I am a firm believer that rain boots is a necessary staple of not only childhood but also of life.  There are very few times when I tell my kids not to jump into a puddle that they have been gazing at with longing, to laugh and enjoy the silliness of being covered in mud.  Many times I am in there with my kids, jumping around, seeing just how high I can make those splashes and I feel that many of life lessons can be found in splashing around in a puddle.

And even if I don’t find a single lesson, I still come in out of the rain (yes it’s usually raining when we go puddle ducking) and feel like I have accomplished something very important that day.  For a few minutes, I wasn’t the mom telling the kids to clean their room, pick up toys or do their homework, for a few minutes, I was simply a mom that wasn’t worried about tomorrow or the state of the house but I was worried simply of having fun with my kids.  Of course, our adventures through mud usually ends with me doing housework (mopping) and laundry but it is worth every muddy footprint across my kitchen floor.

Okay, i seemed to have rambled a bit there so without further meanderings of thought, here is the story I wanted to share with you.

Rainboots Welcome by Sirena Van Schaik

The puddle stretched across the field forming a large cloud-filled pond. The cold depths indeterminable from where I stood on the walkway but the grass that usually graced the field was completely covered by the dark gray water.

The red and gray wagon thumped behind me. The small boy, my youngest son, sat in the wagon staring at the wet field with interested blue eyes. My oldest son, his small warm hand resting in my own as he walked beside me, completed our group of three bundled travelers on our way to drop him off at school.

It wasn’t the puddle that made me pause or the small sideways shuffle that my son took in the puddle’s direction; it was the group of children gathering on its shores. A smile played at my lips as I watched a boy roll up his tan khakis until they were bunched around his thighs, black rubber boots gleaming in the dim light just below the boy’s pants. With one hand holding them up and the other hand balanced out to the side, the boy looked back at the other children; laughter on his face and mischief in his eyes.

The small group of children squealed in delight, a cry filling the air as they called to him, “Don’t do it, you’re going to get wet.”

The boy smiled at the challenge and took a tentative step into the rain-made pond. Water sloshed over his black rubber boots, the edge of the pond too shallow for the water to reach the tops. Triumph flashed across his face as another step proved the water shallow still. More children ran to the water’s edge, more of them hiking up their pants to follow their adventurous comrade into the stormy depths.

I chuckled as I watched, my own son gravitating towards the crowds of laughing adventurers. I found myself judging the cold water, trying to predict how far I could get before the water rushed into my winter boots. I tried to predict how far I could pull the wagon before it got bogged down, leaving me to rescue a wet and laughing toddler from the lake. I took a step towards the puddle, my son in step beside me but the distant clang of a school bell reminded me that we needed to get to school.

The school beckoned and with it responsibility and motherhood and with a sigh I answered the call. Lifting up the handle of the wagon, I called to my oldest that it was time to go. The puddle stood silent and empty behind us while groups of laughing children made a dash towards the distant school. As they ran many of the children cast longing-filled glances at the puddle, probably assuring it of their return after school that afternoon.

I walked hand in hand with my son, pulling the wagon behind me, glancing at the turned faces of my sons and their own expressions as they said their own farewells to the untried puddle made my heart dance with laughter.

After dropping my son off, I wandered home. My steps were light; a wistful smile spread across my lips as I thought of that cold puddle. I found myself wanting to turn around and try my luck at making it across, but instead I continued on.

As I walked I thought about my youth and the carefree way I would splash through puddles. I thought of the delight I took in feeling mud and water flow into my boots and soak into my socks. At that instant a plaque came into mind that I knew I would have to make and hang beside my door. A plaque to remind me to take delight in the simplest of things, like small feet splashing through puddles and the laughter that comes with it; a plaque that would simply read, “Rainboots Welcome”.

Sirena Van Schaik

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Today, I had an appointment with my OB/GYN and I had to make a hard decision before I went to see her.  The appointment was for a brief check in to see how things are progressing with trying to get pregnant.  It has been 10 months and there hasn’t been any pregnancy.  Her original goal was to have me on fertility drugs after 6 months but I held out until this appointment to even address it.

So what was my big decision 10 months into this current journey in my life?  Well, it was definitely not one that my OB expected, especially when I asked for a prescription for birth control.  She was visibly disappointed and I almost reversed my decision by the end of the appointment.  “Well, you know Doc, if you say I should get pregnant now, who am I to know any better?  You are after all the doctor so please give me that fertility drug prescription please?”

The reason for my change of heart has nothing to do with the time it has taken or about not wanting a third but is in fact geared towards more realistic circumstances.  My husband is a sculptor and although he has had a secure position for several years, we are not sure what will be happening at the end of this year.  He may not have an employer and this was the main reason behind not trying for a third.

