Finding My WHY

Why do I do what I do? Why did I start my weight loss journey? Why do I make a conscious choice every day to maintain and get healthier? Why did I become a Beachbody coach? 

I've been thinking a lot lately about my WHY. 

Why did I lose the weight and why do I work every day to maintain? SO many reasons. 

MY KIDS

I wanted to have the energy to play with my kids. I wanted to set a good example. I wanted them to know that exercise was important and how to eat a healthy, balanced diet. I wanted to be a happier mom. 

MY DAUGHTER

I wanted my daughter to grow up with a positive body image, and the best way I could do that was to HAVE a positive body image myself. (I want this for both my kids of course, but it always seems to be a bigger deal for girls.) I didn't grow up with a positive body image and it got worse as I got older. To this day I don't love every little thing about my body but I know what that body is capable of, I am proud of it, I understand how to dress for my shape, and I FEEL GOOD about myself. I make sure to NEVER criticize my body or appearance in front of my kids, if ever. I don't use words like "fat," and try and teach my kids that people come in all shapes and sizes but HEALTH is the most important thing. 

ME

I wanted to like myself. I wanted to be proud of myself. I wanted to prove to myself that could do it. I wanted to be healthier. I wanted to feel attractive for my husband. I wanted to walk into any clothing store and be able to try something on. For years the only thing I could even consider at Lululemon was a woollen hat. 

Why did I become a Beachbody coach?

HELPING OTHERS

I have a busy life. I have a full time job that pays well and is very fulfilling. So WHY did I add another "job" to an already full schedule? Because Beachbody coaching isn't a job for me, it's a passion. I love to inspire people, motivate them and help them succeed. I have been a cheerleader for peoples' weight loss journeys for years "pre-Beachbody" and this is just a more active version of the same support. And now I have tools that I believe in, to offer people help in their journey. 

MOTIVATION

I NEED to stay active and be accountable to myself for my own weight maintenance and health, and being a coach guarantees I can't falter. I am there supporting my clients and my coaches, and I need to stay consistent for THEM as well as for myself. 

MY FAMILY

While I make a good salary we are still facing a mortgage, car payments, kids' activities, and all the other expenses that come with a family of four. A year ago our little man was finally diagnosed with ADHD and DCD - Developmental Coordination Disorder. This probably sounds worse than it is, but he has a complex mix of somewhat mild issues that when combined are bringing him some pretty significant challenges in school and socially. He has been in occupational therapy for a year and it isn't covered by my benefits program. It is NOT cheap, but it is completely worth it. 

I want my business to grow to the point that these OT costs aren't an issue, that we can travel as a family without financial concern, we can afford the larger vehicle we need - and Beachbody has the potential to make these things possible. 

I found my why. 

Ultimately, my family is my WHY. I want to be there for them, to be better for them, and to teach my kids to lead healthy, fulfilling lives. They are my life, my heart, my reason for doing what I do. 

They are my WHY. 

My Kids, aka The Workout Police

I am currently doing a hybrid program of Focus T25 and PiYo, alternating each day. The kids like that I workout at home, and for the most part they let me get through a workout with little interruption. Some mornings my 25 minute T25 is more like T33 with running around for Cheerios, more milk, sliced banana...but it gets done.

The little man really digs a schedule, so this hybrid really works for him. He knows that one day I'm doing one, and the next day it will be the other. He loves schedules, plans, structure - but God forbid you change that plan without alerting him. So, therefore, GOD FORBID I miss a workout. "Mummy, you forgot to do your PiYo today! Mummy, why haven't you done your T25 yet?" The concept of a "rest day" has yet to sink in. 

And the little miss is extremely observant. Way too observant. I typically workout in the kitchen, with my laptop on the kitchen table. She sits next to it, eating her breakfast. She will watch the screen, checking out the moves, and then look back at me with a very judgemental eye, evaluating my form. If I am not keeping my leg as high or my feet moving as quickly as the people on the video, she won't hesitate to point it out. "Mummy, that's not what they're doing." 

Thanks, sunshine. 

With the boy keeping me on schedule and the girl monitoring my effort, I have my very own personal trainers. Or workout police. Or fitness Nazis. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. 

The First 100 Days of School Suck.

I don't know if it's just our particular class, or the fact that BC schools have moved to all-day Kindergarten, or that our little man is a bit younger socially than kids his age, but his first 100 days of school have pretty much bit the big one. This is part of the reason that I didn't blog for so long - you might notice the "hiatus" began after September 1st.

I have never felt more like a mom than I have this past three months. Obviously I've always been a mom and love my kids unconditionally, but as I phrased it when telling a friend about our situation, "This shit just got real."

They must celebrate the 100 day mark for a reason, as if everything magically improves at that point. I am hoping so. I know that it's an adjustment for all the kids, especially now that they're there even longer, but our little guy has been through hell. He's really quiet around other kids, has a VERY vivid imagination to the point that he gets lost in his own make believe worlds, and he doesn't like unpredictable movement in his immediate vicinity - think dogs, small children, etc.  He quite often raises his hands in front of him if anything gets too close.

We started getting reports every day that he was pushing other kids, kicking, hitting, saying bad words...every parent's nightmare. We talked to him about it but he could never really explain what was happening. He would tell us that other kids were hitting him, but he would never tell the teacher or the playground monitors when it happened.

It all came to a head in November, and I just happened to have a week off. I was volunteering in his class and had the opportunity to observe some of the behaviour. Kids were running up to him, telling him to say bad words and then telling on him. They were rushing him and hitting him, and then telling on him if he put his arms up to protect himself. Yes, he sometimes hit back, he sometimes pushed kids out of the way, but it was clear he was being targeted and baited. He'd been identified as different and was paying the price.

Mr. Awesome volunteered one day and witnessed a boy go up to our little man, who was playing quietly by himself, and kick him in the chest. This same boy was the centre of various reports we heard, knocking kids down, sitting on their chests, choking people...but he never seemed to be the focus of any discipline. No one ever reported it as it happened. And it seemed that his behaviour was serving as a model for all the other kids. Soon EVERYONE was hitting, kicking, punching...it was completely toxic. I knew we would face bullying at some point in our kids' school careers, but in KINDERGARTEN?!

