’d been told by parents, friends – even childless friends – and more.

If you still don’t understand why I don’t like unsolicited advice, think of it this way: Don’t you hate when millionaires say “It’s easy to make it – if I can do it so can you.” If it were so *effing* easy we’d all be millionaires. I also recall this Beck quote about making music being the most fun job in the world and he didn’t understand why everyone didn’t become a rockstar.

Umm…

It’s all in perspective. Sometimes people that have control of a situation seem to feel the need to tell the less-in-control people how easy it is. There’s no empathy. It really just comes across as people not having a clue.

It’s not easy.

It’s not easy to become a millionaire and not everyone can do it. It’s not easy to become a rockstar and not everyone can do it. It’s not easy to manage children and, well, you know…

I know that friends, family members and colleagues only want to help. Perfect strangers trying to put their two cents in honestly baffle me.

I do have one piece of advice I will give unsolicited when someone I know gets pregnant: You know what you’re doing, don’t take any unsolicited advice.

So take my advice here (😊) the only advice you need is the advice you ask for.

Suburban Mommy Michelle adds: The minute I threw away those parenting books and stopped listening to everybody’s two cents, I became a happier person and a better parent. Go with your gut!

Doing it all: The housewife/working mom edition

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Recently, I asked for help.

That is to say, I hired help.

Once every two weeks, she comes to clean my home from top to bottom. This morning, she eagerly volunteered to clean out my fridge. I can’t stress this enough: someone wants to clean out my fridge, the “cave of edibles from parts unknown.” This marks the second item on a list of things I never thought would happen. At the top of the list was asking for help.

domestic goddess

I officially burned out two months into life post-maternity leave. I felt the signs: heart palpitations, sweats, anxiety, fatigue. I felt it every time I came home from my full time job and looked at the catastrophe that was my living room, every time I couldn’t find something, every time I asked “what did I just step in?” I couldn’t stay on top of dishes, laundry, cooking, groceries, vacuuming. I couldn’t enjoy time with my kids because I was busy scurrying around trying to straighten up – a task that was never complete. I felt like I was trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose attached to a fuel line.

And yet I went a long time before I actually hired someone to help me stay on top of it. I don’t ask for help very well or often (honestly I’d rather give myself a physical using kitchen utensils). I used to judge women who had “hired help”.

“Must be nice,” I’d think, feeling angry and resentful that these women had time to spend with their kids while I was off playing “find the smell.”

I’m not perfect, I still judge people. I’m working on that. It’s on my To Do list, right under deleting Pinterest from my apps.

Let’s get real – most of us have to work. We’ve come to enjoy the finer things in life, like food, shelter and catered birthday parties at Jungle Land. The cost of living in this city is insane – it’s no wonder that double incomes are not always a choice. Certainly not for us. I’m the primary breadwinner AND the default parent. I’ve been trying to manage everything, and ultimately, not managing at all. I don’t “have it all”, I just “do it all.”

And who was I martyring myself for? Was there a prize for shouldering the biggest burden? I was back at work full time and at my full salary. My kids wanted my full attention – I could give it to them. I needed time to myself – I could make it happen. I started putting money aside and found a cleaning lady that I trusted (I’m working on my trust issues. It’s on that list, right under waxing my unmentionables.) I started delegating. I even found a babysitter to come once in a while. You know, so my husband and I can go out, eat hot food and talk about…the kids. We’re working on that.

It’s on the list…

Top 5 things I swore I’d never do as a parent (And did immediately after becoming one)

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I’ll admit it – before kids I took a hard line on things I knew nothing about. I read a lot of books, I watched a lot of movies, I had everything figured out. I used words like “never” and “always” as though I had a finger on the pulse of something that other parents, throughout centuries of child-rearing, knew nothing about.

I was going to nail this parenting thing because I was an expert.

At being a complete jackhole.

As you read, know that you will never judge me as hard as I’ve judged myself. If I could go back in time and punch myself in the neck, believe me, I would. Here’s a list of the “nevers and always’” that just didn’t pan out for me.

I will never let my child meltdown in public

I used to glare at parents who “let” their kids act up in a grocery store or throw tantrums in a restaurant. I’d look with derision and think “Pfft, my kids will never do that.”

