Good big brothers don't expose the Santa lie to little brothers.

I spoke last year about the difficulty of outing Santa to my son. He was at an age that most kids no longer believed, so he needed to know – I didn’t want his ‘believing’ to potentially embarrass him among his peers.
I took the opportunity to spill the beans about Santa to him last June. The timing was good since absolutely no one was talking about Mr. Claus. My son was shocked, but generally it went over well. I positioned it in a way that he felt a part of the inner circle of maturity – he now had the responsibility not to ruin it for his younger siblings. He was on the same team as us parents, and it seemed to have some legs.

Not long after that, my 10-year-old daughter came downstairs one morning in tears. Apparently that slacker of a Tooth Fairy had forgotten to visit for the third night in a row. I guided her into the mud room, shut the door and said: “OK listen, I’m the Tooth Fairy and I suck at it, so (reaching into my pocket) here’s five bucks. You’re getting a couple of bucks extra as hush money”. She started laughing hysterically and asked who else was in on it. I said her big brother knew so she sought him out for a quiet meeting for those “in the know”. Big brother assumed she knew about all of the parental lies so blew the Santa secret. No great surprise for her – she admitted to having some suspicions on the Santa front.

Now that the holiday season is upon us, my son said to me last week “Mom, I’m really mad at you for telling me about Santa, but thanking you since no other kids my age believe in him. But, it’s still OK for me to believe in the Christmas spirit, right?” Yes son, permission granted.

And so, I have four believers in the big guy left and suspect by this time next year I’ll be down to three. The good news is, the two biggies are a great help. I can take them shopping and not worry about buying presents for the other kids. Also, they are in charge of relocating that ridiculous Elf on a Shelf every day. If you think I’m a bad Tooth Fairy, that’s nothing compared to when I had Elf-moving duties. Let’s just say we had the laziest Elf in town – and that’s exactly what I’d tell the kids.

Do you have a houseful of believers?

It's a sad day when you sit your kids down to warn them about being too trusting of coaches and mentors.

Last weekend, the whole family was in the truck and Daddy-o needed to dash into a shop. The rest of us waited in the vehicle, talking about capital cities. By the time he returned, we were in a big conversation about Penn State. He shot me the “How the heck did that happen?” look. As it turned out, the conversation went in a direction that provided an opportunity for this discussion. Besides, I had the undivided attention of all of them and had to take advantage of that.

I tried to explain the situation in simple terms – it was discovered that a trusted and loved coach was touching children in their private areas over many, many years. The point of the discussion was three fold; it was a chance to:

- remind them that people we love and trust can hurt us;
- once again say if an adult ever tells them to keep a secret from me, unless it has to do with a gift, it’s a red flag. Adults don’t ask children to keep secrets from their parents;
- re-state that no one is ever allowed to touch them or make them touch. If there is touching of any kind that makes them uncomfortable, they are encouraged to speak up and self-advocate, knowing that they will be supported by their family.

Then came the question period, and boy, did they ever do a good job of it. Three questions were particularly difficult and I was completely unprepared for them. I fielded them with honesty and think it went as well as it could.

Question #1:
Why would a grown-up WANT to touch a child like that?
(Insert my sad explanation about creepy pedophiles and the things they will do to “groom” a child).

Question #2:
What if the kid didn’t tell the coach to stop? What if the coach didn’t know the kid didn’t want to be touched?
(Insert my explanation that adults KNOW it’s wrong. Even when kids don’t speak up, adults know it’s against the law).

Question #3:
What if the coach didn’t actually “hurt” the child?
(Insert my explanation of different kinds of abuse, and how the ones that don’t physically hurt can be just as/even more damaging).

How did you deal with Penn State? Did you use it as an opportunity to speak with your kids about the hard stuff, or was it just too difficult to go there?

Just prior to taking this photo, someone may have attempted a triple back flip off of the diving board....

I’m all about dads playing hard with the kiddos, but around here I’ve noticed that “playing with” the kids has a tendency to transform into “showing off” for the kids. Unfortunately, when the showing off starts, the risk of Daddy-o injuries increases. That famous quote from Top Gun often comes to mind: “Your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash”. I must admit that when such adult injuries happen, I’m not exactly sympathetic.

One particular incident occurred a few years ago. Daddy-o had the kids outside to demonstrate some bike tricks. Before long, he entered the house, bracing his arm and saying I had better drive him down to the hospital. I quickly determined that the arm injury was the result of falling off his bike – the bike that he was standing on… while riding down a hill. I suggested that rather than have me pack up all six children for some quality time in the ER, he use his good arm to get himself to the hospital. My compassionate nature does not always shine when our family experiences a showing-off induced injury.