It's not helped by the fact that 14 out of the 22 kids in the class are boys and they are very rambunctious. With a pretty much unsupervised breaks at lunch and recess, these kids are running around going nuts and having no idea what their boundaries are.

I started to get serious anxiety, as I was at a complete loss for what to do. Did we change classes, schools, consider home schooling? I was looking at any and every option as nothing seemed to be getting better. But we really like his teacher and he was doing well "academically," if you can call it that at the age of five.

Finally the school started to take some action. The behavioural consultant started paying better attention to the actual behaviour, instead of just listening to the reports of the monitors. They had a meeting of the resources team to see what could be done. Finally they were addressing the problem. We are very present in the classroom through volunteering, and one of us is always right there at pick up and drop off to check on how the day went.

The Christmas break seems to have made a difference, and all the kids seem to have calmed down a bit. There are always reports of someone doing something to someone else, but it no longer seems to be ALL about our little man. We're still working on getting him to say something when someone does something to him, to use his "big voice" and ask them to stop, to move away, to tell a teacher, but that kind of response isn't his first instinct. In fact he quite often smiles when he's uncomfortable so someone that doesn't know him well would think he's fine or enjoying himself. Only we seem to know better.

I hesitated blogging about it as the situation is still fairly unresolved but, as I usually discover through blogging, we can't be the only family going through this. And no one seems to talk about it, so here I am. Talking about it.

We're quickly approaching the 100 day mark. We will see how things go, and just love him, support him and teach him the best ways we know how and hope it all gets better with time.

Ugh.

Just Say NO

Mr. Awesome and I have been training for the Tinker Bell Half Marathon, happening in January 2013. It's going okay, although I still have yet to find the joy or love for the activity. I'm assured that will come, and I'm reserving judgement.

One big problem though. Ever since starting this training, I have been HUNGRY. It figures, given that I'm burning more calories than normal, but I am eating more than I was before. And I haven't been making the smartest choices. I'm indulging in treats way more than I should, and while my regular meals are still healthy and my portions are still managed, it's the "extra" stuff that's causing a problem.

And the scale is not exactly keeping this behaviour a secret. It's been creeping up for the last three months or so with summertime social activities, vacation and just general avoidance of the reality of my choices. I'm still within five pounds of my goal weight and some might say that's nothing, but the point is the scale keeps moving in the WRONG direction.

While I was on the weight loss portion of my journey, one of my tactics was to "just say no."

If someone offered a treat I would decline. If someone offered a second helping or a second glass of wine, I would say no thanks. Just saying no made it easy to make smart choices when I was on my own, because it had become a habit and was like a little mantra I could remind myself of in times of temptation.

I somehow lost that habit, and it's time to get it back. No to extras, no to sweets (except Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches when they're on sale!), no to chips, no to more than one glass of wine, etc etc. I will also be more mindful of the points that I'm consuming, as I've lately been ignoring that piece and it's become too easy to "forget" how to act responsibly.

Today is September 1st and September always represents new beginnings for me. New school year, new fall clothes, new season. So...new choices.

And my new (or renewed) choice is to JUST. SAY. NO.

My Poop in a Box

Okay, so not exactly MY poop. It was the little man's poop. But in an effort to pay homage to Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg, I stayed true to the phrasing.

We thought we were done. He'd finally mastered the art of using the toilet. Wiping, no, but that's a whole other siutation which I won't worry about right now. Nobody takes their mom to college with them because they can't wipe their own bum, right?

About a month ago, the little man went crazy. That is truly the only explanation I can come up with. A week before his fifth birthday, he got up from the living room floor, said "I'll be right back" and went into his room and closed the door. Now, a year ago this would have been cause for alarm as this would SURELY have meant he was in there dropping a trouser bomb, but we were past that. We were confident in his newfound skills and knew we were in a poop-free situation.

Or so we thought.

A few minutes later we heard the little man giggling and jumping up and down. Mr. Awesome went to his room to investigate what was happening, and I have never heard the tone that errupted from him seconds later. It was a mixture of anger, disgust, disbelief, shock...and then an eery calm, followed by silence.

Because what do you say when your almost five year old son takes off his pants, empties a cardboard box, crouches over the box and POOS? And then proceeds to check out the poo and wind up smearing it on the carpet and closet doors?

You say nothing. Because rage and despair have stolen your voice.

This incident was followed by another, where he made "a nest" of toilet paper on the floor in the bathroom and made a deposit, and several other times where he figured the best place to have a pee was in the corner of his bedroom.

Needless to say, all the Lego he'd been rewarded for his toilet achievements was promptly removed. I am happy (and relieved) to note that this phase has now passed and we are back to putting "things" where they should go, but it really shook my understanding of the child psyche. He got his Lego back and we're all good again...for now.

Parenthood. It gets you every time. Just when you think you've mastered one phase and finally moved on to greener pastures, your kid poos in a box.

I Won't Raise a Man Cold

When the little man was about six months old, we began our first experience with sleep training. He quickly learned to soothe himself and all was good.

Until he got a cold.

I have heard from a few moms, "Everything's fine until they get a cold." This was certainly true for us. We began a slow year-long decline into what eventually became a family nightmare. Hourly wake-ups, screaming, no sleep for us, fighting...it was awful. And then at the peak of it all we had house guests sleeping in the room next to his, so it got worse as we were jumping at every noise so as not to disturb them.

The day they left, when we was about 20 months old, we began our second round of sleep training. Three days in and we were good as new.

And then, as some of you will know, we had a terrible, awful, mind-numbing setback a couple of months ago. Things are actually somewhat manageable now, and with a few "new normals" such as his door having to be halfway open and his Ikea moon light having to be on all night, we're coping. The wake-ups are less frequent, the screaming is rare, and the fear and anxiety seem to have gone away.