I invite you to insert laughter here.

I get it now. Those parents aren’t ignoring their kids, they’ve actually gone dead inside. There’s a point where the non-stop needing, wanting, asking, begging, yelling, maddening repetitionrepetitionrepetitionrepetition causes the psyche to collapse in on itself like a dying star. It happened to me once, at a birthday party with both kids and no help. I couldn’t do anything but drive erratically and ugly cry the whole way home.

I know now that you can’t control a child’s behaviour any more than you can control the weather. All you can do is control how you respond. At almost four years old, Nate is pretty awesome to hang out with. He would never have learned how to behave in public unless we actually took him outside. These days he rarely acts out, and when does reach critical mass, we leave. Period. I’ve left movies, live theatre, concerts, family functions, play dates, you name it, we’ve bailed on it. Restaurants work if we can keep him seated for longer than 10 minutes, which leads us to…

I will never let my child watch too much TV/play with my iPhone/Tablet/Technology

child iphone

Oh those poor, disengaged children. It’s so sad to see the breakdown of the family unit. See how that child just gazes at that tiny screen while his parents ignore him and eat hot food while enjoying adult conversation for five whole minutes without interruption or having to placate him with a duffel bag full of toys, books, crayons, crafts and a diorama of The Last Supper featuring characters from Sesame Street and a glow-in-the-dark Big Bird Jesus, all while engaging the restaurant in a rousing rendition of “Old MacDonald Had A Farm” (E-I-E-I-Oh-my-god-kill-me!) Evil technology! It’s not our first go-to, but I keep an arsenal of PJ Masks and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes on my phone at all times.

I will always feed my child healthy food

When Nate was ready to start solids, I bought organic produce and grain-fed poultry. I steamed, chopped, pureed and roasted the healthiest combinations you could imagine. He ate almost none of it, because no one told him that effort = appreciation.

food freak out

His tastes have ebbed and flowed over the years, loving one food, then hating it in the time it takes me to buy a lot of it. His younger brother has a broader palate, and will gladly try anything you serve him, as long as it’s out of the garbage can after I’ve wiped it off the floor. As long as they’re putting on weight and not suffering from scurvy, I don’t give it a second thought.

I will never bribe my children

Yes you will. Often.

I’m all for parenting to achieve long-term goals, but once in a while, there is nothing wrong with immediate compliance, even if compliance looks like ice cream or a trip to Jungle Land.

My children will never sleep in our bed

child sleeping with mom

Replace “never” with “every night” and you would have our current sleeping arrangement. The first night I brought Nathan home, I put him in the co-sleeper beside the bed. We watched him scream himself purple for two and a half excruciating minutes before I picked him up and announced to my husband that I was never doing that again. Sleep training doesn’t work for us. It is an unholy nightmare and I’m done with it. My boys like sleeping with their mama. How much longer can I say that? How many nights did I lie awake, sobbing into my pillow while they wailed in their cribs? Who wins?

So there you have it. A crash course in how not to be a know-it-all super jerk. A lesson in empathy towards parents, those superheroes charged with caring for tiny, adorable despots. An elegy for a retired Judgey McJudgeyPants who learned never to say “never”.

The Tooth Fairy vs Teething

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Teething is no fun for anyone. The bub suffers and screams and squirms. There is drooling and rashes and fevers and erupting gums. Seriously, who thought of this? It’s barbaric.

 

I’m really not sure about anything working – from Amber necklaces to Ambesol, but the mush bags with frozen berries are a mess and a stain waiting to happen. The attack on the nipple is over the top and the fussiness and sleep regression suck for kids, parents, neighbours… everyone.

But the second time around, it’s so much more fun! I love the 5 and 6 year old wiggly teeth.

The big first tooth lost!

The big first tooth lost!

They’re so excited when they get a wiggler. I love it when they let me give it a little jiggle. They’re so excited when they lose one. We have the Tooth Fairy App in fact. It lets us call the Tooth Fairy to leave a message when there’s a wiggler so that she knows to expect a tooth collection soon – and then we call and leave another message when it’s ready to put under the pillow.

