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?

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?

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!

Sometimes my kids may ask for a bowl of snow for dinner. And when they do, they may just get it.

That is what I call the dinner hour at my house – feeding time at the zoo. It’s not news – families that eat together regularly are better and the rest of us suck. Time Magazine reports that the more often families eat together, the less likely kids are to smoke, drink, do drugs, get depressed, develop eating disorders and consider suicide. They have a better chance of doing well in school, delaying having sex, eating their vegetables, learning big words and knowing which fork to use.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, that all sounds fine, and although I want my kids to learn big words, there are a few reasons gathering around the dinner table only happens on weekends for our family.

Practical:
My biggies get home from school at 3:00pm absolutely “starving” and Daddy-o doesn’t get home from work until 7:00pm. I refuse to spend four hours listening to kids complain about being hungry. I am also not willing to shove snacks in their gobs in an effort to hold them over until the adults are ready to eat. I prefer to take advantage of that after-school appetite and fill their bellies with a healthy dinner at that time. It sets them up with lots of energy for their evening sports or outdoor play. Sure, they get hungry again later, at which time I’ll happily serve up toast, cereal, fruit or veggies as an evening snack.

Emotional:
So is our family falling apart? Have we become a huge non-communicating mess? Hardly. There are many other times in the day when parents and families can connect that don’t involve food and sitting. Growing up, I had dinner with my family every single night. Did I enjoy it? Not really. You see, for a kid who didn’t like food, the dinner table often represented a place of conflict. My mom was rightly frustrated that she spent time preparing beautiful meals only to have me and my sisters turn our noses up at them. My dad would inevitably get grumpy with us, falling into those ridiculous parenting platitudes like “you’re not leaving the table until….” And I can assure you, not every child will eat “eventually”. I found hunger pain more appealing than many foods.

Meaningful conversation didn’t always happen around our table, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. My memories credit family walks and bedtime tuck-ins as those special moments and important times.

Parenting is a tough gig these days. There are a lot of studies and research directing us. While I think it’s important to consider the information that we are bombarded with, I like to integrate that with my experiences, some common sense, and the knowledge that I’m the one best fit to make the decisions for my family. The dinner table is not going to make or break my family. I’m quite capable of doing that all on my own, thank you. Check back with me in a few years though – if no one is using three syllable words, I may reconsider.

I often speak about how I do not have the “I’m done” gene when it comes to babies. Whenever I have a newborn, I think, “Yeah, I could do this one more time”. The problem is, I say that EVERY time – whether it’s baby #1 or baby #6.

As a result of my gene-lacking situation, some practical decisions had to be made so I wouldn’t one day find myself in the awkward position of being unsure if I was pregnant or experiencing menopause.

Because Daddy-o is sensitive about this topic, I need to remain somewhat elusive. Having said that, I’d like to share my feelings about a minor surgical procedure that he *may* or *may not* have had.

Having the baby door slammed shut on me didn’t hurt the way I had expected it to. I thought I would mourn the end of an era. Seems quite the opposite happened, as evidenced by a few things:

1) I packed up all my maternity clothes to give away and didn’t secretly hoard my faves “just in case”. That is how I always packed away my maternity clothes in the past. I didn’t really pack them away – they were never too far out of reach.

2) I got rid of my newborn baby clothes and blankets and didn’t shed a tear. In fact, once I cleared out all those teeny tiny things, I gave myself a pat on the back for decluttering and then repurposed the plastic storage bins.

3) I acquired a baby niece and didn’t abduct her. This was the true test. When my sister had baby Isla in January, I was worried. Usually when I hold a newborn, I can feel myself immediately ovulate. But I’m fine. I’m actually GOOD. I don’t need to have one of my own! Remarkable.

I believe that as long as the possibility of another baby existed, I would always have thought “Maybe just ONE more”. Strangely, as soon as the option was taken off the table, it’s as though I got injected with a healthy dose of the “I’m done” gene. This was a huge surprise and wonderful relief – or a certain Daddy-o *may* or *may not* have found himself back at a clinic getting another surgical procedure to undo the first surgical procedure.