So now he has a cold. And not just any cold. This is a green monster, complete with the worst cough I have ever heard in his four and a half years.

Kids love boundaries, they thrive on guidelines and rules. But give them an inch and they'll take a mile. They're always testing, checking to see if the boundaries still stand. Consistency is the key, and in the long run it's better for everyone.

But what do you do when your little man is hacking up his lungs, streaming out of several orifices, and generally feeling yucky?

You love him. You care for him. You help him blow his nose. You keep him home from preschool. You rub Vicks Vaporub on his chest and back at bedtime.

And you stick to the routine.

With the hell that we've just come through (and are still dealing with), we will not go back. The bedtime routine holds strong, with the occasional application of Vicks thrown in. The responses to his wake-ups are the same.

And it's working. The cold has not impacted the progress, and we're moving ahead. We could have coddled him and opted to sleep in his bed with him to comfort him through the night, but then we would be right back in the sleep-deprived nightmare that nearly drove me to a breakdown. That simply cannot happen.

Mr. Awesome, when he does occasionally get sick, is the exact OPPOSITE of a Man Cold. He will even say "I'm dot thick" in the stuffed up effort to prove he's just fine. He believes so strongly in mind over matter that when, on the rare occasion he actually admits to feeling rough, I'm convinced he's dying.

I look at the husbands of my friends and colleagues and listen to the stories of their whimpering and snuffling. They have Man Cold written all over them.

I believe that every parent has the right to raise their children how they see fit, as long as they are not endangering their health or safety. And I believe that what we're doing now is the best thing for our family and for the little man. He's powering through this bug and he's doing fine.

The world does not need another Man Cold.

Hello Kitty, Goodbye Diapers

We decided some time ago that we would not potty train the little miss. Like, ever. We quite simply did not want to fail as epically as we had with the little man. A year and a half of absolute hell had scarred us to the point of letting her wear diapers forever rather than start the nightmare all over again.

Even at fourteen months when she started using the toilet on a semi-regular basis, we resisted. I didn't even write about it here because if I ignored it then it wasn't real. It was too early, we didn't want to push it. She was pooping on the potty long before the little man, but we were too mired in the dark, bribery-riddled place of Legos for poops to actually admit it. The closest we came was moving her from diapers to Pull-Ups, to make her frequent potty trips more convenient.

She wouldn't even use the potty, preferring the actual toilet for her business. And despite our only taking her when she announced it, she was still averaging about a 75% success rate. People would ask if we were training her and we would either avoid the question or flatly say "No." We would just take her when she said she had to go. But potty training? Never.

Last week her preschool teacher asked if we wanted to start, as apparently any time they asked the kids who were potty training if they had to go she would squeal with glee and do anything she could to join them. Our little girl was basically begging for it, wanting desperately to be part of that toilet-using elite.

The time had come and we couldn't ignore it anymore. We agreed that we would start potty training the following Monday, but on Friday morning our little lady announced that she wanted to wear panties. So there you go.

Now the little man actually mastered peeing LONG before the other business got sorted out, so I had kind of forgotten those messy first few days. Four sets of wet pants later and I decided to brave a trip to Walmart. Crazy? You bet. But it was fine. We even bought her a few sets of Hello Kitty underpants to sweeten the pot, but I was confident in the power of the Dora the Explorer pair she was wearing. I mean, how could you pee on Dora?

It was only on a stop at the library on our way home that my cockiness caught up with me. Now, I'm not a complete idiot. I did have a change of her clothes with me. But being out of practice with the wet pants scenario, I did neglect to pack an extra pair of socks. Or a plastic bag to put the wet clothes in. Rookie move. Serious rookie move.

That was last week. And we're pretty much done. A few accidents here and there, but basically done. Thank you God, Hello Kitty or whatever power you choose to pray to. And you can hate me all you want, but I invite you to read ANY of my previous posts to know that this is truly some sort of divine intervention and someone up there is paying us back for the trauma we endured for almost two years.

We're still in diapers for bedtime, whereas the little man stayed dry through the night from early on. It really does go to show you that every kid is different and you just never know. I can't even bear to think how many trouser bombs we could have avoided if we had let the little man do things in his own time. We were first-time parents and eager to get started, and well...you know how that turned out. Maybe not even in his own time, as he could very well be in diapers til this day, but just a little longer.

Hindsight is 20/20. And I can "what if" and "if only" with the best of them, but for now I will just be happy to be done with potty training, once and for all.

Now if we could just find the magic answer for the little man's sleep issues.

It's always something.

The Good, The Bad, and The Depths of Hell

Wow, three months since my last post. It feels like a year since I had a moment or the brain power to actually sit here and start typing. We are in the midst of what I can honestly say is the hardest phase of parenthood we have been through to date. And I thought potty training was a difficult phase. I would trade a trouser bomb any day for the knowledge that we were heading into a good night's sleep.

A quick update for anyone that has followed our saga de poop: Potty training the little man is as complete as we are going to get until he learns to wipe his own butt and actually aim, but we'll take what we can get. We are now the proud owners of an EXTENSIVE Lego collection, but it was worth every brightly coloured block to find a reward system that actually worked.

That is the "good" part of this post. The "bad" and the "depths of hell" are all kind of rolled into one with the update to come.

Right around the beginning of December, the little man started to get anxious about bedtime. It escalated pretty quickly, mixed together with some nightmares about horses and some very tired parents.

Since we went through sleep training three years ago, he's been a champion. He has gone to bed with no issues, slept through the night except for the occasional night terror, and although he's always been an early riser, it's been fine. Now all of a sudden he won't go to sleep if we're not in the room, and he wakes constantly throughout the night and freaks out if we're not there, or runs into our room screaming. He then won't go to sleep again unless we're with him. Every single night.

It started out as fear, then anxiety, and lately it's become a power struggle, pure and simple. The fear is gone because we actually talked to the imaginary horses, gave them names, and asked them to leave. We're still working through the anxiety, but at some point the getting up and screaming became more habit than anything else.

