It’s actually kind of surprising the kids didn’t think to use it before. I suspect there are plenty of occasions in our biggie-sized family that they could have. Like on movie night when I put out one big bowl of popcorn and it’s every kid for him/herself. It never crossed my mind to evenly divide the popcorn prior to handing it out, but now that my kids are dishing out the statements about fairness, who knows where this nonsense will take us? It never bothered me hearing other kids say it, but when it’s coming out of the mouths of my kiddos I get all anxious and uncomfortable. Believe me, it’s no fun raising children who sound like entitled little brats.

The thing that irks me most is their improper use of the phrase. When they say “It’s not fair”, what they’re really saying is “It’s not going my way right now” or “I don’t want to do it”. Often it has nothing to do with actual justice or fairness. In a fit of frustration, after hearing it again the other day, I decided to give the kids a tour of our house. I went through their bedrooms, looking out the window at their pool and trampoline. Then we peeked out the front to see the court where they spend their time biking, playing basketball and rollerblading. Next we wandered into the mudroom where their hockey bags are stored, along with dance shoes, baseball gloves and other equipment for the many activities they do. We walked over to the big harvest table where they gather to eat/waste beautiful food. And finally we wrapped up the tour at the kid-designated computer. We sat down and I pulled up images of children in Third World countries. If they want to talk FAIR, then it’s GAME ON!

So I’m done with hearing the word fair. Until they are able to use it in an appropriate and meaningful way, “fair” is a place they go to get cotton candy and ride on unsafe roller coasters. Fair or unfair, that’s how it’s going to be.

Mabel’s Labels student staffer alum, Nikki Cochrane, worked in an orphange where this little Emma is the newest arrival. Emma knows all about unfair.

Sweet, yet powerful. www.clbuchananphotography.com

The youngest of my six children has had a pretty sheltered existence to date. He has only been cared for by three people: Me, Daddy-o, and Nanny Hazel. Even my very involved mom has noted that he’s the only grandchild she has never babysat. Part of the problem is that he’s a bit of a quirky guy and I wouldn’t describe him as my best-natured child. Although there has been a lot of recent growth, development and general temperament improvement, he spent much of his toddlerhood awkward and grumpy. Not exactly the kind of kid you want to burden some unsuspecting caregiver with.

When you have an awkward child, there is a fine line between supporting their little personality quirks while not feeding into – and becoming a slave to – them. For our family, this line got blurred and the result was the creation of our own little monster, known as the Pint-Sized Dictator (PSD). Our PSD is very good at getting what he wants – he throws out non-verbal demands to his team of siblings and they run in hopes of avoiding a fuss or tantrum.

We all consider ourselves the servants of the PSD and he is happiest when he is surrounded by his team of humble staff. In fact, he does not like to welcome outsiders into his sacred circle of trust (and servitude). I can remember a time when a visiting child was sitting at our dinner table and the PSD was offended by her presence. He angrily tried to order the child away from our table. Imagine that cheeky neighborhood kid thinking she had a place among “his people”?

He is now approaching 2.5 years old and I’ve begun to feel like we need to rein in our fearless leader. I thought a good first step would be a couple of mornings a week at nursery school, to get him out of this house and socialized with other people. But the idea of it made me so anxious. Here is an odd child who has not been around strangers. I was especially concerned that, because of his language delay, he would not understand me when I explained that I’d be back for him. So, in a bold move that was either brilliant or evidence that I am a PSD enabler, I sent him off to his first day of nursery school with his 4-year-old brother there as a little “helper” (which is a code word for “spy” and possibly “buffer”).

All went swimmingly, and on day two of nursery school he went solo and had a wonderful time, following routines and listening to his teacher. And so, our little PSD has been dethroned and we’re working very hard to ensure that his little crown stays well out of reach from now on.

We’ll be hosting a “chat with an expert” session on our Facebook Fan Page this Friday, September 9. Samantha, our very own Fundraising Coordinator will be there to answer all your questions and help spark all sorts of new ideas. She is full of tips, tricks and best practices when it comes to making the most our of your fundraisers.

How can you get involved? Simply post a question for Samantha on our wall  this Friday and she will answer your question in the comments.

Date:  Friday, September 9
Time: 1-2pm EST
Place: Mabel’s Labels Facebook Fan Page

See you then!

