Let the Egg Hunt Begin!

I love Easter. I love our big, beautiful backyard. And I love all of our great friends. So this year, we decided to put it together and throw an Easter Party in our backyard. It was a great success!

Actually, the main reason I wanted to do this party is because of what happened last year. It was the first Easter that I decided to try one of the local Easter egg hunts. I chose one of the largest, and it even cost $5 per kid. After driven around in circles trying to find parking, we finally found a spot on a residential street, and walked fifteen minutes to get to the park. 

When it was time for the egg hunt to begin, we didn't end up finding a single egg! Oh, beg my pardon, we found one egg, but we accidentally dropped it, but by the time we turned around to get it, someone else had already swooped it up. There were kids running around with 20+ eggs in their baskets, and no one seemed to care that we had none. When I pointed this out to a couple volunteers, they just shrugged. Ooh, I was angry. I didn't even feel better when I found the right person to complain to and they gave my kids some chocolate eggs to make up for it. That wasn't the point. It was the greed .. is that really what I want my kids to learn about Easter? That you have to be fast and hog the eggs?

So I swore that next year, I'd hold my own egg hunt, and I realized I better stand by that. So we invited all of our friends - and they all showed up! That was a surprise - usually someone cancels or has a family obligation, but nope. There were 21 kids in total, and they all had a great time.

We kept it simple. A bunny craft, some "rabbit food" (veggies), "baby chick food" (popcorn), and carrot cake muffins for dessert. The e.g. hunt was for about 20 chocolate eggs and an egg full of jellybeans each. We let the two-year-olds go first, and then the preschoolers, and then the school-aged kids. When we let the last group go, I almost got bowled over. The looks of determination on their faces! They were on a mission.

And the best part was, there was no fighting over who got too many eggs. They were helping each other look, and they all seemed to be having a great time. I think everyone went home happy. And I did too, because I felt like it was how Easter was meant to be: friends, fun, and of course ... lots of candy!

The Performance

Nicholas has been taking guitar lessons for the past month, and has been preparing for a concert in honour of Baba’s 60^th birthday. This much-anticipated day was on Saturday, and after creating and handing out programs, he finally got to perform.

It was a bit painful to watch as a mother, to be honest. I could tell he was nervous, even though he was performing only for the family, because he kept laughing at himself and giving long descriptions of what he was about to do or what he had just done. After witnessing a week of seamless transitions between songs, impeccable string work, and a confident performer, I was gritting my teeth as I watched him fumble. He did manage to fake his way through the part of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star he didn’t know, but after that the giggling and interruptions started. I knew Baba loved it anyway, but I wished she could have seen his performance earlier in the week.

Still, I was proud of him for doing it. And I was so focused on my eldest child with his guitar, I was unaware of what my youngest, Myles, was up to, on the lap of his beloved Bumpa in the back row …

“Oh, I forgot one thing,” Nicholas said, about thirty seconds before his performance was due to end. “If anyone wants to leave, all you have to do is put up your hand.”

Those of us in the front row began to shake our heads to assure him that we were sticking it through to the end, when I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye and heard Bumpa laughing. When I turned to look, there was Myles, a determined expression on his face, with his hand up in the air as straight and tall as it could go. Bumpa’s nose was red from the blow Myles delivered in his enthusiasm to raise his little paw. That kid wanted out.

I have to give Nicholas credit for putting up with the five minutes of continuous laughter that followed. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time (Since Make Seek Owe Seed He, right, Mom?). I think this would have been less amusing to me if I hadn’t been so focused on Nicholas and had heard the comments Myles had been making throughout the show (which were some variation of “I hate concerts). It had been so unexpected, and whenever I visualize my four-year-old sitting there with his hand up so determinedly, I start laughing all over again.

Nicholas finished his concert with style, and received thunderous applause. Myles exited the “concert hall” with the family, still muttering his comments, but he had made it all the way through. And the rest of us will never forget both of their performances.

Hanging with the Grown-ups

The kids have had some exposure to grown-up parties lately, as we had a going-away party at our house for one of our friends who was moving out of town, and we went to a family member's wedding last night.

Normally, the kids start off shy and clingy, but before long they find something to entertain themselves with. Or someone, rather. In the case of the going-away party, one of the guys we didn't know did a great job of keeping the kids busy by occasionally turning away from the grown-up conversation to ROARRRR at the kids, which of course made them run away screaming. So simple, but it worked. The boys spent half the night spying on us and working out strategies to sneak up on the guy. Sometimes he would leave his seat and jump out at them – I'm surprised they didn't pee their pants with excitement.