It's killing us.

Well, to be more accurate, it's killing me. Mr. Awesome has absolutely proven his moniker throughout this time, and especially this past week. I was literally falling apart. I do not do well with little, or frequently interrupted sleep. I was a basket case most of the time, flipping between sobbing and a numbness that felt like the precipice of depression.

On Monday of last week we went to our doctor and he told us to back to sleep training. We didn't really know that you could do that with a four and a half year old, but after some exhaustive (pun intended) searches online and a re-read of our original sleep training book, we decided to give it a go.

Because I was past the point of coping, Mr. Awesome gave me earplugs and told me to go to bed, saying he would take the first night. This had more meaning to me than any bouquet of flowers - that was pure LOVE, baby. And he took the next few nights too, working through the repetition of going in at regular intervals and letting the little man know everything was okay and that it was time to be asleep.

It is not easy. Last time it took three nights and we were done. A four and a half year old is a lot different than an 18 month old. (Duh.) The last time we went through this he was in a CRIB, for Pete's sake. He's constantly getting out of bed, turning on his light, saying he needs to go to the bathroom, anything and everything to avoid going to bed without us in the room.

Last night was night #5 and we're still not seeing a very bright light at the end of the tunnel. Mr. Awesome went camping last night with friends so it was all me. I was dreading it. It wasn't great and I did leave the TV on all night so the little man would think I was on the couch, but it was definitely better. Marginally.

Mr. Awesome will hate the electricity bills, but that just might be the price of a rested child and wife. You find what works best for your family and roll with it, right?

Giving Thanks for Poop: Potty Training Progress

It's Thanksgiving in Canada and I am thankful for all the blessings in my life. But most of all, today, I am thankful for poop.

As I type, the little man is in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet.

That's right friends, we have achieved the impossible. The unimaginable. The dream of all potty-training-challenged parents everywhere. The little man is pooping on the potty.

After one year and nine months of pants bombs, trouser grenades, Code Browns and poop-splosions, we are now on day four of toilet poops.

If the past year and nine months has taught me anything, it's to not get my hopes up. I am taking this day by day and not assuming that the accidents are behind us forever, but holy mother of GOD does this feel good.

There have been a couple of steps forward and many steps back in the last month, but it started to finally feel like we were doing something right. We had a visit with the pediatrician a few months ago and explained the hell we were living (not in quite those words), and he "prescribed" a six month course of not talking about poop. Now, for anyone that's been reading this blog for a while now, you know that that's virtually impossible for me. And his advice wasn't to necessarily banish the topic, but to just not make it a big deal. If accidents happened, clean them up and move on. And we were to not spend any length of time discussing the situation, either with the little man, each other or anyone else.

While this did not magically end the messes, it did lift the stress right off. Our home became more relaxed and everyone involved got happier. Now, patience has never been one of my virtues, so it won't be a surprise to anyone that we didn't wait the FULL six months. But we followed the cues the little man gave us, and we started a whole new plan.

We were at Costco one day (imagine that) and found a set of interactive books called Ready to Read. Kind of like LeapFrog, this set comes with a "pen" that reads the coding on the pages and plays words, songs, stories, etc. Some of the books are more advanced, so those went up on the shelf. These became our potty books. They could only be read while sitting on the toilet. Pretty soon he wanted to sit on the toilet all the time, as he loved them so much. He wasn't actually trying to go, but it was a HUGE step forward from where we'd been.

At the same time we instituted a reward chart. Our initial challenge was that for months he had absolutely refused to sit on the toilet. He would lose his mind if we even suggested it, so at first the reward stickers were for sitting. For every five stickers he would get a (small) Lego set.

We very quickly realized we were going to go broke fast with the current system. Mr. Awesome is a bit of a Lego-fiend, so he wasn't terribly upset that we were amassing a large amount of the stuff, but the stickers became for actually trying. And over the past month or so, there have been a few successes. Sort of a "one step forward, two steps back" situation, but still progress where none had been.

Then, four days ago, just before bed, the little man said "I think I have to go poop." In he went, sat himself down, and started his reading. Then something changed. He got a look of concentration on his face that we hadn't seen before. And he did it. Because it was just before bed we all happened to be in the bathroom at the time, and man, did we celebrate. I was on the verge of hysteria, almost in tears, laughing and screaming for joy. Mr. Awesome kept saying things like "Dude, that's awesome!" and "Buddy, that's fantastic! I'm so proud of you!" And the little man loved every minute of it. He was laughing and loving our impromptu "potty party," so very proud of himself.

It was like a switch needed to be flicked and he finally "got it." I equate it with the moment I finally KNEW what I had to do to succeed with Weight Watchers. True and lasting success only comes when one is really ready for it. No one can make that happen for you. And just like a weight loss journey, there may be setbacks.

Like I said earlier, we're on day four. Four days of telling us he had to go, sitting on the toilet and actually going. And I'm good with that.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and thanks be to poop.

Saying Goodbye to Caillou

First off, I have to say that yes, our kids watch TV. Gasp!

Judge me if you will, but when the little man wakes up at 5:30am, sometimes it's the best thing in the world to turn on the giant lightbox and bring to life the wonderful worlds of Netflix or Treehouse.

We've got a pretty steady rotation of Dora, Diego, Max and Ruby, and then the character in question today - Caillou.

At first glance, Caillou is awesome. He's a big brother to a little sister, he does all the activities our little man does, he's potty trained (I wish), and their family situations seem pretty realistic. TOO realistic. Therein lies the problem.

We worry about all the bad words and concepts the little man might pick up at preschool, but we always thought young children's programming was fairly innocuous.

Then "Grumpy Caillou" came to our house. One day our little man crossed his arms and came out with a full on pout, refusing to eat his dinner. We couldn't figure out where he'd learned this, as it's summer vacation and none of the kids we've played with in the last few months do this. A few days later we were watching Caillou and lo and behold, Caillou does the exact same thing. We started calling our little man "Grumpy Caillou" every time it happened, and joking about it until he gave up the pout and agreed to whatever we were asking.