For some reason, my doctor didn’t seem to understand this as I shuffled from foot to foot in the waiting room and reiterated for the third time my reason for putting baby number 3 on hold for at least 6 months.  I have never experienced so much guilt over doing the responsible thing.

It made me wonder, probably not for the last time, if this is it.  Is this the decision that will seal my fate and I will forever be the mother of two?  Not a horrible fate by any stretch but maybe one spark of life was lost as I filled my prescription.  Maybe, just maybe, my chance to become a mother was in that eleventh month. Did I somehow lose the right time to conceive?

Of course, this is all a simple melancholy and I should find my laid back feelings about this.  I know deep down it was the right choice but for the next few days, I’m sure I will reassess it.

I’m sure, though, that you have read enough of my little struggle but I was wondering, when was the right time for you?  Was it a surprise?  A detailed plan? Or did all the pieces just click at once?

I would love to hear your stories.

Sirena Van Schaik

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I was swimming with my son yesterday when we began talking about history. He was asking me questions about Indians and how we came to be in Canada. I was answering his questions while I strained to recall all the social studies that I had taken over the years. At one point I mentioned Europeans and when he asked me what a European was, I listed off nations that had settled in North America.

When I said Germans, he paled significantly, which is quite a feat since he is very pale to begin with, and his eyes grew wide with worry as he said, “There are no Germans in Canada, are there?”

Wondering exactly why he was worried about this, I questioned him and he went on to explain that Germans were the bad guys. Everyone said it and they started those big wars. The question that came tumbling out of his mouth was surprising as he asked, “Are Germans bad?”

This really raised my awareness of how tricky it is to answer a question. We fight wars, have soldiers fighting wars and we present an image of the ultimate good and the ultimate evil. In the World Wars, the Germans were the ultimate evil and that is still taught in history books. If you approach history in this manner, then how can you say, “Well, Germans were bad back then but now they have good people and bad people just like everyone else.”

For some reason, that doesn’t seem to cut it and I had to approach it in a somewhat different manner.

So how do you handle this? For me, I look at it not as a race of people being bad but of making a bad choice. They chose to fight for their country and their country was being led by a bad man. Obviously, I don’t get into the darker points of the war, my son is only 7, after all, but I do not want him to be plagued by discrimination, especially at such a young age.

My first reaction to his question was to say, “Well, your great grandparents were german, are you bad? Am I bad?” He smiled in relief and said, “No.”

I then explained how the country was led by a bad man and because of that many bad things happened in the country and during the war. They fought for the wrong thing but they fought for their country. People make mistakes (of course this is a bit of an understatement when it comes to the World Wars) and it isn’t right to believe that all Germans are bad simply because of the wars.

As I was explaining, he smiled and said, “I know who led the Germans, my friend told me.”

I smiled and asked him who led the Germans during the wars and he said, “A bad man named Hitler and another bad man named Merlin.”

Which brought me to another conclusion, I really needed to keep an eye on what other children were teaching my son. The next half an hour was spent in explaining Arthurian legends and who Merlin was and yes, this whole conversation took place in the pool.  )

Sirena Van Schaik

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I was somewhat mystified about that comment and I had no idea why my ability to clean a bathroom was the clincher to me being a “great little wife.”  I think that was the day that I believed my siblings and I were given too many chores and I swore that I would never do the same with my kids.

Fast forward 25 years and I am now a parent of a 3 and 6 year old.  Neither of them have to do any chores, expect keep their toys tidied up and put their laundry in the hamper.  That is it, although at times that can seem like a huge task in itself. 

I tidy their rooms, make their beds and do the majority of chores around the house.  It is, after all, the essense of what makes a woman a “great little wife.”  Isn’t it?  I never really felt that the kids needed to have chores and I certainly didn’t want to drag my 3 year old into the bathroom and teach him the fine art of toilet scrubbing.

Lately, though, I have found that the kids, more important my oldest, need to have a few more chores to really understand the theory behind working for your money. His allowance is very low, but he gets it for only keeping his toys picked up, a task that shouldn’t involve pay. 

So last night during dinner, I said to him jokingly, “I think you should do the dishes tonight.”

His face brightened and a large smile filled his face as he said, “Really, ok.”

My husband looked a little nervous and argued the fact that maybe his son couldn’t wash the dishes since he was only 6, almost 7, but he quickly relented.

I have to say that with only a few tips, my son quickly grasped the concept of washing the dishes and I was there to help him finish them off.  He was beaming with a sense of accomplishment by the end of it and we discussed a few chores that he could do every week to earn extra money.

