So I managed to do my ankle in, which landed me in an Aircast and crutches. I know what you’re thinking and for the record, I was not walking and texting. In fact, I was attempting to walk and talk at the VERY same time and managed to go over on my ankle. It’s a good thing I wasn’t chewing gum or I may have ended up in a full body cast.

Clearly this cast/crutches thing is not an ideal situation for a multi-tasking mama. To further complicate the matter, Daddy-o was out of town for the week and the affected ankle was attached to my driving foot. The already difficult task of getting various children to various activities at the same time reached a whole new level of crazy.

It was an interesting experience for me, and this is what being on crutches taught me:

- My friends who deal with real-life chronic pain, illness or disability – I know you find it annoying and even a little condescending when people tell you how amazing and brave you are, but yeah, that. I am not amazing or brave – mostly just whiney.

- Six-year-olds can pack their own school lunches and will include fruits and vegetables. They will also feel proud. Kids step up when they need to.

- Crutches take the focus off a sore ankle by causing excruciating pain to your armpits. Did the people who made the crutches plan it that way? Is it some twisted method of trying to distract from pain by creating new pain?

- Not being able to drive was like a forced holiday. I contemplated prolonging the appearance of injury, but convenience and reality won out.

- There are friends and family members who are extremely helpful. But when help is offered, I must be clear with instructions. I should specifically say, for example, that “picking up bread” means a minimum of three loaves in a family of our size. That one loaf that was dropped off lasted 20 minutes.

The top lesson, of course, is to watch where I’m going. Curbs have a way of jumping out at you when you least expect it. Have you had an injury or illness that has caused temporary disruption to family life? How did everyone manage?

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?

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?

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.

Although the reality is that I have six kids, in so many ways (as I’m sure you entrepreneurial types understand), when you create a business – you suddenly become a parent again.

Eight years ago, my business partners and I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Mabel. It was a long pregnancy, and the delivery was not easy, but she was born and is living among us. As a newborn, she was feisty and not always on her best behavior. Although we had other children, we were first-time parents to a child like this and there was a big learning curve. But, baby Mabel inspired us, kept us awake at night and worked us pretty darn hard.

When Mabel was first born she lived in my business partner’s basement. As she became a toddler, she required more space so my business partner moved to a bigger house with a bigger basement. Now, she is a cheeky big girl living in a 14,000 square foot facility.

As a baby, she was pretty bossy and kept on top of me and my business partners. She liked to keep us working through the night and clearly loved spending time with us. Now that Mabel is 8 years old she has become even bossier and has over 40 people running around after her at the Mabel’s Labels Headquarters every day.

The Mabelhood Class of 2010

As with our other children – our commitment, loyalty, love and hard work have paid off. We continue to nurture her and help her grow, but are so proud of where she is today.

And there she is – growing up before our very eyes!

One Lucky Mama!

A couple of weeks ago, my bad-breathing baby landed us in the Trauma Room in the Emergency at our local hospital. On about his fifth Ventolin treatment, a woman was brought into the bed beside us.

The woman was explaining her symptoms as they were going through triage a few feet away from us. Now, I’ve only seen ER twice and maybe half an episode of Grey’s, but it was pretty darn clear to Dr. Mama that this woman was about to have a massive heart attack. During the chit-chat, I learned that her two young daughters had brought her in and were waiting in the lobby. I also learned that she was 50 years old, the same age her mother was when she died of a heart attack. At that point, I started to feel panic – I just wanted the questions to stop and the treatment to start. I kept thinking “If that were my mother…”

No great surprise, just as the question period was finishing, she went into full-on cardiac arrest. After 40 minutes and 7 shocks to the chest, she was pronounced dead. I was selfishly thankful that I was there with my only kid who would remain completely clueless that someone just died beside us.

Then I thought about the daughters in the lobby. The doctors bickered about who was going to take them into the Family Room to deliver the news. They managed to get the girls to call in their aunt and uncle before telling them their mother was dead.

Within a couple of hours, I was heading home with my son. As I got into my car, I noticed two sisters standing by the hospital entrance, embracing and crying. So this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about how they have no mother to celebrate with. And 10 years down the road, they may have babies of their own, who will never know Grandma.

In perfect honesty, I’m still frustrated that when that very sick woman entered the Trauma Room, there was too much chat and not enough action.

We only get one mother – there is no time to waste.

On March 5th, 1971 I was born. Yep, I just turned 40. All year I was talking about the big birthday bash we were going to have at our house – it was going to be quite the event! But the closer my birthday got, the more the idea of throwing a party became one big headache. So I started saying that I would have a party when the weather improved. When friends and family asked, I pitched it as an outdoor event – people swimming in the pool, drinking summer cocktails, and possibly even a band on our balcony. When I started talking about it, I believed I would do it. Before long, it became the perfect “out” and I just said it as a way of not having to deal with this party nonsense. Summer is far enough away that my birthday will be long forgotten. Having a “plan” also let other people off the hook who may have been feeling like they should organize something.