I was recently given an amazing opportunity from my friends at Disney Canada to attend the Disney Social Media Moms conference in Orlando. I jumped at the chance – by March, who doesn’t need to get a hit of that happy drug the Big Mouse deals out?

The added bonus was that this conference is a family getaway….well, for a family of four, anyway. Once I got a friend to agree to come along as babysitter, I was left with two kid spots.

You understand my dilemma. How does a mama of six pick her two “favourites” to bring along? One friend suggested making them audition via domestic challenges; another friend said not to bring any of them.

The thought of leaving everyone at home to be “fair” was not considered. I want my kids to understand that sometimes they get opportunities and sometimes they don’t. Often, neighbours and friends feel obligated to invite several of my kids to their child’s birthday party because they don’t want anyone to feel left out. I assure them that the uninvited kids will be just fine – they know that their turn will come. I think disappointment is not such a terrible feeling for a kid to have to deal with now and again.

Choosing which children to bring was not actually hard. I’m pretty practical when it comes to the kiddos and bringing the two biggies, ages 10 and 11, made sense for a few reasons: they would be easy for my friend to take care of, they are tall enough for every ride and, most importantly, they have the stamina to survive amusement park hours and activity without getting crabby.

Having said that, I wanted to communicate the travel plans to the other children with as little drama as possible, so this is what I told the unchosen:
“I have to go to a work conference in Florida. I am allowed to bring two children with me but they have to be 10 years of age and older. There is a chance that they may go to Disney for a day or so while we are there.”

I explained all of the fun activities I had lined up for them in my absence. The two biggies then did an exceptional job of keeping quiet about any trip plans that were in the works.

All went well until we arrived at Disney and had dinner with all of the other conference attendees and their families. My kids observed and noted that there were many children there under the age of 10 years old.

How did I explain that to them? I told them that while it is always important to be as truthful as possible, sometimes lying is appropriate. I explained that “white lies” sometimes help to cushion the truth and this was one of those situations. I trusted that they had the maturity to understand that and, indeed, they completely got it, which confirmed why they were the chosen ones. So on top of having a fabulous time on Space Mountain, at Epcot Centre and the Magic Kingdom, they learned a few life lessons.

No question, teaching kids when to lie is a tricky topic – have you had to deal with it? What has been your experience with “white lies” and your kiddos?

Pa on his last day at the farm with Oma and his 16 grandkids

Two years ago I was pregnant with my sixth baby and boarded a 15 hour flight with my five small children. I was horrified to discover that the airline had put me beside a small child traveling alone. As if I didn’t have enough kids to care for on that journey.

A few months ago, I blogged about a flight I was on with a lovely elderly gentleman who was bravely traveling with his wife who had Alzheimer’s.

Imagine my surprise when a few weeks ago I boarded a 15 hour flight with six kids only to discover who was traveling alone beside me this time: An old guy. With Alzheimer’s.

That was just the tip of the irony iceberg this holiday season.

We traveled half way across the world to spend time with my sick father-in-law. Four days after arriving, my own father died back at home. Yep, you heard that right – I leave the country and my own dad decides it’s a fine time to pop off. Between my dad’s death and my FIL’s cancer, my son mentioned that he was experiencing some unfair events in the grandpa department.

He also noted that there is one grandpa who is still fighting fit. He was referring to my 96-year-old grandpa, his great-grandpa. What is the secret to this old guy’s long life? From my observations, it would seem that the tricks to his longevity include never eating vegetables, indulging in a whopping bowl of Jell-O and ice cream every day, setting yourself up with about 400 great-grandchildren and staying married to the same woman for 75 years.

A few days ago, our overseas journey came to an end. We wearily walked through our front door, only to be greeted with a phone call informing us that my FIL had just passed away. Seems the best time to die is shortly after my family leaves the country.

