The circle...

Every so often, it happens - and boy oh boy does it ever sting! I'm talking about life...when it hits you...

The children & I have a decent morning routine going: after breakfast we head out for a half hour walk, stop off at a nearby park, then make the trek back home. All of this is made easier thanks to my Graco tandem stroller. It's a place to store a backpack filled with treats & juice, hold my cellphone, some sweaters, wipes, and (of course)transport the wee ones.

Eliana & Massimo sit in their stroller, happy as can be, watching the world go by while snacking on goldfish crackers. As for me, I consider it one of the more pleasant forms of cardio, rarely giving much thought to the act of pushing my kiddies around...that is...until today.

We made our way toward the library, and in the distance I could see a woman pushing an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. As we approached them, she shifted to the side in order to make room on the sidewalk. Once we were face to face, my daughter, ever the friendly chatterbox, bellowed out her morning greeting, "HELLO, I AM GOING TO THE PARK!". The gentleman, slightly hunched & with a soft,wrinkled smile said, "AREN'T YOU LUCKY!" She then asked him where he was off to... and he informed us that his daughter was taking him out for a stroll as well. His eyes scanned the scene & I'm almost certain that I saw a glimpse of nostalgia in his watery gaze.

That's when it happened: Life - it hit me in the face.

You see it, don't you? I'm pushing my children around in a stroller - and this gentleman is being pushed around in his "stroller" by his own child. This routine act of taking my children out for a walk - to the park - to the library - to a pond to feed the ducklings - it's part of a circle... Perhaps, one day, the roles will shift & we will have reached the other side of the circle, and they will be taking me out for a stroll - to the park - to the library - to the pond to feed the ducklings. Wow!

I can only hope that in the distant future, my babies have some memory of the stroll, that breezy spring morning in May, when I stopped to pick a stem of lilacs for my little girl & a maple leaf for my baby boy. And perhaps they will have a sense of the immeasurable amount of love I had in my heart for them at that very moment. Then, when I'm older, greyer, slightly hunched over with a soft, wrinkled smile, perhaps the memory of that May morning will entice them to head out for another stroll with me.

I've become "one of them"

It happened when I uttered the phrase "Back when I was that age". GASP! A sure sign that I crossed a line...jumped ship & joined the "adult team". Next thing you know, I'll be muttering about how I walked for miles and miles during a blizzard, in stocking-feet, without ever complaining. Yes, I've become "one of them". All it took was an incident at a nearby secondary school, that's it. One teeny-weeny little encounter and I sailed on over to the other side. Easy breezy.

There are a handful of teens with enormous chips on their shoulders (no, not Doritos or anything of the sort...we're talking major, heavy-duty A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E!), who delight in making it nearly impossible for a pedestrian to comfortably utilize the sidewalk in front of their school. They drop their backpacks there. They sit in clusters and smoke till their fingers turn yellow, teeth turn brown and lungs turn black. They push each other around. They lie down on the sidewalk and bemoan the fact that "everyone sucks except us". They "rule the school". Today, however, they crossed the wrong mamma!

"Goth Girl" started it, not me! There she was, lying across the sidewalk as though she were sprawled out on her bed at home. Her chubby body, clad in black, making it very difficult for me to maneuver my hard-to-maneuver-at-the-best-of-times-double-stroller-from-hell. Her spiky black hair, with red chunky highlights looked almost as ferocious as her pinched-up scowl when I asked her in my nicest voice, "Could you please move so we can pass?". What came next was slightly unexpected - a big huff & the always annoying eye-roll. Hmmmm.... "Excuse me, we really need to get by". So, she moved while muttering a bunch of expletives....bleepin' bleep...move your bleepin' bleep & go home with your bleepin' brats...bleeper. WELL!

What "Goth Girl & her band of evil elves" didn't expect was retaliation. Hand on my hip, and in my best teacher-impersonation I came back with: "I could care less what you do or don't do. Fling yourselves off a bridge, for all I care - but when I come by with a stroller and ask you to move, YOU'D BETTER MOVE, GOT IT?!".

Still fuming when we arrived home, especially after my daughter asked me what a "bleeping bleep" was (sigh!), I picked up the phone to call the school. Yes indeed, I told on them...na-na-na-na-na. I called the vice-principal, and lashed in to him: "I'M A TAX-PAYING CITIZEN...AND YOU'RE STUDENTS HAVE NO RESPECT...AND I SHOULD CALL THE MAURY POVICH SHOW TO GET THEM ALL ENROLLED IN TEEN BOOT CAMP...AND...". Well, no need to continue because he couldn't have agreed with me more. In fact, he asked me to call the police because he was getting tired of having to do it himself. So, basically, he's telling me that not even HE has the authority to straighten these brats out.