Grumpy Caillou eventually went away and life went on. We've been trying pretty hard to clean up our language over the last year or so - not that we're potty mouths, but there are definitely certain expressions we've needed to curb. The little man has tried out a few of them and we've learned very quickly just what a sponge he is.

Then he started experimenting with the word HATE. Now, we may use that word now and then, but it's not really a regular visitor to our home. I do know that he'd picked it up from my mum one day while playing at her house, because I heard her say it about a show they were watching, and he repeated it immediately. He adores his "Nang Nang" and picks up a lot of her language - mostly safe and British-themed. She's under strict instructions now to clean up her act, which is hilarious because she's a very well spoken, polite, lovely lady.

We explained to the little man that hate isn't a nice word, and gently tried to discourage its use. Then Mr. Awesome was watching Caillou with the kids and wouldn't you know - Caillou says it ALL. THE. TIME. It's hard enough to explain that his Nang Nang shouldn't be saying it, but when his favourite TV show is seemingly endorsing it as well it feels like we're getting outnumbered.

Caillou is now off the morning rotation. That bald little bike riding hate-monger is no longer welcome in our home. We're cutting him off now, who KNOWS what slurs he might come out with in future episodes.

And Nang Nang better watch her back.

The Scoop on the Poop

Because I know you've all been sitting around with bated breath, just desperate for an update on the little man's potty training saga, here we are. (For any new readers, you can catch up quickly through such posts as "We Suck at Potty Training, Or Why Pull Ups Should Sponsor Me," "Okay, Seriously. I HATE Potty Training," or "Potty Training #2." They're a thrill a minute.)

Well, seventeen months into potty training he has now pretty much mastered pee. He tells us, or usually just runs in and does his business on his own. Aiming is another story, but we're picking our battles.

As for the P-O-O-P (we spell everything now)...not so much. We're pretty much exactly where we were seventeen months ago, but with a lot more screaming about sitting on the toilet. And I say toilet because he is now too big for the potty. He used to sit to pee but now he stands and, like I said, we're picking our battles...for now.

A couple of weeks ago we had an appointment with a pediatrician to talk about this situation and a couple of other questions. Basically, we wanted to make sure we hadn't done something to scar him for life, ensuring he would remain in Pull Ups for all eternity. We took the doctor through the Awesome history of potty training, through the many trials and tribulations. He was lovely and assured us that nothing was wrong, we were still good parents.

What he did do was "prescribe" six months of not talking about the poop AT ALL. We can talk about the pee and encourage him to go, but when the poop hits the fan we just calmly accept that it's happened, clean it up and move on with your day.

It seems a little too "duh," but it has really made a difference to have that six month time frame. We always felt under the gun before, wondering WHEN it was going to magically start working. Now, it doesn't really matter. Yes, I absolutely hope it happens at some point in the next six months, but we're a lot more relaxed now.

Technically they won't let him attend the coming preschool year if he's not fully potty trained, but as long as we can get him to pee at school I think we'll squeak by unnoticed.

So for now, this is the plan. He's definitely a lot more relaxed about it too, which is a good thing. I feel so ashamed that we were stressing him out through our stress. Poor little guy.

In other news, the little miss has decided to potty train herself. At 20 months old she tells us when she has to go, sits on the potty and does her business. It's only about 75% of the time, but it is AWESOME. We're going through diapers at a fraction of the rate we used to, and she is so proud of herself, asking for high fives every time.

It's just as well that she's taken it upon herself, actually, as we obviously don't know what the heck we're doing.

Potty Training Sucks: My Google Search Story

I discovered Google Search Stories this week. As usual I'm late to the party, but I blame the fact that the original story, "Parisian Love," wasn't aired on the Canadian networks during the Super Bowl.

I decided to create my own, based on what I know best - how NOT to potty train a preschooler. Enjoy.

The Great Leveller

You can be lying in bed, enjoying a lovely morning snuggle with your partner and kids, giggling and chatting about plans for the day. You can feel pretty blissful in the whine-free, loving moment. You start to think, "Wow, maybe we've got this parenting thing figured out." You start to feel pretty good about yourself.

Then your four-year old says to you "Mum, your breath stinks."

Thanks buddy, for bringing me back down to earth.

Hearing With New Ears

I can probably count on both hands the number of full episodes of Oprah I have watched in the last 25 years.  I am not exactly a member of the Church or Oprah, but I do think she's a force, an inspiration, a powerhouse, and a wonderful woman who has done some amazing things for individuals and society. I caught MOST of her finale episode, and she said something that really stuck with me. I went and found the transcript, so I could have the exact wording to give it context for this post.

"I've talked to nearly 30,000 people on this show, and all 30,000 had one thing in common: They all wanted validation. If I could reach through this television and sit on your sofa or sit on a stool in your kitchen right now, I would tell you that every single person you will ever meet shares that common desire. They want to know: 'Do you see me? Do you hear me? Does what I say mean anything to you?'

"Understanding that one principle, that everybody wants to be heard, has allowed me to hold the microphone for you all these years with the least amount of judgment. Now I can't say I wasn't judging some days. Some days, I had to judge just a little bit. But it's helped me to stand and to try to do that with an open mind and to do it with an open heart. It has worked for this platform, and I guarantee you it will work for yours. Try it with your children, your husband, your wife, your boss, your friends. Validate them. 'I see you. I hear you. And what you say matters to me.'"

It's those last few lines that got to me. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I'm currently reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. In the chapter on parenting, she talks about how children really just want to be heard, and that a lot of the whining, tantrums, etc result not from not getting what they want, but from the feeling of not being heard. She goes through experiments on ways of speaking to her kids and notes that while it can be sometimes exhausting to take the extra steps to stop and really listen to your child, it ultimately makes for a happier, less stressful, less frustrating day. I know, it's kind of a "duh" concept when you're not experiencing it, but when you're smack-dab in the middle of a chaotic morning where NOTHING is going right, taking a beat to listen to your whining four year-old can be a very real challenge.

