We had a dramatic evening. Evan packed his most treasured belongings in a shiny Spider-man suitcase, and ran away. It was a bit tense and quite funny. But as weird as it seems, I had not, until tonight, thought about how I would deal with the scenario of one of my kids threatening to run away. Why is that? Surely I must have known that this was going to happen at some point. I mean, doesn’t every kid run away? I was unsure of how to deal with it. I didn’t want to help him pack and say ‘”it’s been nice knowing you,” because I want him to know that he is important to this family. But I don’t reward bad behavior, which is how he was behaving, and making a big dramatic deal of him leaving would, I think, do just that.
Of course I didn’t for a second think he would leave. I knew he had packed but he was taking so long deciding what he should take that I continued with the dishes.

Colin tugged on my pants with a crayon and notepad. “Can you write a letter to Santa for me, Momma?”
“Sure I can, Colin, what would you like?”
“Write, ‘bring me a new shiny Spider-man suitcase because my brother “take’d” mine when he ‘runned’ away.’”
I ran out the front door and what a pathetic sight. Evan was walking to our neighbor’s house holding his suitcase with his head down. He was under a traffic light in the rain.
“Evan, come back here,” I yelled, but nicely.
Eventually he came in but was upset.
I told him how sad I would be if he ever ran away.
“But you’re such a mean mommy,” he said.

The reason he was running away was that he threw a baseball in the house hitting a shelf that held my signed bone china, breaking 3 of my favorites.They were valuable and I am one of the few who actually still use china when we entertain. Evan ran up the stairs crying. I had no reaction. I simply turned off all the lights downstairs and the TV, grabbed the jammies and said, “it’s time for bed.” I knew if I reacted, I would flip, so instead, I did nothing. For Evan, doing nothing was worse. Then he knew I was really upset (I’ll put that in my vault for when he’s 18). So that is when he threatened to leave.

“Evan,” I said. “Trust me, you have never in your life seen a mean mommy.“

A few weeks ago, we had intruders in our home. We were traumatized, it took lots of money to get rid of them, and we’re still on edge. Who were these awful intruders you may ask? Nits. And if you don’t know what nits are, then you’re very lucky! Nits are the eggs that are left by lice, and they are very hard to get rid of. I can now write about this because they’re gone…for now.

After Colin came home with a note from school saying nits were found, we washed everything in our home in hot water, gave both boys lice treatments, spent an hour picking out all the nits and bagged all of their Webkinz not to be touched for 10 days. All of this effort was rewarded with yet another letter. So off to the laundry room I go to wash everything yet again, do another treatment, spend another hour picking out all those little…things. And then, another bleepin’ letter! The third time’s the charm, and we got it this time. So being the kind and caring person that I am, I’m going to give you a public service announcement that could save you a lot of time, effort and cash. Seeing as I have done all of the lice treatments available at our drugstore, I think that qualifies me.

NIX- Before you spend the over forty dollars, you should know, lice apparently are immune to this. Some pharmacists will tell you. Some won’t.

R&S- It has pesticides in it. Pesticides have been known to kill whole farms of oysters, so I felt a little weird pouring it over my precious sons head. On the bright side, it can’t be too harmful because it didn’t kill the little lice eggs. It too is about $40.

Results- We got the family sizes bottle, just in case, and it came to almost $40. We did the entire family and finally got rid of them. This is apparently pesticide free, but I am no doctor, so please talk to a professional if you have to deal with this same thing.

Also, get tea tree oil shampoo! If you wash your hair with it, and leave it on for 10 minutes, it is supposed to help you not get them in the first place.

I’m always trying to see the positive in every bad situation. Would you believe that I can say that because of this situation I am a less judgmental person? I remember a few years ago I saw these beautiful twin girls with their heads shaved because of lice. I thought, ”How lazy!” I thought that the mother probably shaved their head because that was easier than spending the time picking them out. Once I had experienced lice first-hand, I cannot imagine having two little ones with long hair, passing it back and forth to each other. I probably would have done the same. I mean, I had one child have it, and I felt like I needed nerve pills.

I’d also like to say that I think lice treatments should be covered by health care plans. Some families have to choose between a lice treatment and food.

I am very lucky to have some pretty fantastic women in my life. I have great friends, an awesome sister and Mom, I work with a group largely of women who are all fantastic and the women I go to school with are amazing. I have two friends who I went to school with and we, like a good marriage, have been together through good times and bad, sickness and health, and richer and poorer. For almost 20 years our friendship has been effortless. So effortless, in fact, that sometimes we forget to put forth any effort. We recently got together for dinner and drinks and in talking about it, we discovered that it had been a year since we did that— Shameful!