As a “Mama of Many”, I throw a lot of birthday parties every year. I simply don’t have time or energy to celebrate my own. In fact, I figured I’d better schedule my mid-life crisis for a time that better suits – so if you’re looking for me in May 2014, I’ll be cruising around in a sports car with a Botoxed face, looking for Ashton Kutcher.

How did I celebrate my birthday? I got a zit. Seems I’m fighting acne and wrinkles at the same time. Note that I use the term “fighting” loosely since I barely have the energy to splash water on my face at the end of each day. I also celebrated by bringing my normal “casual style” to a whole new level of casual. I was at the office last week and noticed that I was wearing cargo pants – with an elastic waist. And I love them. I was also wearing Blundstone boots that I’ve had so long that I think our Marketing Assistant must have been a toddler when they were purchased. My kids also took me out for a birthday dinner at their favourite restaurant. It’s called Philthy McNasty’s. Yes, it’s all class around here. I got to wear a hockey helmet while all the servers sang to me. My head is still itchy thinking about that helmet.

So I’m being 40 and fabulous in my own way – it just so happens that my fabulous includes zits, dirty boots and possible head lice. I may not have actually dodged 40, but somehow managed to escape the party, and I couldn’t be happier.

**photo cred to the wonderful Karen Walrond who refuses to alter pictures of women to make us look “better”. See her blog: http://www.chookooloonks.com

Daddy-o smootching Fin

A friend on Facebook recently posted some Valentine’s Day advice to all the men out there. In short, she suggested that all women gush over Valentine’s Day and appreciate special gifts and attention in celebration of this holiday. Even the women who say they don’t care, really do – deep down.

I looked deep into my soul to see if I wasn’t being honest with myself. After some serious self-analysis, I have to speak up on behalf of the unromantic – we think Valentine’s Day is at best, hokey and cheesy, at worst, bordering on pervy and creepy. Don’t get me wrong, I let my kids give out cards to their classmates and even sneak a heart-shaped chocolate treat into their school bags. It’s the fake romance stuff that freaks me out.

I considered some of the most traditional romantic Valentine’s gifts and thought it might be useful to give an explanation as to why I am not interested in them.

1) Flowers
I think of flowers as something that is going to take up valuable counter space for a week. When that week is over, I’ll have to get rid of the dead flowers and scrub the skanky vase. Don’t even get me started on the money – I’d rather not have to re-mortgage the house to cover the cost of my dozen Valentine’s Day roses.

2) Jewelry
I’m just not a jewelry gal. Daddy-o was pretty gutted back in our courtin’ days when I rejected the idea of having an engagement ring. In the end, I generously agreed that we could exchange engagement rings. Mine has now been sitting in a jewelry box for well over a decade, alongside its little friend, the wedding band.

3) The romantic dinner
I prefer our usual date night, which includes putting the kids to bed and sitting together with our laptops, side by side. In my books, there is no need to pay two babysitters and an expensive restaurant bill for some quality time together.

4) Cuddles from your adoring husband as you watch “Grey’s” on the couch together
Quite frankly, after cuddling with six small humans all day long, I just want a bit of personal space. Oh, and I don’t watch “Grey’s” or any other romantic-type shows anyway.

5) A lovely bottle of wine
I’m a beer drinker. Straight from the bottle.

I can’t be the only one out there? Speak up, please! I feel like I need to put an ad in the classifieds: “Unromantic Married Mom Seeks Like Women for Friendship and Understanding”.

And in desperate times, you look to older siblings for help!

With the recent death of both grandpas, I was left feeling like I needed a bit of help and support. I had six jetlagged kids up at random hours (some with fevers), work commitments and was parenting solo because Daddy-o was overseas for a week for funeral celebrations. Let’s just say, I’ve seen easier days.

Help is a funny thing. Some people offer to help, but we don’t take them up on it. Is it because we don’t think it’s a genuine offer? Is it because we are selective about who we think is actually capable of helping us?

During my recent tricky times, I found out the things that were most helpful for me:

Bossy People
I realized that when someone asks “What can I do to help?” it is too vague and the response is almost always “nothing”. The person needing help is too exhausted to come up with a plan. The offerer needs to take control and just deliver. One friend dropped me a quick e-mail to let me know she would be delivering dinner on Wednesday and Friday of that week. Not giving me a choice was paramount in the effectiveness of this help.

Visits
I was feeling a little loopy in my state of sleep deprivation. Hanging out with kids around the clock didn’t exactly help my sanity. I was also carrying a bit of guilt about being too exhausted to actually do anything interesting with the kids. Having visitors provided a great distraction.

Hands-On Help
Delivering food is a winner. A casserole drop-off brings me a ridiculous amount of joy. I don’t even care if it doesn’t taste good or my kids stick their noses up at it. It removes the dinner issue from my plate. That’s all that matters.

Taking kids for play dates also ranks high. During my week alone with the kids, I slept for three hours a night. While I function well on little sleep, this was pushing the limit. Try doing that for several consecutive nights. Actually, don’t. Reducing my kiddo head count for a couple of hours during crazy times will make me love you.

So what have I learned? Say “yes” to anyone and everyone who offers help, and when I offer it, I’ll be specific about what help I’m going to provide.

What do you do to lend a hand to a friend in need? Do you accept help when you need it?