Our staff decided to celebrate the last day of school with an Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest. As unbelievable as it might sound, I do not own one. When I asked around, my friend suggested an idea from Pinterest. I’m not very handy with sewing or stitching, but I can hold my own with a glue gun. So I eagerly gathered up my supplies, popped in a movie for the boys and got started on what was sure to be the winning sweater.
Things were going relatively well, but I considered other options. The glue gunning was replaced with my stapler – made sense.
I soon discovered that I couldn’t accomplish this on my own. The clear choice was to use the four-year-old as my stand in. It would have worked better if he had stood still.
Staples, a glue gun, and a four year old. There was no way this sweater would be anything less than spectacular.
The big day was approaching when disaster struck in the form of the stomach flu. At the time of publishing, four out of six family members had been hit. This meant I could not participate in the contest! Or did it?
Turns out, you can wear an Ugly Christmas Sweater anywhere, any time. It’s true. IT IS.
I now present to you: The Ugly Christmas Sweater Pinterest Fail – Home Edition.
This is what it was supposed to look like:
Easy, right?
I was quite pleased with my version and it’s versatility.
I’ll be pinning this later, don’t worry.Pouring coffee in my Ugly Christmas SweaterYou can drink in it, too! Cheers!Might not know what to make for lunch, but I know what I’ll be wearing.Laundry can be Holly Jolly – see?Cleaning up vomit can be merry, if you dress for it.Oh what fun it is to read in my Ugly Christmas Sweater.The jingle bells fell off so it was easy to be sneaky.I shared the Christmas cheer all over the house.Look at me – colouring in my Ugly Christmas SweaterPro Tip: change out of sweater before trying to eat PB trees in secret.
When you recall fond memories it’s about something that happened, not a “thing”. Even if it’s a special gift, that Cabbage Patch doll you were longing for, there’s a story behind it. It’s not just the doll, it’s the story of how it became yours. The real gift is the story.
What matters is the story.
My friend and I have an ongoing conversation about how trips and events are special, but what our kids will remember is the time we spent with them. Vacations are great and can be the catalyst for memory-making, but it’s the time we are together that counts.
You know what our boys ask for the most? Aside from treats and screen time, they are kids after all. Our time.
Play with me. Read to me. Listen to me. Tell me I matter. Show me I am important, that I’m valued.
“Can we go to a movie just you and me, Mommy? As part of my birthday present?”
“Wrestle with me, me, Daddy.”
“Can we go on a breakfast date?”
“Will you take just me to the store?”
Time.
And stories.
“Tell us about the time you threw the carrot cake on the ceiling, Daddy.”
“Tell us the story of Uncle Rob running into the glass door.”
“Tell us again about the time your neighbour caught a skunk and Grandpa told you to throw pebbles at the trap to see what would happen.”
“Tell us again how Auntie broke her arm.”
Tell us again.
Stories. Remember? Remember that time?
We’re creating stories with every meal we eat together, with every crazy family dance time, with every time we patiently wait for an unsuspecting family member to exit the washroom so we can yell “Boo!” With every family movie night.
“Remember the time Big poked the kiwi?”
“I didn’t poke it!”
“We saw you!”
“It just looked like I did.”
“I watched you pick it up and your finger went right through the skin.”
“No, the hole was already there.”
I can recite this script verbatim because we have jointly retold it dozens of times. It even has a theme song. It’s become Moyer family folklore. It’s one of our stories.
Remember? Remember that time?
Time.
“For Christmas I want to take you for frozen yogurt to that shop you said you wanted to try, Mommy. Can we go today? I can show you how it works, you make it all yourself. I’ve got enough money for both of us.”
And so we add another story to our collection.
It was delicious
Remember?
“Remember that time we went for yogurt, just the two of us, and I got coconut and gummi worms and you got two flavours?”
I never thought I’d have to lay down these ground rules for playtime.
1. Yes, it counts as playing “Perfection” even if they don’t set the timer. Because the littles are two and four, that’s why.
HURRY UP!
2. You can only make a Brother Sandwich if all parties agree. Beforehand.
Three layers – a new record!