I've started trying it out with the little man. It is bloody exhausting, because I have to consciously remind myself to go against my immediate emotional response, pause and proceed with some statement that clearly acknowledges I have heard him and understand what his concerns are. The idea isn't to become the world's biggest pushover and give in to what kids want all the time, but to simply let them know you've heard them and that what they have to say matters. It's hard to do when you're trying to get two kids out the door on time and someone is refusing to cooperate, but in the grand scheme of things, who really cares if we're five minutes late but my kid is happier? Not me.

At the little man's preschool they ask the kids if they have their listening ears on. It seems to me that at most four year olds have thrown away their listening ears in favour of the "I can't hear you" ear muffs, but it's an appropriate metaphor for this new experiment. If I want him to have his listening ears on, I'd better have mine on too.

So thank you, Oprah, and thank you, Gretchen, for helping me to find my new ears.

Raising Kids is a Scary Thing.

I read an article in the Vancouver Sun last week that has me completely freaked out. This man passed away at the age of 59 surrounded by his family and a room full of love, but that is the happy ending of a very tragic story. Basically from his first drink at 13, addiction took control. Alcohol, drugs of any variety, and stealing took him down an almost irreversible path. His family tried to help but he rejected every attempt.

A couple of weeks ago a friend told me about her co-worker's son who had just taken his own life. He was 15 years old and his best friend had committed suicide three weeks earlier. Two young men within a month found life too difficult to face and decided to end their lives. My friend's co-worker had taken her son to counselling after his friend died, talked to him, did all the things you're "supposed" to do to take care of your kids in difficult situations.

How do you know what you're doing as a parent will be enough? Unconditional love and open communication will take you far, but what if you miss something? Our little man is a wild man at home, talking a blue streak (hang on, what does that expression even mean?), dancing, singing at the top of his lungs. Get him outside in the "real world" and he clams up and is glued to our sides. At school he does not talk. And I mean not at all. His teacher actually asked me if he might have a hearing problem (he doesn't, he can hear a truck backing up 18 blocks away) because sometimes he won't acknowledge her. While I agree this isn't acceptable and he should respond to his teachers, it's simply that he is painfully shy. Not only does she not think he can hear, she doesn't think he can talk. She told me not to worry, HER son didn't talk til he was three. Well, that's awesome, genius teacher. My son is four and has a HUGE vocabulary, he just chooses not to share it with you.

The little man is also pretty emotional, but come on, he's FOUR. That's normal, right? Hell, I'm 35 and if my expectations are dashed or my world gets rocked a bit I also feel a bit freaked out.

I guess the answer is to just have faith that all the love, hard work and time you put into your kids pays off and they will emerge from their teenage years relatively unscathed. I do believe the groundwork starts being laid the minute that squirmy little sperm breaks through the wall of the egg, and everything you do basically from that point will in some way contribute to who they become. And from the moment they can articulate even the simplest thing, encouraging communication and talking about feelings. We still struggle with this as the little man can't really identify his emotions with words and we don't want to impress emotions on him by suggesting how he might be feeling. We're hoping that by doing it now it will become part of him and he will eventually be able to talk to us about how he's feeling. Begin as you mean to continue, right? (And yes, I might be over-thinking this.)

I was thinking about this post for a few days when I got an email from a representative of Kids Help Phone. Tomorrow, May 1, is the Walk for Kids Help Phone. National Child and Youth Mental Health day is coming up and they're just about to release a new report called “What’s Hope Got to do With it?”

From Kids Help Phone: We have a sneak peek of the report online at http://org.kidshelpphone.ca/en/media-centre/publications. That preview includes tips about how we can all work together to foster hope in young people and could be helpful to parents as well as teachers, youth professionals, family friends – anyone who has kids in their lives.

I couldn't help but feel comforted in the fact that even if we do everything "right," do everything we can and build a healthy environment of trust and communication, if ever there is a point that our kids need someone else to turn to, there is an organization like Kids Help Phone out there. They provide online and phone counselling for kids 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. They deal with issues like violence and abuse, bullying, friend issues, dating questions...anything your kids might facing.

Raising kids is a scary thing. Raising teenagers is even scarier. We just have to do the very best we can, talk to them, LISTEN to them, and let them know how much we love them.

And with that, I'm going to go build a train set with my little man.

We Suck at Potty Training, or Why Pull-Ups Should Sponsor Me

Last January, that's 2010, we figured we'd better think about potty training the little man. We were planning a trip to Hawaii in April and we thought "Wouldn't it be fantastic if he was trained by the time we went?"

FOOLS. We were absolute fools. On February 22, 2010, I wrote my first blog post ever. I then got very eager and immediately wrote two more, including my first post about potty training. The first of many on the subject.

I called today's post "We Suck at Potty Training," but the truth is if ANY of our methods or tactics had worked we would be touting ourselves as experts in the field and sharing our knowledge with the world. Instead, I am sharing our utter and complete failure.

He'd been in "real underwear" from the beginning of the training, as everyone said never to go back once you'd started. Well, "everyone" hasn't been dealing with trouser bombs every single day for a year. He'd been doing okay, seemingly making good progress on the pee and letting us know when he had to go. The pants grenades were another issue, but we seemed okay with pee. Sure, there were a few accidents here and there but he was even managing to stay dry through the night, most nights.

We've tried bribery. We've tried empowering him. We've tried taking things away. We've been soft and supportive. We've ignored it completely. We've tried letting him go pantsless but quite frankly that grosses me out as he has a tendency towards "sharts" when he's trying his best to hold in his business. Lovely.

It's been over a year. Over the last few months he's gotten worse and worse at letting us know he has to pee, and the accidents have been getting more and more frequent. He will NOT speak at preschool, so occasionally the accidents happened there. In one span of three days he peed his pants eight times, plus of course the daily weapons of mass destruction.