Has it been a great holiday season for my family? I could come up with a few reasons to grumble, but we’ve somehow managed to take the advice of my 95-year-old grandma: life is for the living and there’s no time to be sitting around waiting for people to die. So, in spite of it all, we did some living.

As we head into 2011, I’m mourning the loss of my dad and FIL, acting as amateur grief counselor to my kiddos and thinking I may just spend a bit more time over the next year sharing bowls of Jell-O with my grandpa.

My friend Emily over at The Motherhood recently asked me to co-host an online discussion about how to “unspoil” your child. Due to a scheduling conflict, I couldn’t participate, which was disappointing for me. I find spoiling kids to be a particularly annoying habit of many parents.

I started thinking about how kids are spoiled, other than in the usual fashion of parents allowing them to have too much crap.

Two situations came to mind:

1) Serving them hand and foot
I know a mom who has two children, ages thirteen and eleven. She has been at home for most of those years raising the children and obsessively cleaning her house. Because she is both a control and neat freak, she has all but banned the kids from going into the kitchen. Children in the kitchen means there is risk of a mess being created. Sadly, what this has created is much worse. If her children want something from the kitchen, she jumps up and fetches it for them. Imagine an eleven-year-old child not getting himself a glass of milk. If my five-year-old dares ask me to get her a glass of milk, I inquire if her legs are painted on. So, I say it’s time to worry less about mess-making and more about creating couch-dwelling, order-barking tweens.

2) Paying them for being a part of the family
I’m not at the stage yet where I have kids old enough to babysit younger siblings, but I suspect when the time comes, I won’t pay them to do it. It just rubs me the wrong way – shouldn’t we take care of each other, not for money, but because that’s what families do? For the same reason, I don’t pay children for doing household chores. Maybe when I start getting a pay cheque for making dinner, the kids can start getting one for clearing the table. Until then, they’ll do it because they are a part of a family community where everyone is expected to contribute.

So let them mess up your kitchen. Then don’t pay them to clean it up.

Two years ago, our family sponsored a child in Costa Rica named Oscar Mario. He was the chosen one for very specific reasons – at the time, our family was a bit light in the boy department so we thought a male would even things out nicely. My eldest son was obsessed with Super Mario, so when we saw a child who had the name Mario, it was clearly a good fit.

The kiddos feel very connected with Oscar Mario – they send him letters and art work, and anxiously await his response. When they are all behaving like spoiled brats, I remind them of Oscar Mario and his life, and they humbly retreat back into humans I am proud to have birthed.

Last year for Oscar Mario’s birthday, our family sent off a package with stickers, cards and Mabel’s Labels. Some months later, it was returned unopened. I did what every good mother does – hid it from the kids and forged a letter of thanks from Oscar Mario.

I had been meaning to reach out to the agency to investigate the returned package. But our monthly donation continued to be withdrawn so I assumed everything was fine. Of course, following up on the package ended up at the bottom of my “to-do” list – tied in last place with about 20 other items.

Last month I got a letter saying we have a new sponsored child because Oscar Mario cannot be located. Not be located?! I started flipping out wondering how he just fell off the radar. Upon investigation, it seems that families commonly relocate without notifying the agency. So my next question was about where my money was ending up if my kid had gone MIA. I was told it went to his community. I do remember signing on and reading something briefly about how the money is distributed locally – I think the sponsored kid thing is more of a sales tactic.

It’s a sales tactic that worked very well on us. I’m pretty sad about losing Oscar Mario. For two years, we’ve been looking at his adorable picture on our fridge. He’s been my “go-to guy” when the kiddos need to be reminded about how privileged they are.

I have actually been putting off telling the kids about our now long lost friend. I’m torn between the truth (that he’s gone!) and telling them that his family won the lottery and Oscar Mario is busy managing his house staff in between private school tutorials and cello lessons. Suggestions welcomed.