Monday, May 20, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Anniversary's
Missing important dates makes me think of my Mother-in-law. The numbers just don't seem to stick. I don't know why. Troy and I have always joked about changing religions to the one that doesn't celebrate birthdays or anniversary's. Just because I don't remember your date of birth doesn't mean I don't know you and love you!
Carolyn would always laugh and shake her head at us. Then she would look at Troy and say, "I don't know how you managed to marry another you!"
I couldn't, however, forget that a year ago today was the day Carolyn died. It seems ironic to me that after all those years of only remembering her birthday on the day of (too little too late), I would not be able to forget the anniversary of her death.
I have few, if any, pictures of Carolyn and I. And the pictures I have that remind me of her the most, she's not in. Her and I were outside the frame, watching my kids. Her beloved grandbabies.
There was this one day, Thanksgiving weekend, where we sat on their front lawn, just relaxing and enjoying the company. Claire was being the delightful entertainment. It was really warm, the kids were calm and happy, and Seth had just figured out how to climb trees. He was barefoot in dress pants but I didn't want to break the general good mood by telling him to go change his pants. Carolyn was reminded of how little the trees were when they moved there. She was happy. It reminded me of a fall scene from "Stepmom", that movie with Julia Roberts in it. The fall, and the lawn chairs, the mood of acceptance and enjoying a moment because cancer looms.
It was the last time I saw her healthy. Well, not healthy, but herself. After that her fight went very much downhill. I wish we had done more, been there for her better. Too little too late.
If there's anything though I learned from Carolyn, it's to look for the positive side. I hope I'll realize more fully to appreciate what's here while I can. To let those I love know it. Take on that daunting 'now'.
I want to post this tonight, before life gets in the way once again, but I'll add the pictures soon. The power just went out, just me and my screen in the dark and the howling wind outside.
Goodnight Carolyn. We love you, wherever you are. You would enjoy Max, (although he would have you at your wits end with his dangerous stunts!), and Thane has been such a little man lately. So helpful, you would be really proud of him. Seth would love a snuggle with you, and Claire, well, she'll always be your girl. She talks about you a lot, and her smile reminds us of you.
Carolyn would always laugh and shake her head at us. Then she would look at Troy and say, "I don't know how you managed to marry another you!"
I couldn't, however, forget that a year ago today was the day Carolyn died. It seems ironic to me that after all those years of only remembering her birthday on the day of (too little too late), I would not be able to forget the anniversary of her death.
I have few, if any, pictures of Carolyn and I. And the pictures I have that remind me of her the most, she's not in. Her and I were outside the frame, watching my kids. Her beloved grandbabies.
There was this one day, Thanksgiving weekend, where we sat on their front lawn, just relaxing and enjoying the company. Claire was being the delightful entertainment. It was really warm, the kids were calm and happy, and Seth had just figured out how to climb trees. He was barefoot in dress pants but I didn't want to break the general good mood by telling him to go change his pants. Carolyn was reminded of how little the trees were when they moved there. She was happy. It reminded me of a fall scene from "Stepmom", that movie with Julia Roberts in it. The fall, and the lawn chairs, the mood of acceptance and enjoying a moment because cancer looms.
It was the last time I saw her healthy. Well, not healthy, but herself. After that her fight went very much downhill. I wish we had done more, been there for her better. Too little too late.
If there's anything though I learned from Carolyn, it's to look for the positive side. I hope I'll realize more fully to appreciate what's here while I can. To let those I love know it. Take on that daunting 'now'.
I want to post this tonight, before life gets in the way once again, but I'll add the pictures soon. The power just went out, just me and my screen in the dark and the howling wind outside.
Goodnight Carolyn. We love you, wherever you are. You would enjoy Max, (although he would have you at your wits end with his dangerous stunts!), and Thane has been such a little man lately. So helpful, you would be really proud of him. Seth would love a snuggle with you, and Claire, well, she'll always be your girl. She talks about you a lot, and her smile reminds us of you.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Year three for this youngest.