3. We might live in Canada, but you can’t toboggan in the summer. No, really. Otherwise someone will get hurt – wait, he just did.
This should work, pull harder.
4. Cigarette butts you find at the ball diamond are not acceptable cargo for your trucks and diggers. No.
Load ’em up, brother!
5. Brothers who choose to fight and bicker despite several redirections and reminders will spend some quality time together on the “Get-Along Chair”. You’ve been warned.
Having four boys means I have no real personal space. I’ve accepted that (mostly). We recently installed locks on our bedroom and bathroom doors which has given me the illusion of privacy. But no.
I’ve tried to claim the master bath as my territory only to have one of the boys politely ask me, “Could you please wash your hair over the sink because you leave so much in the tub that I have to rinse it out before I can take a bath.” “OK, deal – when you guys stop leaving poo deposits in there. That was not a Milk Dud I found on the ledge.”
This means YOU.
The boys will be playing happily together upstairs which is my cue to leave them alone. I busy myself with checking Twittercleaning the kitchen until the noise level reaches maximum volume. When they start coming down wearing my clothes, playtime is over. “Look, I’m a mom”, says the son wearing my bra overtop my favourite sweater as he clomps around the kitchen in my snazzy pair of flats. “Hey, I’ve been looking for those sunglasses!”
I have learned over the past years of the Boy Invasion to hide my Peanut Butter cups in a rotating locations so they never get suspicious. I’ve also learned how to eat M&Ms and convince them I’m snacking on some raisins. Those are mommy treats and I’m not sharing.
Even my purse is subject to their prying eyes and hands. “You’ve got gum? Can I have some?” “Hey where did you get this candy?”
I would like to use the laptop without little eyes peering over my shoulder. “Why are you laughing? Can I see? CanIcanIcanIcanI?”
This lack of boundaries became abundantly clear not long ago as I was gathering up materials and resources before I went to work to prepare for the new school year.
“Hey! Cheese strings! Cheese Strings?! Guys! Mommy has cheese strings. Mommy, why do you keep cheese strings in this pocket?”
“Those are not cheese strings. Stop going through my backpack. SOME STUFF IS JUST FOR ME.”
See? No boundaries.
Editor’s note: They were not cheese strings and I was not prepared to launch into the “talk” just then.
Leanne Shirtliffe is a humorist, writer, and teacher. You can find her on her blog, twitter, and on Facebook.
Today I am honoured to guest post for her regular feature, Whiteboard Wednesday: Things I Never Thought I’d Say to My Kids. While you’re over there, take some time to browse around – trust me.
Oh, and you should check out her book, Don’t Lick the Minivan. No, really, you should.
That will not stop a two year old from wanting to play Go Fish or insisting on playing Go Fish.
You will agree to it because a) he’s cute and b) you’re a good parent.
To play Go Fish with a two year old you will need the following:
– cards
– ibuprophen
– wine
– a whistle
– tissues
– bandaids
Once you’ve gathered up your supplies, it’s time to deal the cards. Five, seven, four, it doesn’t matter how many because you are playing against a toddler. The other opponent might care, so do make an effort to pretend to count them out.
Let the game begin!
Little, ask Big if has an eight. No? Ok, then go fish. Pick up a card. Yes, you. Just one card. One. ONE. The top one. Now hold it with your cards. In your hand. You don’t need to pile them, keep them in your hand. Hold them, hold them. HOLD THEM.
I might have an Ace. Let me check.
Mommy’s turn.
Little, do you have a four? Yes, you do. It’s right there. I can see it. You need to give it to Mommy. Yes. Yes. Yessss. It’s okay, you’ll get another card. No, not yet, your next turn. Just wait. Wait. Big gets to go now.
Big’s turn.
Mommy, do you have a three? Thanks.
Round Two.
Little, you have a pair. They match. Put them together. Yes, together on the floor. You make a pile. Oh, look! See? They are the same. Yes, they are. No, you don’t hold them now, they go there. Right there. Right. There.
Okay, Big does have them same card, but that’s his match. They stay in his pile. Yes, they do. No, not Little’s. You have your own, see? Those are Big’s. He keeps them.