This experience has led me to believe that yes, children should do chores because it teaches them responsibility and it also allows them to be a contributing member of the family.  They gain knowledge on how to take care of themselves and their home, have the opportunity to bond when they are learning how to do something new and gain self confidence and self esteem when they have finished something successful.

I was completely surprised, given my own feelings about chores, but this was an instance when my child has taught me something and that maybe my parents weren’t in it for the slave labor. Of course, after plucking 200 chickens one weekend when I was 5, I still have my doubts.

So what about you?  Do you think children should have chores?

Sirena Van Schaik

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My kids have always been talkers.  I like to think that my actions had something to do with it but sometimes I wonder.  

When my kids were young, I enjoyed spending my day rambling to them about what we were doing.  I think if someone was passing by they would have thought I had gone crazy just by listening to me.  I would give a play by play of diaper time, “Ok, I’m just going to put you on the change table and pull off your sleeper.  Oh, I think it’s time for a new sleeper.  Now I’m going to take off your dirty diaper so you can have a nice clean one,” or bath time, “Well, I have to get the water ready first so you lay in your crib while I grab the bathtub and fill it up.  There, the water is just right.  Are you ready?”  Or even bedtime had some type of play by play up until story time and then my horrible voice belting out some song.  Strangely enough, “Crazy” by Patsy Cline was always a top hit for bedtime songs.  That and ”Baby Beluga,” “The Unicorn” and countless other ones all sung in my slightly off-key voice.  All of this started the first few days after they came home.

I think part of the reason that I talked to my kids so much wasn’t that I thought they were really listening, although studies have proven otherwise, it was just so I could hear a voice during my long day without any other adult contact.  Sure I would get out but there were stretches of time where I was sequestered to the house.  By the time both of my boys were 2, they were having full give and take conversations (probably because they needed to shut me up somehow) and everyone they met would comment, “Wow, they’re really verbal.”

Of course, this ability to express themselves did have it’s downsides with debates, arguments and they seemed to have mastered the art of sarcasm at the young age of 3, but in other ways it is wonderful since I know what they want right away. 

The whole reason behind this musing is the simple fact that just the other day I noticed how some of my speech mannerisms and sayings have been picked up by the kids.  At one point, I used “actually” in my speech, quite a bit actually, and now this seems to be the favorite word for my 3 year old son.  He can’t go a day without saying it at least 20 times and I think half of his indecision is due to the fact that he wants to say his favorite word, “Actually, I would like a drink of water…actually, no, I would actually like a drink of milk…actually, I think I actually want water.”  (I didn’t exaggerate, this is actually how he talks sometimes.)

My oldest son picked up the word “Sweeeeeet” from school or somewhere and quickly everything that he liked was “Oh, sweeeeet!”  My youngest also picked up this awesome word and whenever I am in a toy store, I am followed around the aisles by two children shouting, “Oh, sweeeeet!”

There are also a few sayings that I picked up from my mom and I found after answering hundreds of questions that started with “What,” “Why,” and “Where,” I began using them.  When I asked “What’s for dinner,” when I was a kid, my mom would say “Fried Farts and Onions.”  I learned to stop asking the question and occasionally I will say it to my kids.  Usually I will say it when it is something they like and I don’t (cue chicken nuggets please) and they will say, “Awesome…we’re having…”  I don’t use it too often but my own son has used it back on me when I asked him what he would like for a snack…the answer that I received, “Fried Farts and Onions.”

Lastly, when I am going somewhere (usually the store) with the kids and they ask “Where” I will reply, ”Crazy, wanna come?”

This gets huge groans from my oldest since he prefers to get a straight answer but my youngest just rolls with it.  It wasn’t until yesterday when I was getting ready to go for a walk that I realized exactly what my youngest son thinks “crazy” is.  Right after I said, “Crazy, wanna come,” he asked, “Oh, which crazy is it?  The one with toys (Toys R Us) or Walmart?”

So “crazy” to my son means shopping and after having been to both of those stores, I don’t think he is wrong.

 What sayings have your kids picked up?  What sayings do you use that you picked up from your parents?

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Of course, I was completely wrong and lo and behold, I have not only one but two children that are extremely picky.  I can only shudder at what my mom had gone through as I recall meals where she would have to seat me beside her and force me to eat.  I also remember the bathroom restrictions she had to place at meal time since I would use any excuse to go to the bathroom and flush partially chewed food down the toilet.  I was extremely picky and although I have improved slightly I still have that trait to this day.