Phew. That was a marathon evening. The flu I was hoping we would miraculously escape unscathed may have touched down in the Hutt household. Two little sickies were up feverish and delirious, staunchly refusing Tylenol while temperatures reached dangerously high. The horror stories of fellow mom friends makes my fear of high fevers causing seizures and brain damage outweigh my fear of drugs. So, long story short, once we convinced the two littles medicine going in their mouths would feel better than the cool facecloths, the whole night got much better. Thank goodness Troy was here, they would have outnumbered me.
This New Year's Eve was spent home, on the couch with our oldest between us. It was the best start to a new year I've had in a long time. Video games, a new project cast on knitting needles, and sweatpants! Thane had remembered that at one point I had said when he was 10 he could stay up until midnight on New Years Eve. I remember 10 years old seemed so far away at that point.
This New Year it hit me that this was the year I've been waiting for. My stomach flipped in excitement. We did it. I've made it.
My youngest turns 3 this year!
It's been my light at the end of my baby tunnel. One of my most beloved friends, her family a ten year older version of mine, said once (probably on one of my darker baby days), that "Life fundamentally changes when your youngest turns three." And I so got it.
Two years ago I watched with a baby in my arms as Troy put the wood in alone, with mild help/interference from the older boys. One year ago I tried to help while Max sat in his puffy snowsuit, falling over and crying when he tried to move. I really wasn't much help, more there in spirit than anything. Last fall, I did a fair amount of the piling in between 'helping Max help' (watching his cuteness bring in small sticks so excitedly) and exiting to get him down for a nap at some point.
Now don't get me wrong. The other three certainly wreak their own brand of havoc. But there's conversation, solo bathroom trips, negotiations around bedtime instead of, I don't know, that maniacal laughter toddlers do when not staying in bed, and most importantly, when I'm busy I can often help them just with verbal instructions. Amazing thing, developing communication skills.
But it's the youngest, the youngest who dictates the order of the day. When under three anyway.
I loved my time with each of these babies. It's been so precious. The magic of pregnancy and their births. Their soft snuggly sweetness, so cute milestones, their non judgement, their honesty, genuine everything, their neediness. But now, after year ten of babies, I am ready to raise my increasingly independent preschoolers and big kids, and snuggle other people's babies when I can.
Yesterday. Yesterday I painted a room while the kids were awake. My two and a half year old mostly understood not to touch the walls.
Things are getting easier. So far I like you 2013. Even though I should go to bed before the rest of us get struck down by the flu.
That will be great. Let's cross our fingers I get it last.
This New Year's Eve was spent home, on the couch with our oldest between us. It was the best start to a new year I've had in a long time. Video games, a new project cast on knitting needles, and sweatpants! Thane had remembered that at one point I had said when he was 10 he could stay up until midnight on New Years Eve. I remember 10 years old seemed so far away at that point.
This New Year it hit me that this was the year I've been waiting for. My stomach flipped in excitement. We did it. I've made it.
My youngest turns 3 this year!
It's been my light at the end of my baby tunnel. One of my most beloved friends, her family a ten year older version of mine, said once (probably on one of my darker baby days), that "Life fundamentally changes when your youngest turns three." And I so got it.
Two years ago I watched with a baby in my arms as Troy put the wood in alone, with mild help/interference from the older boys. One year ago I tried to help while Max sat in his puffy snowsuit, falling over and crying when he tried to move. I really wasn't much help, more there in spirit than anything. Last fall, I did a fair amount of the piling in between 'helping Max help' (watching his cuteness bring in small sticks so excitedly) and exiting to get him down for a nap at some point.
Now don't get me wrong. The other three certainly wreak their own brand of havoc. But there's conversation, solo bathroom trips, negotiations around bedtime instead of, I don't know, that maniacal laughter toddlers do when not staying in bed, and most importantly, when I'm busy I can often help them just with verbal instructions. Amazing thing, developing communication skills.
