THAT Child...

http://bit.ly/hXtgii

Jack pushed his best friend through a glass window the other day. There, I said it. And it could have been much worse...because the stairs were half a foot to the left. Every now and then I find I am the parent of THAT child and it is so embarrassing.

Now a few things that I know to be true about Jack; he is very intelligent and way handsome. He is kind, compassionate, patient and encourages those around him. He is empathetic to a fault, sometimes skiing away from us so he can check on that random guy who just fell over. Jack is the child who plays so inclusively I have to remind myself that he is four.

Crime Scene

But he IS four. And sometimes he looses his shit.

On this night, loosing a game of Mario Party proved too much, and he pushed the boy who won. Unfortunately they were on a pull out bed in our television room which sent his best friend flying (thank the lord above that it was not down the flight of stairs) off the bed and through the 75-year-old-original-to-the-house-glass-door.

First things first. He should NOT have pushed his bestie. Obvious. But why, when he loose his cool so rarely, does everything seem to conspire to make the event soooo epic?! I mean when Jack gets pushed, or bitten, or some brat pulls his hair I seem to be the only witness and life goes on. But when Jack pushes his friend it happens to be the day we let them play on the pull-out (usually they sit on the green table above), sending said friend off into the air, AND through a GLASS DOOR!!!!! What the what?! Seriously?!

When Gramma asked Jack why he had done it he answered through tears, "I just don't know what happened...I never do stuff like that.". Jack has apologized, and all has been forgiven. He does not really grasp what could have happened (killing your bff is a pretty heavy concept) but he is paying for the glass with money from his piggybank. THAT has made a huge impact with him.

And my girlfriend still lets her baby play with mine. So there's that. Oh, and the Wii has been moved back to the playroom.

Wordless Wednesday - Does This Count?

Toby goes for a Ride

Well, that was quite a hiatus! Thank you for all the kind words and support over these past few weeks as I worked, studied and researched. I loved hearing that ag.gray.gate's daily offerings were missed. For those of you who have been waiting...I handed in my completed business plan for the Boomtown Brewing Company last Monday and by Friday I had the news. It was accepted. Yay, for this Mompreneur and for this little family!!!! 2011 is gonna be a BIG year. I am equal parts excited and scared.
Other than me being fully engrossed in the brewing world, it has been life as usual. Since moving to Rossland six months ago my husband Mike commutes quite a bit back to Vancouver. On a good trip he goes to film something, on all the other trips he goes so that there is food on the table. Sometimes he crashes with friends and at other times he sleeps in the Cavallac. When he is able to take Toby (the Chihuahua) with him I am so grateful. Toby, our first baby, gets some serious one on one time with Mike, and I have only three beasts to take care of here at home.

One of Mike's most recent trips was for the explicit purpose of an audition. The audition was at 3pm. It takes roughly 7 and a half hours to get to Vancouver. Afterward, he would turn around and drive back to Rossland. He wore his costume in the car and didn't think to bring a change of clothing. Why would he? The trip was there and back again in 16 hours.

One of the things we have most enjoyed about life here in Rossland is the lack of traffic. Life here is super chill despite Forbes Magazine repeatedly giving us a spot on their top ten ski resort list. In fact, an article was written about our sleepy little town, labelling us the most laid back ski town in North America. Oh, and the Lonely Planet warns visitors about our erratic jaywalkers. Like I said, there is no traffic.

Anyhoo, 7 hours and 25 minutes into Mike's Vancouver trip, he was stopped in traffic two blocks from the studio. Suddenly, Toby begins to panic. Like, PANIC! He runs in tiny panicky circles in Mike's lap, pausing only briefly to put his paws on the window ledge and peer longingly outside, then resuming this frantic cycle. Michael barely has time to process that all three pounds of dog is in the throes of a man sized emergency. He says, "Just a sec Tobes and I'll find a place to pull over". Apparently Michael's reassurance was too little too late, for it was then that Toby placed his paws on the window ledge once more and shat helplessly all down the front of the only outfit Mike had.

Gagging, he found an ever elusive parking spot, and he struggled to figure out how to make this shituation better all the while managing to not strangle Toby. Mike went straight for the washroom inside. He washed out as much as he could which left little time for his still rank clothing to dry. Now he was wet and smelled like poop. Upon entering the audition room he says to the director, "Now, I know what this looks like, but it isn't pee. It's shit...but it's not mine". What an ice breaker.