The Tooth Fairy, it would seem, should have those little enamel treasures trading on the open market based on what the going rate for lost teeth is these days. We’ve discussed it with friends, and it seems somewhere between $10-$20 for the first tooth and then $5-$10 for subsequent teeth. In fact, one of my sons coerced the Tooth Fairy into leaving him toys.

Before that could get too out of control we sat down with them and discussed what goal they could save for – LEGO. They want LEGO. With 20 teeth to lose at $5-$10 a tooth, they’ll be able to afford whatever they want!

Mamas, daddies – it gets better. Teething is short but painful, yes – but it will be over soon. The stress of trying to remember to keep a stash of $5 bills at home and then wake up in the middle of the night to sneak one under a pillow is nuts. I mean, I finally get to sleep through the night and then have to remember to do this. The time I forgot – just slept through the night – the look on his face in the morning when he realized that the Tooth Fairy forgot about him was just brutal. It’s like having to cover for Santa or the Easter Bunny – you just can’t mess with this magic, even though it messes with your sleep.

My mom used to take a little piece of fabric, fill it with coins and slide it under my pillow. She left the tooth there too. I would get a great little wad of coins and save my tooth in a box. I still have that little box of baby teeth. It’s pretty gross and I don’t ever dig it up to look at them. I just can’t bring myself to toss them, but yuck. I don’t want my kids’ teeth either. I put them in plastic baggies under their pillows and then leave them there when I drop off their fiver. I wonder what they’ve been doing with them – it’s kind of strange, but I actually just don’t want to know!

Have to admit, they look kind of funny – a mix of cute and weird – as their little faces stretch to accommodate the big new teeth, but it’s exciting. Good luck with the teething!

EDITED TO ADD:

Who knew? I just read this great article. Apparently, teeth area  great source of stem cells. Keep your little one’s teeth! I can’t imagine it’s exactly on a par with cord blood banking, but there is a definite benefit for stem cells. Read more here.

The economics of kids – Break the bank

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sullyWhy is it that no one tells you how expensive child rearing is? I think the cold hard truth is purposely kept from the public so that we continue to have a kid – even more than one – without really thinking about the financial repercussions.

Wait for it – I am going to burst that bubble as a favor to all expectant, new parents or parents who forgot the first time (like me), how bloody expensive it is to “have” and “raise” children.

Here goes: You are not a young parent. You may have been able to have your child without any medical intervention, but the fact is, a lot of us ‘late maternal agers’ had to turn to fertility treatment and even IVF to conceive. $15,000 a go…  I know it is common for couples to try at least 3 to 4 times or more.  So let’s say before this kid is even on this earth you are already upwards of $15,000 to $60,000 in the hole (of course it is worth it, that’s just the price it costs).

Again before this kid makes an appearance on earth – there are so many things you need to invest in – like the latest and greatest car seats and strollers, bouncy chair, swings and clothes.

I definitely smartened up with the birth of my second.  Be wise about what you spend your money on. Buy baby gear on Kijiji or second hand shops. Kids grow so quickly, and fancy expensive outfits don’t get the wear they’re worth from a baby – even from 2 or 3. Unless there was a major diaper explosion, most of the clothing from the first year looks new even after they’ve worn it. And the fancy stroller – some can push you into the thousands.  Really. I’m going to say that maybe you got lucky with a fruitful baby shower but I promise, you probably will drop a thousand to several.

Now the kid has arrived. You buy a Breast pump – the good ones ain’t cheap. If breastfeeding isn’t working for you, you will have to buy formula.  Formula ranges from $20 on the very low end (sometimes you catch a sale) to well over $40 per can of powder.  Depending on your kid’s appetite, you will need to buy a can every 3 days to a week. So let’s say add another $150 to your monthly grocery bill for formula. If you choose the premix formula, triple that.

Infant-formula

Of course there are diapers and wipes.  Again diapers range but on average you are looking at about $40 for a jumbo pack of diapers. Newborns go through diapers a lot quicker than infants and toddlers, but as they get larger, there are less in a box so it all costs a fortune. Add another $40-$100 a month to your bill. Double that if you’re going organic. If you’re going cloth, the initial investment is a few hundred – but that spike in your hydro bill from the hot water sterilizations keeps the price tags pretty equivalent.

 

diaper babyLet’s do some incidentals now: creams, shampoos, pacifiers, a fancy shmancy video monitor so that you can watch your little precious sleep.  Your baby bill keeps rising.