But it's the youngest, the youngest who dictates the order of the day. When under three anyway.
I loved my time with each of these babies. It's been so precious. The magic of pregnancy and their births. Their soft snuggly sweetness, so cute milestones, their non judgement, their honesty, genuine everything, their neediness. But now, after year ten of babies, I am ready to raise my increasingly independent preschoolers and big kids, and snuggle other people's babies when I can.
Yesterday. Yesterday I painted a room while the kids were awake. My two and a half year old mostly understood not to touch the walls.
Things are getting easier. So far I like you 2013. Even though I should go to bed before the rest of us get struck down by the flu.
That will be great. Let's cross our fingers I get it last.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Oh great.
It's that week where I hate everything.
What I knew but didn't really notice when I was pregnant, then nursing, then pregnant, then nursing, for oh, about four years, was that I was on this lovely hiatus.
Now, I have demon hormones. I'm not just tearful, like the pregnant/nursing caused. I'm angry. I feel like the Hulk.
This third week, it's the precursor week, where my mind slips somehow and manages to forget again and I'm left going, "What the hell is wrong with me? And more importantly, what the hell is wrong with everyone around me!?"
Everything is wrong and bad and I just can't keep up. I am trying so damn hard and it's not good enough ever. My house will never ever be clean enough, I am apparently absolutely incapable of being a good housekeeping multi-tasking woman like I am supposed to be, and why in the hell won't my kids eat what they're told?
And this week I cannot possibly deal with a fourth toddler learning to stay in a big bed. And by learning I mean climbing out a hundred times. At that stage where they really need an afternoon nap in the afternoon but that nap now makes them not tired at all at their regularly scheduled bedtime. This week I really feel like letting the toddler rummage around in his brother's room in the dark like he seems to want to do, but since he is the fourth toddler I know that if I succumb to this laziness in this particular situation he will only learn how much fun it is to roam after bedtime and this 'training' will be met with much more of a fight than the smile and giggle I'm getting each time I tuck him back in now. So that work that I desperately need to catch up on this evening for that meeting tomorrow? It has to wait until later this evening, when said toddler has finally succumbed to sleep, and when I have then faced the two older kids who have taken advantage of the oversight that they have not been made to go to bed because of that toddler chaos and are still playing video games. Which the whole world tells me I am a terrible mother for letting them play in the first place but I do not have enough willpower to stand up against. I quite frankly just don't have the energy to ban anything and will quite likely buy them more screen stuff for Christmas.
Even though the Mars needs Moms movie was clearly telling me yesterday that machines shouldn't raise babies. I get it screen. Shut up.
Did I mention my husband has been traveling for training lately? And by lately I mean we're on week 8 of 8?
This week makes me want to lie on my dirty kitchen floor and stare at the fan.
But I can't. Dead-eyed crazy petulant mom would probably scare my children. I know world. You told me already. Cherish the crazy little short people, they'll grow too soon.
Just. Need. To. Get. To. Next. Week. Where gentle, sane, positive Victoria lives.
And bonus! Next week is Christmas.
What I knew but didn't really notice when I was pregnant, then nursing, then pregnant, then nursing, for oh, about four years, was that I was on this lovely hiatus.
Now, I have demon hormones. I'm not just tearful, like the pregnant/nursing caused. I'm angry. I feel like the Hulk.
This third week, it's the precursor week, where my mind slips somehow and manages to forget again and I'm left going, "What the hell is wrong with me? And more importantly, what the hell is wrong with everyone around me!?"
Everything is wrong and bad and I just can't keep up. I am trying so damn hard and it's not good enough ever. My house will never ever be clean enough, I am apparently absolutely incapable of being a good housekeeping multi-tasking woman like I am supposed to be, and why in the hell won't my kids eat what they're told?
