We Bought Suitcases For Our Kids!

Alternate title:  And yet, they're still here

We've had a bit of a rough week and weekend around the house.  There was poor behaviour from everyone (myself included), not enough naps (still talking about me), and consequences that had to be adhered to (see also, when you bring three children into the world, you're not allowed to just leave everything behind and walk away into the wilds of London, never looking back).

The Hufflings have Personality! and they have it in spades.  There's the Agitator, the Drama Queen, and the Cuddle Bug.  There's also the Sweetheart, the Irritant, and the Look At Me!-er.  There's the Tattle-tale, the Instigator, and the Bully....and the Helper, the Singer, the Genius, the Victim, the Animal Trainer, the Artist, the Actor and the Scientist.  Overall, there is a lot packed into each one of them, and it's no wonder that, every freaking day from time to time, one's Personality overflows into another's personal space with very loud results. 

As a "responsible parent", I am careful with what they eat and what they do.  I limit their sugar intake (not to a huge degree, but their treats are monitored and doled out appropriately).  They don't get a lot of screen time; it's a lot to me, more than what I'd prefer them to have, but I've come to terms with the idea that maybe an hour, three times a week (maybe four if I really need a break) isn't too much for the 9- and 8- year olds.  (The five-year-old has had a better deal of it than the other two, because she's just piggybacked onto their screen time, instead of starting out with 30 minutes, once a week.) 

Anyhoo, due to a run of overflowing personalities, "poor choices", and possibly periods of too much sugar -- which worked its way up to a frenzy over the last week -- there was no screen time allowed for the whole weekend.  No treats.  Playdates were cancelled.  It was dire.

In an effort to come up with an outing that wasn't supposed to be very fun but used up a lot of time, we ended up spending Sunday at Costco, to the tune of ... frankly, it was so much that I can't even write it down.  And it was in pounds.  I honestly will not say just how much we spent, but try to imagine a shockingly large Costco bill, then multiply it by 1.8 to put it in "real dollars". 

I shudder. 

But, in our defense, part of that giant amount was for three little rolling suitcases. 

So far, on trips to visit family, see Mickey Mouse, or move to England, the kids have just brought along their backpacks as carryons, each stuffed with a blankie, a stuffy, a waterbottle and a book or two, and then shared a large suitcase with their clothing and shoes, usually with me.  But with all the potential for travel in the UK and Europe, and my complaining that I never get a full suitcase to myself while Chris gets three we've been talking about getting them their own. 

So yesterday, instead of just walking past a giant display of American Tourister wheelie bags, suddenly, there were three kids wheeling them along:  a pink, a blue, and a black, happy as little clams.  The amount of delight they showed for walking through the store, then out towards the parking lot, each pulling their own bag, heralded a switch in mood -- and behaviour -- for the better, for all of us. 

Adventures are often just a state of mind, and I know I overuse the word.  But a new suitcase is more than a new suitcase.  It's potential.  It's planning and dreaming and looking at maps and thinking about exploring new places.  I like to think that they (the miscreants) and we (the exhausted, defeated parents) suddenly realized, on some level, that looking ahead to new adventures -- even a sleepover at someone else's house -- is key to leaving a bad week behind.


And maybe, on some level, they saw that they now had the means to pack up and leave home.*



*When I joked about that, Tamsin started crying and said she wanted to stay with me.  I gave in and told her she could stay as long as she wanted, or until she was 18.

Sigh.

On Birthdays and Other Bad Ideas

We have three children.  As people who like to think they're intelligent, we also like to think that we learn from our mistakes.  Yes, yes, despite having three children.

For Vaughn's 8th birthday, a year and a half ago, he had asked for a sleepover party with his four best friends from school (one of which was a girl!).  "How bad could it be?" we thought, and decided to go for it.   We decided to take four extra kids to a hockey game, then back to our place for pizza and cake, followed by a movie and a good night's sleep.

January 2017:  Happy faces all around!
(Nobody panic, but has anyone seen Tamsin?)

Well, that was the plan, anyway.  The girl couldn't come (which was probably a sign of good parenting in her family), and one of the boys could come to the game, but wasn't ready for a sleepover (again, great call, other parents!).  And of course, we didn't really think through how to get three extra kids into our station wagon to go to the game and back.  So, we called my parents.  For the low price of hockey tickets, snacks, and parking, they agreed to shuttle the boys in their minivan, while we chauffeured our girls there.  Mom and Dad sat at the end of the row and tried to ignore the fiasco of boys free from parental oversight, while Chris and I panicked, fetched snacks, cleaned up spills, accompanied bathroom trips, corrected and tried to control seven children.  Thanks, in part, to the loud, raucous venue, it went well.  In hindsight.  The pizza was good, the cake was devoured, the movie was enjoyed (mostly - one kid decided that he didn't want to watch it), and sleep eventually came. 

"Never again!" we said, cheerfully.

Tamsin:  located.
Note to self:  for better future decision-making, start taking photos of angry/frustrated parents, not sugared-up kids.

So, a few weeks ago, another child in our family turned eight.  Of course we knew it would happen one day (see also, We think we're so smart), but it felt a bit sudden.  The birthday parties we've been to lately have been giant, invite-your-entire-grade events, so I foolishly snuck in a suggestion that I thought was self-preserving:  how about a sleepover with four friends?