Once your baby starts solids you’ll need to buy cereals, bibs, spoons, freezable containers, baby food (if you are not making your own – which can also add up).

But then there is my favorite instant road to bankruptcy: daycare.

Whether you choose to employ a nanny which can run you anywhere between $1,500-$2,500 a month or daycare $1,000-$1,800 a month, you may be working for nothing.

I remember the first year I received a tax slip from my son’s daycare it was $22,000.  I kept thinking to myself I could have sent my son to Harvard.

pile-of-money

The good news is, after the first couple years, your monthly spend on your children lessens.  But the cost of diapers and formula are replaced with after-school sports, weekend outings, birthday parties and the latest and greatest toys they absolutely cannot live without.

I am seeing a dim light at the end of the tunnel as my youngest son is about to turn one. For example, rather than paying $30 a can for formula, I can pay $4 for 3 bags of homo milk.  That equates to big savings.

I promise you, the purpose of this post is not to be Negative Nelly, but in turn to empower parents to plan before they have kids.  Put away a cushion. You can easily go bankrupt without properly planning.  I have been there done it. Twice. I am afraid.

Of course, my two little blessings are worth the stress of debt. But as my lesson and advice to you, you will be a happier parent with a little savings tucked away for child rearing.

Budget. Buy second hand. Save as much as you can. (time for me to listen to my own advice…). If you don’t have a mat leave with at least a small monthly cheque – like me – you will have to save even more, because trying to work at full capacity to bring home the bacon, and still have time to raise a wee one is nearly impossible. Raising two? That’s a full time job in itself.

Not only is parenting hard, it’s bloody expensive! But there’s no doubt about it, it’s absolutely a blessing and rewarding, and the only thing I’d change if I did it again would be to save a little more before.

Happy Friday the 13th!

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friday the 13

Paraskevidekatriaphobia. Sounds like something my kid coughed up, but it’s actually the technical name for fear of Friday the 13th.

Irrational. Completely.

I know people love their superstitions, but I was born on a Friday the 13th (August, mark it on your calendar, folks) and I’ve grown up knowing the stigma attached to the day – in fact, experiencing it first hand. I’m not even kidding. If I had a dollar for every time someone said “Oh, well that explains a lot” or “Geez, you must be so unlucky” or “Wow, creepy” well, I’d have enough money to buy myself a few nice bottles of birthday champagne every year, anyways!

My mom never failed to tell me that I was born under a lucky star and that Friday the 13th was the luckiest day in the world for her because it was the day she became a mom, and truthfully, it never made me feel bad about myself – but it did totally dumbfound me that people could say things like that to a kid!

Whatever. I love my birthday – ask anyone that knows me. I celebrate it like it’s a national holiday and expect everyone else around me to, too. In fact I celebrate my half birthday in February – take that Paraskevidekatriaphobia-ites!

It’s probably because of my start to life on Friday the 13th that I grew up not having any superstitions. Why should I be afraid of black cats? I don’t walk under ladders because it’s not safe for the person standing on them, but I can spill salt and not throw it everywhere, and there’s no way I’m going to carry around a rabbit’s foot – who thought of that barbaric totem to divine luck. That foot certainly didn’t bring the rabbit who grew it any good ends! Plus, I’ve broken enough mirrors to keep me in bad luck for this life and the next!

The lucky star my mother said I was born under is a nice thought, but my mom always told me to make my own luck. She was one to find a penny and pick it up for all day long she’d have good luck – but she’d also have an extra penny.

Do people teach these superstitions to their kids any more? I keep the penny one going because it always reminds me of my mom, but otherwise? I don’t want my kids growing up with irrational fears, thinking if they cross their fingers they’ll up their chances of making something good happen or having the urge to knock on wood any time they mentions something they want to happen.

It makes me laugh when I see people doing these things out of habbit. Have you ever been speaking with someone when they actually do three knocks on their own head while saying “Knock on wood” for luck, like some oral talisman that will protect them from befalling the wrath of whatever bad may come of daring to speak their hopes and dreams aloud!

While the Friday the 13th stigma will likely stick around – and let’s face it, that namesake slasher flick series didn’t help the cause – embrace the day and make your own luck, it will always be the more successful way to enjoy good things happening to you.