Here I go.... Are you ready? It's coming....Final warning... Back when I was that age, I wouldn't have DREAMED of treating an adult with such disrespect! That's not to say that I didn't occasionally challenge authority, but never ever did I go out of my way to make someone uncomfortable for no good reason. What happened between then and now? Society? Media? Huge corporations putting nasty stuff in the soda pop? This is insane!!! I was having a bit of a crisis when my kids stepped in...

"Guys? Are you guys going to let a mommy with a baby-carriage pass without hassle when you're in high school?" I got what I needed from them, an "O-tay" from my son, and a "sure mommy" from my daughter. Okay, so I may have crossed over to the "other side", but I take comfort in knowing there's still a glimmer of hope.

Sleeping Like a Baby

I should be getting ready for bed, but I'm not. Why? Because it's pointless, really. Why in the world would I get ready for bed, fall into a deep sleep, knowing full well that I'm going to awaken to blood-curling wails and cries for "moooooommmmmyyyyyy"?.

Where did I go wrong? How did I fail so miserably? Did I read the wrong books? Take the wrong advice? I ask these questions because this situation is wrong - and detrimental to my health! I haven't had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep in over three years. Something MUST be done.

A mamma in a sleep-deprived state is bound to make mistakes. Did I err in bringing my daughter to bed with us back in January of 2004? Perhaps. At the time, I felt that it was a win-win situation: she slept - we slept. Perfect!.....Well, not quite. While Eliana did make the transition from our bed to her own bed at the tender age of twenty-one months, it wasn't & isn't exactly a smooth one. The hurdles revealed themselves following the birth of her baby brother, Massimo. All of a sudden, the child who dozed off effortlessly began posing problems aplenty!

Enter Massimo - a tiny, colicky "gerdling" (suffering from infant reflux). He sobbed his little heart out unless he slept ON my chest, in an upright position. That's when I began looking less like myself and more like Morticia Adams.

It had been suggested that I investigate "Ferberizing" my children. Been there - done that - bought the t-shirt! I lasted two nights before I picked my heart up off the floor and crazy-glued it back together. I admit it: I am a wuss!

I tried Elizabeth Pantley's"no cry sleep solution", and I must admit that there was very little crying. I must also add that there was very little sleeping...NEXT???

Well, there's the option that we seem to have adopted: Co-sleeping. Dr. Sears is the one of North America's biggest advocates of bringing baby into your bed. His "scientific research" proves that co-sleeping reduces the risk of SIDS, helps babies to thrive, enhances intellectual and emotional development...and can solve all the world's problems (okay, I threw the last one in myself!). For what it's worth, none of the "scientific research" prompted me to resort to sharing my bed with hubby + baby. No, it was strictly a survival tactic. I needed to sleep.

So why am I lamenting all over again? Well, my son has taken to thrusting his diapered bottom in my face at various points throughout the night. I often find myself being smothered by a miniature behind, covered in an Elmo pyjama. If that isn't enough to make you curl up into a fetal position and pray for Zzzzzzs, my daughter has taken to crying out at 4am every-single-night, until either my husband or I join her in her room. HELP!!!

I'm back to square one. I'm pooped and in desperate need of a solution - PRONTO! Until then, I can only daydream (since I rarely enter into REM) of a time when I can sleep a fitful sleep, and wake feeling revived and refreshed. Dare to dream....ummm...daydream.

Tale of a broken-hearted mamma

I was under the impression that a child would only turn on you upon blowing out the candles at their thirteenth birthday party. My daughter is ten years off the mark! Why did we have to reach this milestone so early? I am truly unprepared.

As she sat chomping on her toast, slathered with jam (just the way she likes it), my sweet, innocent daughter looks up at me with doe eyes and proclaims, "Mommy, I love you...but I think I like Nonna Isa better". Oh. My. Gosh.

Nonna Isa is my mother-in-law - a wonderful woman - but at that very moment, she was my nemesis. How could a child who was almost totally and completely dependent on me love someone she saw only once a week, at most? My pondering lead to an automatic response: "Nonna Isa is the one I love better because she gives me presents." Hmph!

I wanted to stomp and throw a hissy-fit, but I felt that would only reinforce my daughter's preference for her grandmother. Instead, I proceeded to explain that love did not equate with the number of gifts one bestows upon you. Love is about how one cares for you... Love is sitting up all night when your little one is wheezing and has too many "yuckies in the nose" to breathe. Love is rubbing your child's tummy because it feels "too filled up". Love is reading "Goodnight Moon" four times, then just one more time because your baby "likes it too much". Love is about the pain you feel when your child falls and is taken to the hospital for their "really bad boo-boo". I tried to sum it up as best I could. At once, I could see her features softening with a look of mutual understanding.

That's when she demanded, "So will you buy me a Barbie bicyle so I can love you more than Nonna Isa?"

Sigh.