That was it. We were done. We are back in Pull-Ups after a YEAR of potty training. We are not typically prone to throwing in the towel on anything, but we are mentally and emotionally spent. This kid can stay in Pull-Ups until he's thirty if he has to. Do you think Pull-Ups might condsider sponsoring me?!

He turns four in a few weeks and we've been saying that when he turns four he'll be a "big boy" and have to use the potty all by himself. Maybe the stress of that date looming as been the cause of the accidents and his refusal to alert us to his urges. But honestly, I do not know what else to try. We could go back to ignoring it, or I could put sheets over everything, including the carpet and hardwood, and take off the pants again. Shudder.

Part of the problem, I THINK, is that he's just so freaking adaptable. He'll pretty much go along with any situation presented to him. It's like his reality shifts and he moves on - "Oh. I have a poop in my pants the size of an avocado. This is my new reality. Okay. Now where are my trains?"

I just don't know. This seems longer than ANY other potty training saga I have ever heard, but I have noticed that the only people that tend to talk about it are the ones that magically trained their kid in a week or two. I have a note for these people: KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE. If I am telling you that I have been dealing with puddles and poop for over a year, DO NOT tell me how exceptional your child is at managing his own bodily functions. I don't want to hear it. That was a story for a year ago. Not for a parent that is at her wit's end, envisioning her son going off to college with his Costco-sized box of training pants.

So there you have it. The long-winded update on the continuing saga of potty training in the House of Awesome. Or in this case, Not-So-Awesome.

Seriously, Pull-Ups...call me.

I Fear Having Teens, and Why I'm Mad at Enrique Iglesias

I was having a conversation the other day and someone commented on how awful it must be to be a teenager in the world of Facebook. I love Facebook and credit it (partially) with many of my opportunities of the last few years. I have reconnected with some absolutely fantastic people, and connected more deeply with others as a result of this addictive website. I'm a self-diagnosed Facebook addict. It's chronic.

Yes, I love Facebook NOW, but I cannot imagine my high school years being this connected to my friends and enemies of the moment. Life can already change in the blink of an eye when you're in high school, switching alliances and best friends faster than the cafeteria menu changes features. Knowing my BFF hung out with my mortal enemy and being able to see photographic evidence, seeing pictures of my biggest crush hanging out with the class slut, having my friends make comments on photos that I was already insecure about - it's all just too much.

Facebook has really only taken hold within the last few years and it truly has changed the world and the way we connect with others. My kids are years away from becoming teenagers, and I can only imagine the technological and sociological advances we will have seen by then. (Actually, I can't imagine them, which is why I will never be worth $50 billion dollars.) What gadgets and gizmos will be available to our children in the year 2020? How will kids interact? One a side note, it drives me crazy when I see kids plugged in to their game or music devices, not talking to their friends or family. Mr. Awesome and I have made an agreement that although our kids may have those items one day, they will not "plug in" during family time. Luckily, our kids already seem to love watching the world go by (with a running commentary from the little man) on road trips, so we haven't even had to invest in a sanity-saving DVD player for the vehicles. But I digress.

I am truly fearful about the challenges that will come with raising teens. The world is such a different place now and I know how hard I found it back then. And it's not just technology. For years people have been up in arms about the effect music will have on the impressionable young. From Elvis' hypnotic hips to Britney Spears' barely-there outfits and evocative lyrics, "adults" have worried about their children being led into temptation just by hearing this music. I used to think these arguments were ridiculous, but I hate to admit it, I fear I am now one of these adults.

I'm torn, because I have a very clear memory of singing the 1987 Paul Lekakis hit "Boom Boom (Let's Go Back to My Room)" in front of my mum (I was 12) and being told that it "wasn't a very nice song." I didn't really know what I was singing about, but I'm pretty sure most 12 year olds today would know what "so we can do it all night" means. Scary, but true.

This brings to me to why I'm mad at Enrique Iglesias. I recently compiled a workout mix from some of Mr. Awesome's new music. (I should explain, Mr. Awesome is a DJ and has several CD subscriptions that bring new music to our house monthly.) I chose songs quickly, listening to the first few seconds to establish the beat and see if it would keep my butt chugging on the treadmill. I didn't listen to any lyrics before adding the songs to my playlist.

So there I am, loving my new mix and keeping a good 4.1-4.2 pace on the treadmill when Enrique Iglesias' song "I Like It" comes on. And about 30 seconds in, I hear these lyrics:

(From "I Like It" by Enrique Iglesias, featuring Pitbull)

Girl, please excuse me
If I'm coming too strong
But tonight is the night
We can really let go

My girlfriend's out of town
And I'm all alone
Your boyfriend's on vacation
And he doesn't have to know

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! It's bad enough to think about young kids singing about sex like it's no big deal, but adultery? That cutie patootie Enrique is encouraging the screaming girls that swoon over him to cheat on their boyfriends and/or be the other woman enabling a man to cheat? Suddenly this is okay behaviour? And it's not just the kids, it's ANYONE that listens to his music. On what PLANET did he or his manager think that was a good idea for his image?

Needless to say the song did not live long on my playlist. Now I'm all riled up again. I need to calm down.


The best thing we can do is be the best parents we know how to be, talk openly with our kids, and pray to GOD that they come out of the teenage years in one piece. No problem, right?!

Although I do worry about the ridicule the little man might face if he's still dropping pants bombs at the age of 14.

Don't laugh. It could happen.

Like a Knife to the Heart

Let me just start this post by saying we love our nanny. She comes two days a week and she's been with us since the little man was seven months old, with the exception of my latest mat leave. She's awesome and the kids love her.

Which brings me to the guts of this post. The kids love her.

I came home the other day and the little miss was being her as-of-late dramatic self, clinging to the nanny's legs. The nanny picked her up while I was taking my shoes and jacket off, setting down my bags, etc and when I was ready I went over to see if she would come to me. Not only would she not come into my arms, but she turned away and clung to the nanny for dear life. I went around to peek at her from the other side and she actually pushed my face away. It was quite literally a slap in the face from a little girl that has, up til now, been a mama's girl.

