The Tall Ships Were Here!

Cool!
Originally uploaded by Sheriagogo.

This past week/end the Tall Ships Challenge came to Victoria and Liam and Zoe were in their glory! I was pretty excited too.

Organization of the event and the crowds was a bit of a fiasco but nothing can overshadow the majesty and allure of these beautiful vessels.
Thursday morning, hoping to catch the ships under sail, the kids and I ventured out to a park in Esquimalt where we did see the ships at anchor, and a few smaller ships our for a cruise, but we learned that due to the tides the big ships could not come into the harbour till high tide, around 6pm. When we went to pick up Liam from preschool, later that day, his teacher informed us that he had 'built a tall ship' over in the corner with the tires and boards but he couldn't go anywhere till the tide came in. He was sitting all alone atop his creation while other ran about and played. Apparently 'He's been waiting quite a while for the tide to come in.'

We did see the Pallada sail past the breakwater later that evening so the tide did eventually come in.

Check out my flickr! site for more photos of the Tall Ships.

Spit Spot

Once, sitting in my living room and casting an ever-critical eye about my toy-cluttered and undoubtedly undusted living room, my beloved grandmother had the audacity to comment "I guess you just don't like doing housework."
If you know my grandmother then this is not an entirely surprising comment, and if you know me then you know that there are about a hundred or more responses to this that one just doesn't say to ones Grandmother. I'm sure if I didn't just stand there sputtering and fuming I very likely produced a feral grin and shortly found an excuse to leave the room. The irony is that having had such a comment thrown my way and dealing with the resulting inner monologue, I probably went and did the dishes or cleaned something, because that's what I do when I need to calm down.

Despite less than tactful bluntness, I can see where my Grandmother might get a certain impression about my relationship with housework.
I feel like I live in a constant disaster zone.
I feel like every waking minute of the day, if I'm not cleaning or tidying, I'm planning the next 10 moves in the never-ending process that is Cleaning My House.
I can't relax. I can't enjoy my children because there are always 20 or more things to do and I'm lucky if I get to three of them in a day.

I'm the sort of person who loves a clean house (I really do). I love cleaning. I love organizing. And the resulting calm I feel when it is completed is truly blissful. It's just that I love doing it all by myself, with Billy Holiday or Annie Lennox or SmashMouth or whomever, blaring in the background. I like cleaning when I can start and finish in the same session. When I clean I go into overdrive, focusing entirely on the task at hand and (insert-deity-of-your-choice-here) help you if you interrupt the process. You see where this is going don't you?

Some weeks are good and I feel on top of things - I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or in this case the gleaming clean house at the end of the tunnel. Others are not so good. Yesterday was both good and bad. I managed to get a higher number of tasks done and yet had a breakdown of momentous proportions. Unfortunately, sometimes being able to envision the gleaming clean house at the end of the tunnel is worse than muddling through in the dark, bumping your shins on the coffee table. Whatever the case, I found myself thinking, 'Girl, you need some perspective!!' So today, between bouts of nursing, solving of preschooler crisis (The longboat is stuck in the ship's hold Mommeeeee!!!), and - ahem - cleaning, I'm writing this post.

I really need to do something about the stress my messy house is causing me. Steve has agreed that when I go back to work and have a pay-cheque again we will hire some periodic help. In the meantime I have to juggle kids, clutter, and finding that theoretic job with finding time for myself, my yoga, and my writing, so that I can be a good mom and not a woman on the verge... or in today's pop culture vernacular - A Desperate Housewife.
Friends and I have talked about the stresses of consantly cleaning but still I feel like I'm alone in this particular insanity. Like I'm the only one who can't handle it. Like everyone else is OK and it's just me who feels completely overwhelmed. Like everyone else can either do it or just doesn't let it get to them. I know this probably isn't fair to all the other moms, many of them my friends, who feel exactly the same way at some time or other, but there it is. Then again, maybe I just don't like house work.