I know other families have suffered such mishaps as well. I recently ran into an old high school friend shopping with his family. When we were kids in the same neighbourhood, this guy lived on his skateboard – riding it everywhere and doing impressive tricks with all his boarding buddies. As we stood chatting in the shop, I noticed his arm was in a brace. When asked about his injury, he told a tale involving breaks in several locations, hospitals, surgeries, pins and rehabilitation. Curious, I asked about the cause of the injury. His wife sighed and rolled her eyes. Yep, you guessed it – he’d dusted off the skateboard to show the kids a few of his old tricks.

Other injuries we’ve encountered have come from lifting heavy items, and an unforgettable one involved wood chopping and an axe. How about you? Has the show-off injury phenomenon made its way into your home? Who do you take to the ER more often – your kids or your spouse?

Soon into our Hallowe’en night trick or treating adventures, my three Biggies ditched me and the smaller siblings and hit the neighbourhood with a couple of cousins. The five master trick or treaters went off into the night with a plan – to collect as much candy as humanly possible. There were strategies and maps – and they identified speed and perseverance as keys to their success. They factored in occasional pit stops to drop off their current candy load so it wouldn’t weigh them down, thereby slowing them. After three hours of relentless hitting of pavement, they returned home victorious – pillowcases full of loot.

I’m like most parents – I look at all the crap and wonder what the heck we’re going to do with it. Two weeks ago I found the last remaining bag of candy from last Hallowe’en hidden in the back of a bedroom closet. I hope never to relive that experience. Parents have varied opinions about how to deal with the sweet treats – divide it into portions, have them gorge themselves sick, steal the good stuff when the kids are in bed, or donate it.

Although my kids love sweets as much as the next guy, I know that Hallowe’en is more about the hunt. When I heard that a local dentist set up a candy buy-back program, I knew that my kids would love to get in on that action. Now they’d be making cash for their hard-earned candy. The dentist offers up two bucks for every pound of candy, then the dental practice donates it all.

My theory that trick or treating is all about the hunt was verified when the kids divided their haul into a ‘keep’ pile and a ‘sell’ pile. The particular child pictured ditched two full shopping bags of candy, and kept only the one very small package she is holding in her hands. The other kids were remarkably similar.

What did you do with your loot? Do you have super-motivated Trick or Treaters or are they more the ‘hand-the-treats-out-at-the-door’ type?

This past weekend I was supposed to go on my first “girls weekend” in three years. Instead, I was sick so lounged on the couch with children piled on top of me. But, I did pull up one of my old posts and reflected upon “The Rule”. How much do you talk to your friends about your kids?

My ninety-two-year-old grandmother has given birth to a lot of babies. She had babies in the 1930s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. She was collecting the baby bonus and old-age pension at the same time. Grandma is as wise as she is old, so when she talks, this humble creator of five babies drops everything and listens.

Grandma thinks women should not gather and talk about their kids. At first I found this to be a very strange perspective. I have five small kids and can turn every conversation into a discussion around their accomplishments, challenges, teachers, activities, poops, pukes, and sleeping patterns. What more is there going on in my life? If not for kiddie-gab, is there much else I can say?

That is precisely her point. I once returned from a weekend away with my longtime girlfriends. You know the kind of gals I’m talking about — the ones who have been around since the beginning of time. They were there holding your hair back while you puked up the peach schnapps you guzzled in the school parking lot before the dance. They remember when you got your driver’s license, cried with you that first time your heart was broken, and would share your single dorm room bed during a weekend visit. These are the gals who were your bridesmaids and actually knew what you were like before you were someone’s mama.

The weekend was geared to be a fantastic catch-up with the old gang and Grandma gave me strict instructions to report back to her with all the gossip and antics the weekend held. However, come Monday morning, the two of us sat with our cups of tea and I delivered a shockingly boring report. I walked away from that weekend knowing that Little Johnny was an exceptional reader and Little Janey is the best player on her soccer team, but didn’t know much else.

Lamenting this, Grandma perked-up and told me it was time to implement “The Rule.” As a young mother, Grandma occasionally gathered with a group of women. It was one of the very rare occasions they did not have their children with them. She set a rule for the group. No one was permitted to talk about her children. “The Rule” was complied with and these women enjoyed many years of social gatherings, discussing every topic imaginable — except their kids.

The next year came quickly and our annual weekend together was around the corner. The e-mails started flying — deciding who was driving, who was cooking, who was bringing the wine! Now was the time to suggest “The Rule,” but I was concerned with how it would be received. I was telling people I didn’t want to hear about their kids — the bonus was they didn’t have to hear about mine! The two childless friends immediately responded to me. I had been elevated to hero status in their eyes. The other e-mails started trickling in. Everyone agreed that it was time for “The Rule” to be passed onto our generation.

No one will dispute that your children are all consuming and have a way of taking over your entire existence. Even my grandmother would readily agree. I once heard someone say having a child is like watching your heart walk around outside of your body. True enough, but every once in a while you need to step back and find that little piece of yourself that sometimes gets lost in the school meetings, hockey practices, and music lesson drop-offs. For this busy mama, it is officially one weekend a year, but I try not to let the lesson of “The Rule” stray too far.