And this week I cannot possibly deal with a fourth toddler learning to stay in a big bed. And by learning I mean climbing out a hundred times. At that stage where they really need an afternoon nap in the afternoon but that nap now makes them not tired at all at their regularly scheduled bedtime. This week I really feel like letting the toddler rummage around in his brother's room in the dark like he seems to want to do, but since he is the fourth toddler I know that if I succumb to this laziness in this particular situation he will only learn how much fun it is to roam after bedtime and this 'training' will be met with much more of a fight than the smile and giggle I'm getting each time I tuck him back in now. So that work that I desperately need to catch up on this evening for that meeting tomorrow? It has to wait until later this evening, when said toddler has finally succumbed to sleep, and when I have then faced the two older kids who have taken advantage of the oversight that they have not been made to go to bed because of that toddler chaos and are still playing video games. Which the whole world tells me I am a terrible mother for letting them play in the first place but I do not have enough willpower to stand up against. I quite frankly just don't have the energy to ban anything and will quite likely buy them more screen stuff for Christmas.
Even though the Mars needs Moms movie was clearly telling me yesterday that machines shouldn't raise babies. I get it screen. Shut up.
Did I mention my husband has been traveling for training lately? And by lately I mean we're on week 8 of 8?
This week makes me want to lie on my dirty kitchen floor and stare at the fan.
But I can't. Dead-eyed crazy petulant mom would probably scare my children. I know world. You told me already. Cherish the crazy little short people, they'll grow too soon.
Just. Need. To. Get. To. Next. Week. Where gentle, sane, positive Victoria lives.
And bonus! Next week is Christmas.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Where's Max?
It's the question of the day in our house. Asked hundreds of times each day from us parents to the big siblings, and from Troy to I and vice versa.
It gets asked so frequently because keeping tabs on this 2 year old Max is such an important job that is so very hard to do!!!
Possible answers to "the question" when you cannot answer it:
He could be drawing on some walls. (I don't know where all of the pens come from! Lord knows I can't find one when I'm trying to write down a phone message.)
He could be harassing the cat. This ranges from simply under the table harassment, to stuck head first under a bed, unable to get back out.
He could be in the laundry room, using the toilet plunger for shits and giggles.
He could be 'playing the plano', aka walking on the piano keys and terrorizing the piano books.
He could be decorating my room with my jewellery.
He could be inspecting the contents of the fridge.
He could be renovating. That always gets interesting, depending on the discovered tool. (We have gotten very good at putting away the sharp and power tools, but his creativity for seeking out danger never ceases to amaze me.)
He could be feeding toys, tools, hairbrushes, or shoes to the basement through a vent.
He could be playing with Claire's chandelier from her bunk.
He could be trapped in Claire's room, doors shut behind himself.
He could be brushing his teeth, or his hair, with anyone's toothbrush.
He could be dismantling Lego creations atop the boys bookshelf.
Or he could be stuck in a sink.
One just never knows with this little busyton!
It gets asked so frequently because keeping tabs on this 2 year old Max is such an important job that is so very hard to do!!!
Possible answers to "the question" when you cannot answer it:
He could be drawing on some walls. (I don't know where all of the pens come from! Lord knows I can't find one when I'm trying to write down a phone message.)
He could be harassing the cat. This ranges from simply under the table harassment, to stuck head first under a bed, unable to get back out.
He could be in the laundry room, using the toilet plunger for shits and giggles.
He could be 'playing the plano', aka walking on the piano keys and terrorizing the piano books.
He could be decorating my room with my jewellery.
He could be inspecting the contents of the fridge.
He could be renovating. That always gets interesting, depending on the discovered tool. (We have gotten very good at putting away the sharp and power tools, but his creativity for seeking out danger never ceases to amaze me.)
He could be feeding toys, tools, hairbrushes, or shoes to the basement through a vent.
He could be playing with Claire's chandelier from her bunk.
He could be trapped in Claire's room, doors shut behind himself.
He could be brushing his teeth, or his hair, with anyone's toothbrush.
He could be dismantling Lego creations atop the boys bookshelf.
Or he could be stuck in a sink.
One just never knows with this little busyton!
Thursday, November 1, 2012
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