At the wedding, it was both a who and a what that kept the boys entertained. They had a game of beanbag toss set up on the lawn (genius!), and at first the boys were too shy to join in, but soon they were pretty much running the show. Myles played for quite a while with the prettiest girl (woman, I guess) at the party. He was pretty enamoured with her by the end of the night (and obviously wasn't the only one, and I'm not just talking about the little boys at the party). His adoration was evident later in the evening when he said eagerly, as she breezed past in her gorgeous red dress, "Remember when we played beanbag toss together?" The poor woman was completely oblivious – she hadn't heard him over the loud music, and didn't realize she just crushed my youngest son's heart. Oh, the expression on his face! (We did explain to him that she hadn't heard him, but my husband and I were both thinking – get used to it, buddy!)

Nicholas, for his part, kept happy by dancing it up with the grown-ups (and by grown-ups, I mean the 23-year-olds who really made me feel like a dinosaur, but that's beside the point). They were dancing in a circle, as groups tend to do, and Nicholas kept popping up in the middle and busting some moves. They cheered him on, too, and I don't think they were just humouring him. He was the coolest kid at that party – breakdancing moves and everything. In the car later, while Myles was passed out in the dark next to him, Nicholas told us he liked all of the attention. He was proud, and you know, Mommy was too. This isn't the shy little boy of a few years ago. He's growing up, and man, can that kid dance!

By 9:00, Myles was begging us to go home (which was not long after his rejection), and at 9:45 we finally dragged Nicholas off the dance floor so we could make the hour-and-a-half long drive home. Myles barely saw the end of the driveway before he was asleep, but Nicholas was awake all the way home, still basking in his successful evening. And when Myles woke up the next morning, his ego had recovered, and he told me how much fun he had playing beanbags with "the girl in the red dress."

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!

I remember going through this with Nicholas – the phase where all I hear, all day long, is “Mommy?Mommy! Mo-ommy!” Before every sentence, my name had to be uttered to ensure he had my undivided attention. We are going through this phase again with Myles, except it's now in stereo, because Nicholas has picked up the habit again.

“That's my name, don't wear in out,” didn't work. Neither did saying their names back at them. Neither did ignoring, mimicking, or asking them to not Mommy me right then. I wrote a blog post a few years ago where I changed my name to Medorphalis* so I could stop hearing Mommy. I haven't tried that this time, but I have learned from experience that it won't stick.

“You don't have to say my name when I'm standing right in front of you, looking at you, and no one else is in the room, “ I said to Nicholas this evening after I got Mommy'ed for the hundredth time that hour.

“Okay. Mommy – I mean. Mommy? Grr! Okay. Mommy –“ He burst into frustrated laughter. “I'm trying!”

Myles, I know, is a hopeless case and something I'm just going to have to wait out. He's at the stage (again – I thought we passed this, but apparently not) where not only does he have to say my name before he says anything, but I have to respond before he can proceed. “Yes?” “Mmm?” and “What?” are all appropriate responses. “Myles?” is not. Neither is “Don't Mommy me,” or – heaven forbid – simply making direct eye contact.

Mommy needs to take a break every now and then. I love being these boys' Mommy, but lately, I'm sick of my own name. I'll let you know when the habit breaks. You know, in five years or so, and probably only because they'll be calling me “Mom” instead.

*spelling may be off as I do not have the time nor inclination to search back through my blog posts to check it.

I Got Lawyered

We've decided that Myles is going to be a lawyer when he grows up.

Curtain calls are typical at bedtime, and tonight was no exception. Daddy tucked Myles into bed while I read to Nicholas. Two minutes later, Myles walked into Nicholas' room. “I have a joke,” he said.

“Okay, quickly,” I said.

“Okay. Banana.”

“Um, banana who?”

“I want a banana.”

I managed to convince him that he just had a snack and would in fact be fine until morning. “Now, back to bed, and if you come out again, you lose dessert tomorrow.” (Okay, I'm most likely setting him up for obesity later in life, but it works, so sue me.)

He went back into his room and as I tucked Nicholas in, I heard, “Mommy?”

“Myles, you know what happens when you come out of your room,” I called.

“But I'm not out of my room.” I peeked into the hallway to see Myles standing in the doorway of his room. He pointed to his toes. “See, my feet are still in.”

He had a point. I closed Nicholas' door behind me and joined Myles in his room to tuck him back into his bed. “Okay, Myles, go to sleep. If you open that door or come out, you lose dessert.”

I thought I was being specific enough, but apparently not. Do you see where this is headed?

Yep. Two minutes later, behind the closed door comes, “Mommy?”

Snorting with silent laughter, I leaned close to the door and asked, “Yes, Myles?”

“Can you fix my building?”

“I would, bud, but then that means the door would have be opened and you'd lose dessert.” Ha! This time I've got him.

He didn't even hesitate. “But you said if I opened the door, not if you did.”

Yep, I got lawyered by a four-year-old. But I'm pleased to say that after I told him he couldn't come out, open the door, or call for me or he would lose dessert, he went right to sleep.