I was telling my mum this story and she then proceeded to tell me that that very same day, while she had been out with the nanny and the kids, the nanny had taken a second to get out of the vehicle to run and get something. Well apparently my little miss burst into floods of tears and started screaming "Mama! Mama!"

Um...EXCUSE ME?

Logically, I know that all kids go through this. I remember the little man shunning me once in favour of this same nanny at around this same age, but he never (to my knowledge) gave away my title to someone else.

I get it, and I can rationalize it until the cows come home, but hearing that my little girl called someone else "Mama" was an absolutely knife to my heart.

It's a phase. I know it's a phase. And I know my baby knows who her mummy is. But at 1:30am when she's crying to be picked up and is not wet/hungry/in pain it is very hard to resist the guilt that starts creeping in and encouraging me to cradle her for the four hours she would happily stay awake.

I believe there is a balance between constant cradling, jumping to answer their every whim, and helping them learn to self soothe and find their own solutions to the basic "I dropped my doll" issues of toddler life.

But if I hear she's called anyone else Mama, I may abandon my beliefs and never put her down again. Although that could get problematic when she needs to start school...

Bad Mommy Moment

I think I may have scarred my son for life. I MAY have inadvertently given him a crippling fear of birds.

We set up our Christmas tree last week and on it I placed an ornament that has been on our family tree since I was about six years old. It's a silver ball with a switch on it, that when switched on makes an extremely repetitive bird chirping noise. It just chirps the same note forever or until switched off again. What ornament designer thought this was a good idea I will never know, and it's pure nostalgia that makes me drag it out and hang it up year after year. The fact that it has the SAME batteries it's had since it arrived in our home should explain just how little we actually turn the thing on.

So, like every year before, I hung up this ball and flicked the switch to hear the old annoying familiar song. The little man's face went deathly pale until I explained that it wasn't in fact a real bird, but an ornament that made a bird noise. It took a few minutes, but he eventually calmed down and accepted that there wasn't a real bird living in the tree.

This could have been the end of the story. He could have gone on to live his life quite normally, until we scarred him in some other, currently unforeseeable, way. But then he started whining.
And whining. And not listening. And I had a moment of mommy weakness.

I said "If you don't stop whining, I'm going to have to open that door and let a real bird fly in to live in this tree."

Okay, I admit, it was not my most shining moment in mommyhood. His eyes went as wide as saucers. And he stopped whining. And for two days any time he started to whine, all I had to do was look at him sideways and he would say "Mummy, no bird comes to live in our tree."

I didn't mention the bird again and it seems as if he's forgotten, so we may have averted the potential bird phobia and thousands of dollars in psychiatrist bills for the future.

Although it HAS been suggested that I might want to resurrect the bird threat to try and make some progress in the poop department...

Super Mom isn't Home Right Now...

Even though I wrote a post ages ago about how I'm NOT Super Mom and I regularly proclaim how there's no such thing and women need to be kinder to themselves, I still have this niggling little secret. I want to be Super Mom. Which is utter lunacy, because that means that somewhere deep down inside I actually believe it's possible. I still feel frustrated when I don't achieve all the things I wanted to, even if they were so far out of the realm of possibility that not even June Cleaver and a full time staff of nanny, housekeeper and gardener could have accomplished them.

So, I am forced once again to realize that I am NOT Super Mom. With one stipulation. I believe that it IS possible to be a Super Mom a little bit at a time, and on some fantastic, relaxing, my three-year-old-is-being-an-angel days, maybe even for a full 24 hours.

Another thing. Maybe we need to redefine our understanding of the word SUPER. Maybe "super" is your best on that given day. Maybe "super" is staying awake at bedtime and holding a conversation with your child when they've woken you up at 4am three days in a row. Maybe sometimes "super" just means not unleashing all your fury on the whiny kid that has just dropped the 812th pants bomb this year in his Lightning McQueen underpants when you JUST got up from the potty 30 seconds ago. "Super" is your best self in that moment. Super is taking 30 seconds to actually crouch down to your preschooler's level to talk to him and really let him know you're listening. Super is driving the extra thirteen blocks just to see the backhoe around the corner because you know it will make him happy.

Striving for Super Mom status goes to a whole new level when you're working. I started back to work this week and now I have the (very, thanks to the little man's inner alarm clock) early mornings and a short time in the evenings to cram any efforts at Super Momishness in. Plus weekends. I am very lucky and due to some longer hours each day and a shorter lunch break, I get Fridays off. It was only the first weekend of many on this new schedule, but I actually think I did pretty well.

Saturday was the little miss's first birthday. We threw a birthday/Halloween party for our closest friends and their offspring, if applicable. (Most of our friends without kids know to steer clear of these gatherings but a few braved the chaos and seemed to emerge fairly free of battle scars.) Because of the little man's sleep patterns, I was up at the ungodly hour of 5:30am. By the time the guests had arrived at 2pm I had baked, frosted and decorated cupcakes (NOT something I do on a regular basis), made hummus, cleaned the house, vacuumed, gone to the gym, done some last minute shopping, made caramel apples (with the caramel wraps, no "from scratch" caramel for this girl) and put up some more Halloween decorations. I do have to say that Mr. Awesome was particularly awesome as he was a big help in getting the place tidy, he chopped up the veggie platter and gave me some "me" time to get to the gym.

Not one to shy away from additional challenges, today I made soup (from scratch this time!) for lunch and to freeze for work, some baby food as our freezer stock was getting low, and a chicken pie for dinner. I even did some Halloween crafts with the little man. But wait.

I was feeling pretty good about my proximity to Super Mom status when the little man filled his shorts. Again. I did not handle it well. I didn't scream or yell or anything, but let's just say I could have handled the situation better than I did. I am JUST. SO. TIRED. OF. POO. We have been at this potty training thing for so long and there's no discernible light at the end of the tunnel. It's just messy underwear as far as the eye can see.

So, like I was saying, Super Mom status is something that comes and goes. For a brief time this morning I think I got there.

Maybe I can get there again for a little while tomorrow.