I really can't remember what life was like before kids. I do know that this kind of panic/stress over my house started when I was pregnant with Liam. That first trimester I had absolutely NO energy and I couldn't get anything done. I remember calling Steve at work in tears, begging him to help me by committing to making Saturday mornings a scheduled cleaning time (He was REALLY resistant to scheduling back then - two kids have changed that though). So apparently I had some level of cleanliness that I attained frequently enough to have a breakdown over NOT being able to achieve it. I have to admit, though, that Steve and I were one of those couples where the house may look clean as long as you didn't enter the 'clutter room.' Yes those people on 'Clean Sweep' and 'Neat' really do exist. This is largely due to hoarding (mostly me - I had school NOTES from HIGHSCHOOL fergoshsakes!!!) and extreme lack of storage, as well as Steve's 600(?)+ CD collection and my ever-growing personal library. Once Liam came along and we were forced to consolidate offices and create a nursery, SOMETHING had to be done.
So since New Years 2003 we have been PURGING and DECLUTTERING. And purging and decluttering, and purging and decluttering, and paying our dues to Rubbermaid and Sterlite, and then purging and decluttering again, with a trip to IKEA now and then, and then more purging and decluttering, and building of a shed and expanding another shed and building some deck storage, and another round of purging and decluttering. I'm getting REALLY good at purging and decluttering, but still I feel like I can't manage to have a clean house. Of course if I ever do, I'll probably lock the whole family outside and they'll have to break down the door and take me away in a straight jacket.

As I sit and write this, I realize it isn't so bad in here. Sure I have a few months worth of paperwork to deal with piled all over the dining area, which is going to require the purging and decluttering of ALL the drawers in my computer area to get it under control - and I'm going to need a few hours of time BY MYSELF to achieve this. But otherwise it really isn't so bad.
Maybe I can say that because I've got a bit of perspective now. Because I spent the day, not cleaning or stressing about cleaning, but helping a friend, another 'desperate housewife', just by being there, and listening, and having a cup of tea while our kids entertained each other. And when she apologized for the mess her house was in I could honestly say I couldn't see it, because I know that, just like me in MY house, she is viscerally aware of every little annoying bit of dust and food and clutter in each and every room of HER house. And there is no way for anyone to have that kind of awareness of another's house. And I'm a friend, so I don't see those things because I don't look for them.

I think I need to remember that the vision of the gleaming clean house is really just a mirage. At least as long as there are small children with all their toys and clothes and crafts and eating habits - and as long as there isn't a six figure income to support hired help. I have to remember that the way we have chosen to raise our kids doesn't prioritize a neat and tidy house - and then I have to let go of the stress and just ENJOY these little tazmanian devils and all the clutter they create and the time they demand of me.

Or maybe I should just own up to it and admit that I just don't like housework.

Excuses, excuses

Last time my excuse was 'no time to write,' this time it's more like haven't gathered my thoughts enough to write.
The usual spinning vortex of thoughts has once again slowed to a sluggish bumping about in my head. I don't know if it's the weather, a creeping head cold, or maybe just all the stress of getting the suite rented while planning a four year olds birthday party and keeping track of all our sudden social engagements, but I can't think of a single interesting thing to write about.
So y'all will just have to wait till the fog in my head clears and I no longer feel like a cross between Alice AND the White Rabbit!

Tid Bits

It has been soooo long since I've posted on this thing. Sometimes life just seems to get in the way of recording life - if you know what I mean. Or maybe you don't have a clingy 18-month old who prefers to spend her days attached to your leg (or hip, or breast) and refuses to nap until far too late in the day and then stays up till 10:30 - or 11:30 at night - so maybe you don't quite know what I mean. I probably don't have much time so I'm going to try for a marathon update... or maybe a sporadic, throughout-the-day, kind of update... (or maybe even a frantic rewrite after losing the Whole &*%^&%$#$ post...)


1) What's In A Name?

Zoe has finally given Liam a name. She mastered 'Mama'/'Mommy' and 'Daddy' long since, and has recently adopted 'Nana' and 'Papa' (since we went to Calgary). 'Kiki' (Liam's name for his friend Kayley) was another easily acquired name, along with - for a short time at least - the rather unfortunate 'Kaka' for her little friend Erika. I think she's working on a new version now. Mostly she calls herself "baby" when asked who she is, but I have overheard her say 'Zoe' when she was practising her repertoire. (She has informed me that she is 'Zoe-Go-Go' NOT just plain 'Zoe' through a round-about series of questions).
Despite all these new names Zoe has under her belt, she would just give us a blank stare when we would ask about Liam - until recently that is...

Liam's new name, according to Zoe, is... 'Ooh-Ooh'

We think it's a variation on 'Uh-Oh' - a phrase she uses frequently and accurately in many incidents and occassions. Most of which involve Liam.