By the time I had my sixth kid, I figured I had this parenting thing wrapped up.

Well, this cheeky toddler has knocked me square off my parenting high horse. One of our babysitters describes him as an adorable weirdo. One of his weirdo things is that every night for the last six months, he has insisted upon falling asleep on the family room floor. I later transport him to a suitable floor upstairs when I head to bed. Maybe it’s not a big deal, but for this “establish good bedtime routines and habits” mama, this sleeping on the floor stuff is outrageous!

What’s strange about it is why it started happening. During the Christmas holidays, we stayed in an old farmhouse that belonged to Daddy-o’s deceased grandparents. The house sits empty unless family members wish to have a farm stay. Not all will stay there because of the stories and rumours that it is possibly haunted.

I didn’t let those rumours deter me – when a family of our size can stay somewhere for free, we don’t turn it down. On about the third night, my little guy woke up in his crib screaming in a way that made me run so fast my feet didn’t touch the ground. I rescued him from his crib, resettled him then went back to bed a little confused. Next night, the same thing happened, except this time there was no way he would go in the crib or the room. I took him into the family room, fell asleep on the couch and he fell asleep on his little blanket on the floor beside me. He has remained on a floor ever since.

I spent the next morning shaking my head in confusion. He was not unwell and his mood was otherwise fine. Daddy-o finally solved the mystery for me when he got a sheepish look and said: “I think he saw the ghost”. Suddenly, everything made sense and this non-believer started re-thinking my ideas on the subject. Thanks to that pesky ghost, all my perfect baby routines have gone down the crapper and I have a toddler who is a floor dweller.

Have you had an experience that has turned you into a believer? I’ve heard that children and animals may be more sensitive and aware of this kind of activity. Is it true?

My kids love hanging out with Shane and his team from Adamson Lawn Care (www.adamsonlawncare.com)

I recently popped down to my local grocery store with a bottle of wine and farewell card for my favourite cashier, who was working her last shift. Some complications as a result of MS have forced her to retire. Every time I see her, I get a hug as she makes fun of my monstrous grocery bill and comments on how many or how few children I happened to have with me on that particular day.

I find it hard saying goodbye to community helpers. When my mail carrier died a couple of years ago, I was pretty torn up. I got to wondering if everyone gets attached to community helpers the way I do and, wanting to do a temperature check to see if this was “normal”, did some asking around.

From that bit of digging, I now hypothesize that people whose kids have special needs feel particularly connected to community helpers. We become very attached to the various people in the lives/health/development of our children, and perhaps it carries over to community helpers in general.

I’ll never forget how I felt when I found out, a few days before the new school year began, that our school principal was being transferred. This is the kind of news that keeps parents like me up at night. We think about the years spent relationship building, advocating, winning that principal over – all that time, energy and investment, gone. A new principal means having to start all over again.

The same goes for those in the medical profession. When friend and Mabel staffer, Melissa, found out that her daughter’s very first nurse was leaving their hospital, she experienced extreme distress. How can these people just up and move on when we rely on them? There is no such thing as a “simple” transfer in our worlds.

Last month, my son’s young, vibrant and extraordinary speech therapist, Kim Pace, finally lost her incredibly courageous battle against cancer. She leaves behind countless devastated parents of children with special needs.

They say that it takes a village to raise a child. I, for one, appreciate and value every one of those villagers. I will miss Bonnie the cashier and Kim the speech therapist. My village won’t be the same without them.

Here is what a typical evening looks like in our home…

5:15-6:15 pm: Prepare and eat dinner.
6:15-6:30 pm: Clean up after dinner. Make sure lunch boxes are out for the next day. Oldest son loads dishwasher.
6:30-6:45 pm: I take the dog for a walk with or without the kids. This is much more relaxing without the kids.
6:45-7:45 pm: The younger kids play inside or outside, usually climbing on Daddy. My oldest son uses this time for homework if he did not do it after school.
7:45-8:30 pm: Shower time! The kids get showered up, stories read and off to bed.

I know exciting stuff right? I know routines don’t sound fun but I feel it’s necessary to give your family some sort of guideline to go on. Choose a schedule that works for you. You might prefer doing some of your morning chores like packing lunches the night before. I prefer to do them in the morning. I find that in this season in my life I prefer to wake up before the kids and not stay up as late at night. Believe me this has been a very gradual process, I am NOT a morning person. I have found that this just works better for us.