Times (they are a) Changing

Having kids has significantly altered the "road trip" for me. Aside from additional snacks and potty breaks I am now packing for three. My husband still packs for one - that hasn't changed at all. He often brings his one tiny, half-filled bag to the top of the stairs at the last minute and sets it next to my open, still being filled, melee of a pack job. Seemingly out of pity for my situation he then asks if I need to put anything into his bag. Ughhhhhhhh. Of course, the children's bags are packed, (BY ME!!!) waiting at the door and have been there since last night.

Thanks to Murphy's Law something gets left behind. More often than not it is my something. My shoes, my bathing suit, my mittens, my makeup, my hose, my snack, my gift certificate et cetera. It seems no matter how many lists I make, or how much attention I pay, my efforts are insufficient to get everything into the vehicle without fail one really important item sits at home awaiting my return. Awesomesauce.

Anyhoo we set off to a wedding this past weekend. Prep was particularly harried because Mike was home for roughly five minutes in between trips to Vancouver and the cesspool hot tub needed to be drained and refilled. This has to happen at above freezing temperatures, so we needed to wait till that happened. We had guess-timated the time for refilling and cleaning, but really underestimated the unbelievable amount of time it would take to drain it. Seriously, it took the better part of an hour.

The wedding ceremony was at 4. We were in the truck by 11:30, which would put us in town by 3:00 and we could check-in to the wonderful Cinnamon Bear Lodge, get dressed, figure out what I left behind, and get to the church on time. Fwhew. Then to the party. At least that's the plan.

As I wrestled Isla into her crinoline, straightened my hair and found my shoes it occurred to me that, possibly for the first time in 5 years everything I had meant to pack made it on the trip!  Our picture perfect family rolled up in front of the church (where Mike and I had been married 7 years before!) into rockstar parking. We had 5 minutes to go...wait, why was there still rockstar parking? We pulled the poppets out of the truck. I re-checked the invitation. Right day? Check. Right location? Obvious. Ummm, what the crap was going on?

The church was empty except for one or two women. Seeing our faces they asked where we were going. "A wedding" I answered, then "what time is it?". "5 to 5" came the answer. Wheels began to turn, something familiar began to claw at my brain...then there it was - the time change. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

How could we forget the time change?! I mean, by the time we were on the road it was already too late we had lost that extra hour, but everytime we drive past the Mountain Standard time change sign my husband is forced to point it out like he has Tourette's. But, for whatever reason, it didn't happen this trip and was so far off the radar I don't even know what to say.

I felt like such a heel. Still do. At least there was still the party, and we were right in time for that!

Honestly?!

There is nothing more moving than the glaring honesty of a child. It is not filtered, or manicured, manufactured or checked. It is akin to verbal diarrhea. The brain sends an impulse and the mouth lays it out for all to hear.

A few years ago I was in the grocery store with Jack. When we got to the till I confess I let some air escape, from my behind. The store was very busy (read loud) and in my defence I was probably pregnant. Anyhoo, no one heard. Except for an arse high Jack. With his new found language skills he declared, "Mommy fart. Mommy fart." to the cashier/anyone within earshot, over and over with increasing persistence as I attempted to ignore him and get the heck out of there. Awesome.

When one of my children says to another, "you talk funny" or refers to the neighbour as "the grumpy man who lives next door" I am mortified more often than not. Sometimes it is hard to remember they are not judging, but stating what they perceive to be fact, and I receive the comment coloured by my own experience and/or embarrassment. They are not saying these things to be mean. The neighbour next door looks like a grumpy character from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but also like Santa, so I was able to suggest as much - and as everyone knows Santa is never grumpy. I told them stories about when they mispronounced words because they too were little once and learning. Yet, despite knowing this, it still stings when a two year old makes a comment about my spotty face.

We bring them books, teach them songs, play stacking and sorting games all geared towards differentiation and separation and then we are shocked when they bring their astute observations into the real world. Because you cannot un-ring a bell, and words can hurt, especially when they come out of an innocent face. But we are all different. My children adore being told they are special and unique, so I need to seize the opportunity when they notice that others are different from themselves. To help them acknowledge and appreciate the difference rather than fear and judge. If I wait until they are in the schoolyard it will be too late. Again I am reminded of the steep learning curve that is teaching empathy without loosing individuality.

All this being said, I could have a million dinner guests singing glowing praise for my fare, but it will never mean as much as when Jack starts in about how amazing my cooking is because he is incapable of insincerity.  This morning as I was pulling my hair back, Isla announced as if she could no longer contain herself, "Mommy, you are soooooo beautiful!".  I have never ben more flattered.