An Ode to My Mother (um...sorry, Mom)

Here's the thing with my mother.

My mother has always been there, a stay-at-home mom, making our clothes, volunteering at the school library, coming along on Brownies camping trips.  It wasn't weird, because it was the 70s and early 80s, but it was still a lot more than my friends' moms did...not in a good way or a bad way, but she was always there.

But she's not affectionate, one of those warm-and-fuzzy moms.

Capable? Yes. Competent? Yes. Can make amazing Halloween costumes for six grandchildren? Paint? Knit? Cook a killer Thanksgiving feast? Garden? Landscape? Design and sew my wedding dress? Crochet? Papier-mache giant masks? Whittle hundreds of Santas? You bet - all that and more.

Obviously, she must have liked us to do so much for us, but hugs?  No.

Watching her with my kids now, she's far cuddlier with them than she ever was with me, and it's wonderful to see, but it's odd, too; we just weren't a huggy family. People that know me well are always surprised by that, because I'm an overemotional wreck warm and weepy, and I squeeze, maul and manhandle my kids every chance I get.

Unless they have lice. Or smell bad, or are sticky, or I'm wearing nice clothes* or something white.**

And recently, thinking about my own children, who, frankly, are lousy, smelly and sticky quite a bit of the time, it occurred to me: maybe my mom really liked us, but just thought we were disgusting.

This is better, psychologically, I suppose. But is it? I don't know whether the problem was that she thought we were disgusting, or that we actually were disgusting. Both are problematic, and will (probably) lead to (more) therapy, so maybe I don't want to know.

Anyway, Happy Mother's Day, Mom! You are an overachiever, and have left me with giant shoes (figuratively - she's a size 7) to fill. Also, I hope you don't find me as gross as you did in my formative years.


*very rare
**like a dog who speaks German: even rarer

Ok, it wasn't THAT bad, but...

... the idea of that cake has had me laughing for about 4 days, so I had to do it.

Saturday night, Ailsa went to bed (after vomiting her entire day's worth of food as well as two large men's) with a high fever. How high, I don't know, because I am not about to get an "accurate" read on a baby, if you know what I mean. I put the thermometer under her arm, and it registered 101, which means it was at least that. Woo. Tylenol, fluids, fluids, fluids.

And not much sleep for either of us, again.

Mother's Day morning was fine. My gift to myself was a full day of disposable diapers! Yaaaay! Vaughn requested toast, so we all had a nice breakfast, and Ailsa, though a little dopey (and sneezy and sleepy and grumpy), managed to put away half a piece of raisin toast as well as her cereal and banana. Well.

While she was "napping" (much like her "sleeping", it involves brief stretches of unconsciousness, with intervals of coughing followed by screaming in indignation and anger that she feels so lousy) (she gets that from her father), Vaughn and I went head to head a few times, with him ending up sobbing, "I want to be a good boy, Mommy." Rrrrr...he knows what to say, that's for sure.

We packed snacks, headed out to Walmart, and I noted that Ailsa, though still cute, now sort of looks like E.T. at the end of the movie, when he's all pale and sickly. It's those big eyes, or something. Anyhoo, I had decided that we'd have a nice lunch somewhere. The lineup at Cora's was crazy (this was at 12:30), so we headed to Swiss Chalet.

The kids were absolutely angelic, and Vaughn was true to his word. He ordered his lunch from the pictures on the kids' menu, and was a perfect gentleman. Well, except for the repeated attempts to drink his dip or eat it with a spoon. Anyhoo. Ailsa ate shared bits from my plate, and was wan, but cheerful. Despite having the best-behaved children in the whole chalet, I could tell that the waitstaff felt a bit sorry for me, especially when I ordered myself a glass of wine. Hey, it was after noon.

The rest of the day was pretty good; they played well together, my 20-minute nap was enjoyable (kaff), dinner wasn't bad (Ailsa wasn't really into my gourmet baked-chicken-with-salsa-and-cheese and steamed peppers, but ate her baked potato and a bunch of pineapple), and the cake was a hit with the Vaughnster. He even got to eat a flower!

Bathtime was as fun as always, with added bubbles for excitement. Ailsa was thrown into bed immediately, and was quiet for almost 20 minutes before the screaming re-started, leaving me with the dilemna: screaming child calms down when I put my hand on her, but then I can't fold laundry/do the dishes/take out the garbage/recycling/green bin/compost/eat more cake.

This has been a really rough week. After Thursday night's ER visit, and no more than a few hours of continuous sleep every night and a maximum of 20 minutes of a nap since, I'm totally falling apart. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm trying hard to be a good mom, but I really don't feel like it. I'm sick of the screaming and crying, the snot and vomit and poop, the constant battles with a two-year-old.

But Ailsa is still delightful and has a few new tricks (will post later) and Vaughn is incredible, when he's not being a stinker. He got a handful of skittles as his treat after lunch, and he held one up and told me it didn't have an "s" on it. WHAT THE...??? This afternoon, he took his rubber boots and tried to blow them up, just to make Ailsa laugh. They ARE really great kids, and just love each other, and me, so much, but I need a break.

Cake for breakfast? Yes please!

First Mother's Day!

Vaughn recruited Daddy's help to make me a variation of my favourite Cora's treat: French toast with strawberries, bananas, kiwi, and whipped cream. What a great way to wake up! The Domestic Goddess appreciated the morning "off".

I believe I even got a nap, too. Bliss.
The next day, I set up a mini photo shoot of the pooper, attempting to replicate the studio shots we had taken. Let's just say that the professional ones are better, but with a subject so cute, it's hard to go wrong.