Keep the bandaids within arm’s reach.
Round Three.
There is no round three.
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Ever try to play games with young, ego-centric children? How did that go? Was it a glass or a whole bottle of wine experience?
Katherine and I met recently through twitter and discovered that in addition to both having four children, we’re kindred spirits on many levels. This is her first post on my blog (hopefully not the last) and also the first in a new regular feature: My 5 Rules. This is a lady who loves to laugh and share the crazy in her day – be sure to follow her and her crew on twitter @grass_stains .
Five Rules I Never Knew I Needed To Establish
1. Don’t climb the walls. And if you do, stop climbing after you make the first hole.
It’s just a small hole, Mom.
2. Close doors after you open them. Yes, that one. Yes, that one too. AND THAT ONE.
3. Piggyback rides are limited to one rider.
Hold on tight!
4. Do not drop your 2-year-old sister from a height of four feet.
5. DO NOT teach your 2-year-old sister to trust-fall. BUT IF YOU DO, do it on a bed.
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Go forth and check out Katherine and all her internet wonderfulness.
I often tell people I am a Kindergarten Teacher, but that is not completely accurate. I am, in fact, a teacher of kindergarten students. I love my job and I love the students. So much of our day is not covered by a curriculum or plan. If only the children knew explicitly what I really mean.
Maybe they do.
I hope they do.
When I say, “Try your zipper first, I will help you if you still can’t get it.” I’m telling you that independence is important and I am confident in your abilities.
When my team member tells you, “Those bins are for toys. Are you a toy?” she is really saying, “I want you to be safe and make safe choices. I care about you.”
When I tell you, “I know you farted. That is not nice, we say ‘excuse me’ ” I’m really telling you, “You can’t just fart in front of people and expect them not to notice. Plus, that’s gross.”
When I ask you, “Did you wash your hands? With soap?” I’m letting you know that hygiene is important and also that teachers always know when you skip that step. Or lie.
When you almost trip me in the hall as I walk by with arms full of resources just to give me a hug, I return that hug with a smile because even though I nearly died, you matter to me. We’ll talk about Sneak Attack Hugs another time.
When I tell you to eat your healthy foods first it’s because I care enough to teach you good eating habits. I want you to have a great day and feed your body food that is good for learning. And when I comment on how yummy your cookie looks I’m saying, “I get it, treats are important, too. Life is all about balance.”
When you colour and write your name on a wooden block, I have you scrub that block clean because choices have consequences. It’s always best to tell the truth and own up to your actions. I know you will do better in the future.
When I fist bump you for a well-executed belch before reminding you it is impolite, I’m really saying, “I get it. But there is a time and a place for that.”
When I tell you that you may not cut the line, I’m really saying, “I care enough to teach you that no one likes a ‘butt-er’ and I want you to keep your friends.”
When you put your hands on a friend and hurt them, I will make you take a break. I’m really telling you and your classmates that school is a safe place for everyone. No one is allowed to hurt someone I care about.
When you flop on the ground and squawk I will tell you that you cannot join us for computer lab. And it hurts me. I know you love computer time. But I love you enough to be consistent and set boundaries. We’ll try again next time.
And when you come up to me and ask me to pull out your first tooth, you are telling me, “I trust you.”
Once you’ve had kids for a while you can tell the difference between their cries of distress and yelps of pure joy. However, there are some things that no parent wants to hear coming from the basement while the children play. A good mom would intervene or at the very least investigate in that situation.
I’m telling.
Yeah! No pants!
That was your own fault.
Shhh, you’re okay.
This is war!
Don’t tell Mommy.
No, YOU let go.
Hold still.
Well, I didn’t give him the marker.
My turn with the handcuffs.
CANNONBALL!
Uh oh.
You deserved it.
I’M NOT PLAYING.
Are you breathing?
FINE.
A responsible mom would hear those raised voices and rush to check on the little darlings. Then there’s Option B: Carry on and hope for the best. After all, they will definitely come upstairs to find you if there is any blood.
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What’s the most frightening thing you’ve heard your little cherubs say. And yes, sometimes silence is the scariest thing of all.
Tough Bananas 