Ailsa leapt at the opportunity, and Chris and I relaxed.  No planning necessary.  No booking, no organizing, really.  Half-term was two weeks before it, and we had more than enough time to prepare.  Her actual birthday, on a Sunday, saw us celebrate with a breakfast out, her attendance at another child's party, and cupcakes which she made and iced to share with her class the next day.  We still had a week till the party, and everything was cool.

On Monday afternoon, she came home from school with an empty cupcake carrier, a soupcon of green icing around her mouth, a stomachache and a fever.  I kept her home on Tuesday, and she slept most of the day, except when I bundled her into the car to take Ziggy to the dog park (Tuesday is his dog park day), and bundled her into the cart at Costco to pick up staples.*  She looked better on Wednesday morning, so I was surprised (but not really) to get a call at around 11 to go pick her up from school and take her home to bed.  Thursday, she was still burning up.  She rested, but not as much, and when she woke up on Friday, still warm, I called the doctor. 

Much like taking your car to the mechanic, nothing cures a Huffling faster than looking at a doctor.  Dr. Charming (not his real name) checked her quickly, told her she would be fine by nightfall, and then asked me to sit in the hot seat.  Apparently, I look like I'm dying.  He checked my blood pressure (excellent), asked my family history about diabetes (only the relatives who make it to 90 have it), and ordered me to book an appointment for a full round of bloodwork, which I literally just remembered now was supposed to be last Monday.  Will have to rebook.  Whoops.

I digress.

Saturday morning, we kept Ailsa home from gymnastics, because we're not THAT terrible of parents.  I also baked a princess cake, sent Chris to the store for english muffins, "pizza cheese" and icing sugar, and cobbled together four lootbags out of common household items and remnants of lootbags past.  (Hey, I hadn't left the house in a week.)  We told all three kids that they didn't need to have naps,** but if they did, they could stay up past 8 pm.  No pressure.


We prepared for the onslaught.

Oh.  My.  God.

Much like the shock we experienced eight years before, when we added another beautiful-yet-screaming baby into an already-loud household, nothing could have prepared us for four extra eight-year-old girls, giggling, shouting, running, throwing things...  Chris, the sneaky little coward, had gone out for a run at 4:30, so I got to handle the first shift alone.  The Huff House Rules were repeated often in my Calm Voice:  "Do not stand or jump on the couches or beds - do so on the trampoline," "There will be no calling of names, telling people they're stupid, or telling them to shut up", and my personal favourite, "Doors that are open stay open; doors that are closed stay closed."  Despite this, girls were standing on couches, throwing sofa cushions at each other.  They shouted rude things at each other and slammed doors.  And this was all in the first 30 minutes.

Eventually, they all calmed down, made their own mini pizzas, ate cake, watched a movie, and went to bed.

No, of course they didn't.

By about 11 pm, I was sitting on the floor outside the spare bedroom, reading my book with a flashlight, so they'd know I was there.  It eventually worked.  They dropped off, one by one, till I could fling myself onto my own bed at 12:30, exhausted, without wine, to sleep until... oh dear lord, it's 6:18, and they're already up?

And yes, of course Tamsin will get a sleepover for her eighth birthday!  Because we're idiots.





*Not actual staples, but I suppose I could get a LOT of them there, if I needed.  They have EVERYTHING!
**If not naps, then x-treme quiet time, so x-treme that not even the sound of pages turning may be heard.

Add the Good Stuff First

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(Like I needed an excuse to share that photo around again!)


(Also, if you like my articles, you can "clap" for them on Medium...a shameless call for applause, I know.)

Don't give up on me!

The "real" posts have slowed down more than usual lately - mea culpa, mea culpa.

My excuses (which are all watertight and completely reasonable) are as follows:

• Half-term AGAIN.  Honestly, you put kids in school, you think they're going to be at school for more than 5 weeks at a stretch.  This French/International system is forcing me to spend more time with my kids than any mother should ever have to (after the age of 5) (the kid, not the mother). (Oh, bother.)
• Fevers!  Our local Boots seems to be always sold out of More Cowbell, so the Hufflings have had more than their share of illnesses lately.  Averaging 2.5 days for each bout, they tie me to the flat, meaning I have a restless dog, no real good excuse to not write, and a nap (sympathetic).
• Actual focus.  I accidentally met with a life coach and have been tricked into setting goals against my will, which has led me to update my "resume", create a "portfolio", and "alienate three people whom I hold in the highest esteem by sending them a writing sample for their feedback".  It's going well so far, thanks for asking.
• Other Social Media.  I finally did it.  I joined Facebook.*  AND, you might notice that I plumped up my portfolio by writing some new healthy eating/lifestyle articles on Medium, which you can check out here.  There will be more of these to come, and if you like them, please do share them (or "clap" for them on the site - it sends me warm fuzzies).

So, to sum up, there has been a dearth of "actual" blogging lately, but I promise to fix that soon.  I've been reading, reaching out, and trying very hard to become a Real Writer, but my children and their school life keeps conspiring against me.

* for career potential, possible job postings and fitness class covers, not as a social network.  So, if you "friend" me, just make sure that your expectations are low.

The Mommy Diet: Eat Like Your Kids Eat

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