Tomorrow, I'll know better.

Visions of Bunk Beds Danced in Their Heads

This post is outdated, but we have been so busy lately - in the middle of trying to sell our house and building another - that I haven't had time to post. This isn't likely something I will forget, but I won't remember the details, and wouldn't it be so much better to document so that my precious son might possibly read it one day and cringe in embarrassment? Yes, much better.

To stage our house for the sale, it made more sense to put the boys together in one room. Nicholas' room is huge, and it freed up Myles' room as the office, and the old office as the guest room. As you can imagine, this involved much moving around with furniture (and some cursing on Mark's part), and it was nothing short of a big deal to get the boys into that room together. There was no way we would take Myles back out again. We were committed. (Oh, you notice I'm speaking in past-tense, do you? You're a sharp one.)

It wasn't just for staging. In the new house, we all had dreams about bunk beds and spare rooms, but the problem was, I think Nicholas and Myles also had visions of late night chats and giggles. That didn't fit into my plan.

It started out okay. Myles was so exhausted at the end of the day that he fell asleep quickly, and there wasn't much opportunity to fool around. But on days where he'd slept in that morning, he wouldn't go to bed at night. And the occasional late night of giggles and talking-to's turned into a nearly nightly ritual that had my blood pressure at dangerous levels and desserts, shows, and other privileges banned for days at a time.

This might have been tolerable (it wasn't, but it might have been), except Myles took it to another level.

He didn't want to sleep, so what did he do?

He stripped the bed, right down to the mattress.

He stripped off his clothes, right down to his birthday suit.

And he jumped on his bed, all the time laughing hysterically.

I ask you, as a parent, what do you do with this? The first time, I had to duck around the corner and have a silent laugh, it was so ridiculous, then acted all stern when I re-entered the room. Nicholas thought it was hilarious (because it was), so I figured the best thing to do was to remove him and take the attention off Myles, who thrived on it. Nicholas was agreeable to go to the guest room the first night, but the next night, Myles did it again (even though I threatened to take away Nicholas. Forget no dessert or shows or threats of time-outs - don't take away Nicholas!), and Nicholas didn't think it was fair that he had to leave. He had a point, so I removed Myles.

It took a few weeks, but the bed-jumping stopped. Every second or third night we would try them together again (I couldn't let go of the bunk bed vision), and it would always fail, even when Myles' clothes stayed on and his pillow lay where it was supposed to. They wouldn't go to sleep, and then would be little monsters the next day. Eventually we learned, and Myles now has a temporary home in the guest room. Whenever we have a showing, I haul his blankets back to the "kid's room", and make it look like they're sharing. It's pathetic, but hopefully won't be for much longer.

The boys' rooms have already been painted at the new house, so this time we really are committed (... I think). They will NOT be sharing a room, and I have begun to accept the fact that the bunk bed dream has been one I've had since childhood, and I need to let it go.

Maybe one day.

Mind-Reading Abilities

I wouldn't really consider my kids liars.

But every now and then I catch them red-handed. I try to emphasize that they will be in less trouble if they tell me the truth than if they try to get away with it and I find out later they lied. So far this has been pretty effective.

How can I tell if they are lying or not? This is something I always used to wonder about my parents. Do they read minds? Do they have eyes in the back of their heads? Can they see through walls?

Then I became a mother. I get it now.

Nicholas is 6. Every now and then he lies, and usually it's to try and get away with something. There's this look he gets on his face ... some "innocent" smile that always tips me off. His eye contact flits down, try as he might to look me straight on. "How did you know?" he asks every time, half-laughing, half-complaining.

"I just know."

The kids get rocks in a jar for good behavior. Once it's full, they get a prize, usually money. The other day, Nicholas earned six rocks, so I took them out of the bag that was sitting on the kitchen counter, and left Nicholas to put the rocks in his jar so I could tidy the living room. A couple minutes later, en route to the recycling bin, I walked back through the kitchen. Nicholas jumped back from the counter. "What?" he asked, forcefully, accusingly. By this time I had already passed him and was so obviously not in the kitchen to tell him off, but guilt was written all over him.
I knew exactly what he'd done - he'd put an extra rock in the jar. I couldn't have cared less at the moment: the house was a disaster and I had things to do. But he had practically waved his hand in the air and yelled "I did something I'm not supposed to and now I'm lying about it!" I'd be a terrible mother if I let him get away with it.  

So we went through our usual "you'll be in more trouble if you don't tell me" spiel, and all the time I'm shrieking with laughter on the inside, at how obvious he is and how mystified he is at my "mind-reading" ability. 

I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts, when I know when my kids are lying to me. Hopefully they will stop doing it by the time they are old enough to neutralize their facial expressions, because otherwise, I'm screwed.