Kids’ TV: Decoded

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Every once in a while, I let my kids watch TV. Not too much, mind you, just long enough to let me have (at least) one glass of wine, run a load of laundry and take an uninterrupted phone call. I usually turn it off once they glaze over. To help guide you through the plethora of kids’ programming, I’ve included some of our house favorites, broken down into basic plot structure.
Bob the Builder

Bob the Builder

Bob the Builder: As I understand it, his team is assigned a task, they bungle it up, then rally together and fix it as a team. I know the takeaway is supposed to be working together to solve problems, but I can’t help but feel that they’re costing that fictitious city a fortune (the resounding answer to “Can we fix it?” should be “We don’t know!”) It should also be noted that no one is surprised by talking construction machines.

In the Night Garden

In the Night Garden

In The Night Garden: Every night, strange creatures straight outta Pink Floyd’s The Wall whisk you away to a “garden in the night.” Activities include, but are not restricted to: riding in a pinky-ponk, zipping along in a ninky-nonk, and dancing to weird, character-driven incantations. And people wonder why kids resist bedtime.

PJ Masks

PJ Masks

PJ Masks: In keeping with the nighttime theme, three kids dress up in pyjama costumes at night, become endowed with super powers and fight crime (or their pyjamas become costumes? I’m a bit fuzzy on details.) I get it – working together as a team, blah blah blah. It sets the bar pretty high for my kid, whose current superpowers include surviving on air and picking his nose until it bleeds. Thematically, the parent in me is concerned that three small children roam the streets at night looking for trouble. But that’s me.

Curious George

Curious George

Curious George: I never liked this story: A baby monkey, whose only crime is curiosity, is kidnapped from his jungle home and made to live in a Manhattan apartment with his monochromatic captor, known only as the Man in the Yellow Hat. Mayhem ensues, because it turns out that little George, who by now has Stockholm Syndrome, is less “curious” and more ”monkey on a rampage”. Further implausible is the fact that no one in the community has checked city by-laws to see if the man can actually keep an exotic pet, even if it’s clearly a surrogate child-figure.

Handy Manny

Handy Manny

Handy Manny: This show is no longer on the air, but it’s a cult fave in our house. Manny, who lives in Sheetrock Hills, fixes the town and solves problems with his anthropomorphized tools, all while never taking so much as a penny in salary. I’ve learned more Spanish watching this show than in all my years watching Sesame Street. Unlike Bob the Bozo, Manny can actually fix things right the first time. I’ve always surmised that Manny was unstable and that the tools couldn’t talk at all, but everyone pretended otherwise to keep poor Manny from going over the edge. My husband says I’ve lost my inner child.

 

Mother’s Day is bittersweet, and that’s okay

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Every year around Mother’s Day, I get a bit weepy. My husband goes to great lengths to remind me that we need to celebrate me, because I’m a mom, but Mother’s Day really hurts.


mom

I lost my mom in 2001. We were very close, she was an awesome mom. Every Mother’s Day is a stark reminder that I’ve gone a whole other year without her.

Inconceivable.

I miss her tons. But I try to get inspired by my husband’s enthusiasm so that my boys can make a fuss and celebrate Mother’s Day and do all of those things I once did for my mom. I like when my Mother-in-Law comes down on Mother’s Day, it makes it all a bit more normal for me, but she’s not able to make it this year so I get Mother’s Day all to myself.

But what I’ve come to learn in these 15 motherless Mother’s Days is that it’s okay to miss my mom. I’m damned lucky to have had a mom worth missing. It’s another year of teaching my boys about her crazy ways and hysterical sense of humor and her unwavering love and affection, and it makes me appreciate how well she prepared me to love my boys with all that I’ve got.

The one thing that makes me sad is that my mom was uncomfortable in front of the camera. So many life events are missing shots of her, and there are so few from our day-to-day, that I don’t have as many mementoes as I’d like. If there were one thing I could change it would be that – so take a lesson here – get in front of the camera. No makeup, overweight, underweight, messy, dirty, in jammies, unbrushed hair – the only thing your kids will ever notice, is the love you always have in your eyes for them. So leave them plenty.