Do you ease your kids back into a school routine?

My father died in December. He had spent the last several years very unwell, and my mother spent a lot of her time taking care of him. That is a difficult situation for any family, but it is even more difficult when the person you are caring for continuously makes choices that contribute to their bad health. And so, although he was a loved man, the result was a team of fairly frustrated family members.

My biggest frustration was trying to understand why he didn’t make choices that would allow him to be involved more fully in the lives of his grandchildren. He adored each and every one of them. Every morning he asked my mother which of his grandbabies was going to visit that day. He had frequent visits from his collection of loving grandkids, who called him The Gaffer. Kids would disappear into his man cave and they’d have the place trashed instantly – toys everywhere, cushions off the couches and the TV channel changed to their station. Every visit was a kid invasion into The Gaffer’s space. Interestingly, he was not at all bothered by the noise or chaos. He was never impatient with them and he certainly never snapped at any child. Visits ended with hugs, kisses and “I love you’s”.

I felt that relationship wasn’t good enough because he didn’t actually DO anything with my children. His illness made it so he couldn’t – that pesky illness that didn’t really have to be there. My dad never read to the children, and certainly never played a board game or did a puzzle with them. He didn’t take them out for walks or do any of the other things I see active grandparents doing with their grandchildren. It made me sad that he was missing out. And, so were my kids.

Apparently, I was wrong. A couple of weeks after his death, my 9-year-old daughter emerged from her bedroom at midnight to share a drawing of him. Included in the illustration were several messages and statements – one for each day since he had died. The most striking message to me was “I loved EVERYTHING about you”.

All that time I thought he wasn’t DOING anything with his grandchildren, he was very actively doing the thing that was most important to them. He was loving them. And it was all they needed.

Rather than "shush" my kid, I just throw another plug in his gob

I’m a little bit nosey and don’t pretend otherwise. On my recent travels to a conference, I injected myself into a couple of situations that were none of my business. I just couldn’t help it.

The first was on my way to the conference. Across the aisle from me sat a mother and her surfer dude teenaged son. He was polite, respectful, handsome – he pretty much had all the qualities I hope my kids have as teenagers. He also happened to be living with Down Syndrome. At one point he was making a few noises. I didn’t take much notice because I’m surrounded by noisy people all the time. Then, from somewhere nearby a random passenger let out the loudest, rudest SHUSH I’ve ever heard. I was angry and determined to find the culprit. I wanted to give the SHUSHER a piece of my mind. All my investigations were pointless – the SHUSHER would not come forward and admit to the SHUSHING.

On the way home came Nosey Parker incident #2. A young dad was sitting behind me and having a cell phone conversation with the mother of his baby. They were discussing her plans for the next day. It sounded like she had a fun event to attend with a group of friends. The dad expressed a bit of concern about taking care of the baby because he was exhausted from his work travels. He did the right thing – told her her to carry on with her plans but that he would find a babysitter for a couple of hours to get some rest before enjoying the rest of the day with his kid. Their phone call ended and a few quick calls to babysitters from the tarmac were made and he had it all sorted out. Happily, he called his baby mama back and explained that all was organized and that he was thrilled that she would have a well deserved day out with her friends. She must have announced that she decided to cancel the plans because he spent the next few minutes saying things like “but you deserve to go out” and “it’s not a hassle at all, I’m looking forward to having the day with my daughter”. Despite begging her to go, she could not be convinced. When he got off the phone, I heard a huge sigh of defeat and frustration.

Clearly, I know nothing about them, their relationship or how they share parental responsibilities. However, I couldn’t stop myself from turning around, admitting to eavesdropping and congratulating him on trying so hard to make it work – for wanting his partner to have a day out with her friends. Sure, I risked having him tell me to mind my own business but it was worth it when I looked at his exhausted big brown eyes and heard his whisper: “Thank you so much”.

It’s tough to know when to inject ourselves into a conversation or situation that we’re not directly involved in. For me, often my gut responds before my brain has the chance to make a decision. The greatest risk for the Nosey Parker is humiliation. For those of us who have experienced enough of that already, it’s not a risk that gets a whole lot of consideration.