2) The Age Of Reason

Liam has taken a shine to the question 'Why?' in the last six months or so (like right now - 'why can't I not watch a movie - Mommy why? Why mommy? Why can't I watch some TV - I want to. Why?'). It's not like he started using it out of the blue one day. I can remember about a year ago thinking that despite Liam's ever-growing quest for knowledge, I had somehow escaped the stereotypical preschooler over-use of 'WHY?" I, of course, presumed this was due to Liam's brilliant and precocious mind as he sought more and more information about rockets, or space, or hermit crabs, or whatever.
And then suddenly came the WHY-DAY, where all spare and intelligent use of the question 'why?' was tossed out the window in favour of constant and whining repetition of the word 'Why? in any and every circumstance. On WHY-DAYS I'm pretty sure Liam isn't even listening to the answers and I shortly find myself saying such things as "I don't know, what do you think?", or "Why Not?", or "I already answered that question, Liam, so STOP asking it!", or "I don't want to hear that question any more!" and sometimes (frequently?) I have to resort to the dreaded "BECAUSE I SAID SO!" I recently read an article in Island Parent, written by a forward thinking grandmother who was waxing philosophical about raising her grandson in a supportive and loving environment where he would never hear the phrase "because I said so," and all I could think was "well, you've never had to deal with a WHY-DAY now have you!?!!!"
Over the last few months I've come to recognize a WHY-DAY fairly early on - what with all the 'why's' and all - and I can sometimes curtail the ridiculous by asking "Liam, is it a WHY-DAY?" when it starts looking like that's where this is going. And sometimes, if he's in a good mood (strangely WHY-DAYS are not linked to mood), he'll giggle and say "Yes Mommy, that's pretty silly isn't it?" And if I'm really lucky that's the end of it. But not always.

The up-shot of all this is that Zoe, at 18 months, is already asking "Why?" - well sort of.
The other night, in obvious distress, she brought us one of Liam's old toys - a purple tractor with a teddy bear driver. It's one of those battery powered vehicles where you press the driver and it revs up and then speeds off for about a meter. After a great deal of tears, comforting, and a game of twenty questions, we realized that what she wanted was to play with JUST the bear - NOT the tractor. Oh Dear. "Mine, No MIne. Bear. OUT!! OooouuuuuT!!
We explained that no, the bear didn't come out of the tractor, that he had to drive it. To which she responded "Whiiiiiyyy?" in protest. And the funny thing was she really did want to know 'why' and there was no way we could satisfy that desire to her satisfaction.

Now whenever she can't have her way, or that special thing, or has to stop hitting Liam, or needs her face wiped, or - well you get the picture - she responds with a heart-felt "Whiiiyyy?."

Thank you Liam for teaching your sister about 'Why.'


3) There Must Be Something In The Water

As of June 6th, 2005, Liam is 41"/104cm tall - that's one inch of growth since February and 1/2" growth since April!
Zoe has gained a half and inch since April as well - at least I think so. It's hard to say since she won't stand either still or straight against the wall. Anyways, she is a whopping 31.5 inches / 80cm. Zoe, my Amazon 18 month old!!


4) How To Terrify A Toddler

I have fond memories of the Car Wash, I really do. Maybe it's because it was the 70's and somehow car-washes were so cool they warranted a song dedicated to them. How many little girls shook their booties to that tune at dance recitals all over the globe? When I was little, I called the big spinning brushes 'Dancers' and I loved the coccoon-feeling of being safe inside the car with all that soapy, wet, chaos on the other side of the glass. So when I spotted a car-wash across the street from Butterfly Gardens on Sunday I thought; "Perfect! Here is a fun thing to do while giving Steve just a bit more time at home with his music."
I've only been through a 'touchless' car-wash once before, years ago, so I wasn't too familiar with the sensations. I knew there wouldn't be the bumpy thumping of the 'dancers,' which tended to provide the adrenalin rush portion of the experience so I thought 'how bad could it be?' As soon as the Big Wand started up and began it's first pass over the top of the jeep (with moon roof) I found out just how bad. By the second pass, Zoe - my fearless little baby girl - was in my lap, clinging and quivering and whimpering and saying "No, no, nononononononnooooooo." I think that was the longest 7 or 8 minutes of either of our lives. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at my stupidity, having trapped myself in a rumbling, vibrating car with a terrified toddler, so I just kept saying over and over; "I'm so sorry sweety, I promise we'll never do this again. I promise, not long now. Oooh look at the pretty soap suds. Oh there goes the wand. it's just water honey. You'll be fine, I promise. I'm so sorry."

Liam, by the way, thought the whole experience Just Grand. "Next time, Mommy, just Daddy and I will take the car through the car wash."