I never really knew how annoying it was until I was faced with trying to feed the two picky children that I call my own.  When they were first introduced to solids, I thought my luck would be good.  They loved food including many that I despised.  Unfortunately, that love didn’t continue past the age of two when they suddenly became the most picky creatures on the face of the planet.  They wouldn’t eat anything and I was constantly stressing over the amount of calories they were actually getting into their bodies.  All my ECE training rationalized my thoughts and I found myself thinking, “Ok, I can’t force them to eat so I’ll just wait it out.  They’ll eat when they’re hungry.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t eat before I broke down and fixed them something they would eat.  Chicken nuggets anyone? My oldest wasn’t half as difficult as my youngest who is currently in the middle of his whole food battles age.  He won’t eat anything and no matter what I do, he will not eat until a minute before dessert is about to come out.  Only at that point will he shove one or two bites into his mouth and say, “I’m full. Can I have dessert now?”

I would love to say no but of course, that darn ECE knowledge is there and I remember courses where I was told that it is illegal to deny food to a child, including desserts if they are being offered.  It is also considered illegal to force a child to eat.  This leaves many parents in a bind since most children will be difficult eaters at some point in their life.  Eating is, after all, one of the only things that children can truly control.  They can’t say when they go to bed, when they get up, or when they go to school but how much food goes into their stomach is one of the few things that they get a decision. 

For my youngest, the whole food battle isn’t really about what he likes and doesn’t like but is in fact a power struggle that he wins often. Even if I make something that he absolutely loves, if he is in the mood for a struggle, then by golly, we are going to have a battle.  I have come to ignore those battles and they are starting to decrease slightly but I can’t wait until he is 6 when hopefully this whole food battle will finally come to an end. (Six was the age my oldest son stopped fighting about most foods.)

In the meantime, here are a few things that I do to get him to eat.

• Set a time limit for meals.  If he doesn’t eat by the time that we have given for a meal than his plate is removed from the table and wrapped up.  Usually he will ask for it right away and will take a few bites but the time limit has helped slightly since he no longer sits there for over an hour whining and complaining about the horrible food that I made.
• Saving the meals for later.  It is a fact that most children will eat when they are hungry enough, and saving a meal to reheat later is a perfectly fine.
• Offer nutritious snacks.  When I don’t wrap the meal, I will try to offer him some other nutritious snack later in the day.  This way he gets something healthy and is not snacking on empty calories.
• Have healthy desserts.  I find that my youngest is all about the desserts so I try to offer fresh fruit for dessert, that way I won’t have to deny food and he won’t get pure sugar.
• Take a taste.  I used this when I worked in daycares and I use it at home.  I don’t ask for kids to eat everything but to simply take a taste of the food.  Sometimes it gets them eating, other times, I at least got them to try something.  Of course it doesn’t really give them their daily nutritional intake but it does give me a small victory in the battle of foods.
• Taking a deep breath. I think I do this nightly, dinner is his hardest meal, but after I have taken a deep relaxing breath, I can deal with the nightly battle a bit better.

Fighting over food isn’t the easiest battle to wage with your child but it is important for me to try to get some food down him.  I know that it is karma coming back and biting me and I’m sure that my sister is laughing her head off about this but I hope we get through it soon. 

Do you have any advice on getting a picky eater to eat?  Post or email to share.

Sirena Van Schaik

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Oh, no! I knew that this day was coming but I was hoping that he would keep his baby teeth for a few more years.  I decided to check his mouth to make sure that it was truly what I thought it was.  Sure enough, his loose tooth was hanging there by a small piece of gum (most likely the nerve) and the second adult tooth was already poking up, ready to take its place. 

I’m not sure why I was upset about seeing that adult tooth in my son’s mouth but as I was trying to figure out the reason for my distress, my son yelled out, “Isn’t that great, I’m growing up!”

And that was the whole reason behind my feelings.  My son was growing up.  He wasn’t the little baby with all his baby teeth, he was now the school age child with his own hockey team, school friends, teacher and life that doesn’t involve me.  All those things should have alerted me to the fact already but the tooth falling out was what tipped the scale for me.  He is, in fact, growing up and no matter what I do, I simply can’t stop that. 

I spent last night feeling a little melancholy but I performed my task as “Tooth Fairy” after he was fast asleep.  It is sad that they grow up so fast and it seems sad that they are so eager to grow up.  I remember that age so well, the eagerness to just be old enough that I stopped counting my age in years and started with quarters.  “I’m 6 and 3/4 years old,” I would say when asked my age.  It didn’t help that my birthday was at the end of the school year so all my friends turned a year older ahead of me.  Cutting my year into quarters made it seem like every four months I would be a little wiser, a little more grown up.

So although I am happy that my son is growing up, I really wish that he could slow down for just a little while.  On the bright side though, we’ll get some really great pictures of him with his teeth missing to put into those scrapbooks and we get a visit from both the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny this weekend.

So just between parents, how did you feel when your child lost his or her first tooth?

Sirena

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