Jen and I drove up to meet Nad in the city. The entire way up, we were trying to justify our selfish evening away from our families— it was hysterical.

“It’s not like we do this all the time. It’s only for one night. This is a great lesson for our kids to learn, friendships are important.” Just some of the comments that we said.

My cellphone rang 3 times in the car on the way there.
“Hello Evan,” I answered not even having to ask who it was.
“When are you coming home? Daddy’s boring. There’s nothing to do. I miss you too much.” Just some of the comments that he said.

We started out with a bottle of wine in Nadia’s 11th-floor apartment which might as well be the penthouse. She’s single with no kids and is a resident at the QEII, very Grey’s Anatomy. There were no toys to be found with a killer view and candles lit. Unless it’s a birthday party or a power outage, I never ever light candles anymore– too dangerous. Walking into her apartment was kind of like a look back into my life pre-children and husband. The feeling of nostalgia made me want to do shooters and get another tattoo. But alas, having to entertain 2 children hung over does not appeal to me. So instead, we make a pact: ‘Water, water, wine; water, water, wine. Much different than our pre-children pact: ‘We’ll always be there to hold your hair.’

We went to the Homachie House for sushi. It was about midnight when we left. Back in the day, we would have stumbled to The Bitter End, or the Lower Deck. This night we took a cab to Blockbuster and rented I pronounce you Chuck and Larry. We walked back to Nad’s apartment from Blockbuster and talked about how excited we all were to put on our jammies and lose the high heels. Jen and I curl up to watch the movie and Nad folded laundry. Boy, has girls’ night changed.

We woke up at 7 am and had breakfast. Time to go back to real life. We say goodbye to the penthouse and hello to our lives as wives and moms. I just couldn’t wait to run in the house and kiss them all over!

I opened the front door to boots and coats thrown about the foyer. I heard Colin in the living room. “Daddy, can you wipe my bum?”

Maybe I can wait another minute or two.

Remembrance Day is one of my most cherished days of the year. It’s the one day that the feeling in the air has a texture. It’s pride, sadness, thankfulness and joy all wrapped into one. I always go to the service and leave just feeling…aware. Sometimes I wonder if my boys get it. They too participate in the service by marching from the Legion to the cenotaph, and they love it, but I’m sure they love it because they are with their buddies from CBL. I always explain why we’re there, but honestly, it just doesn’t register.

Tuesday morning there was a little war of our own going on. Evan threw a fit because he had no golf shirts in his dresser and he refuses to wear anything but a golf shirt. Meanwhile I’m madly trying to get him and his brother dressed and fed to meet the bus and to get to pre-primary in Gold River.
“Hurry up, get your sneakers on, eat your breakfast, wash your face.” Then, I expect them to have a productive and wonderful day after all of the bickering and nagging.
Tuesday night was much of the same. “Eat your supper, we’re going to be late for piano lessons.”
When we got home from lessons, Evan threw another fit when I said he could not go on the computer.
“Why don’t you just kill me then,” he screamed and threw himself on the floor followed by a 10-minute tantrum.
But I, sticking to my guns, say no. He didn’t do any reading which he is required to do in order to get computer time (in his defense, he did have a busy evening but I can’t break my own rule).
“I just have to go on Youtube and show you something, please, please, Mommy please.”
He hands me a crumpled piece of scrap paper that he had written “pittance of time” on.
Since this did seem important to him, I reluctantly broke my own rule, convinced that I’d regret this for years to come.
Tears well up in my eyes as I see what he was trying so desperately to show me. It’s a video on Remembrance Day by Terry Kelly. You simply must see it. Evan explained that the Grade 6’s sang this song at the assembly and then they showed the video and he thought I’d like it.

“And I even stayed silent for a whole minute and I will do it for 2 minutes on Remembrance Day, I promise,” he said. I mean I couldn’t make this stuff up. He really said this.
“Evan, you are just the most thoughtful kid,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” he said.

Thoughtful- yes, bashful- no.

I encourage you to watch it with your kids.

For over 6 years, I have been called mommy or occasionally Mamma. Both terms I wear like a badge. I was in the Superstore lineup putting my goods up to be rung through when Evan ran to the toy section and then couldn’t find which line I was in.

“Mamma,” he yells out in a panic.
“Over here, Evan,” I shouted back. The lady behind me gave me a knowing smile.
“I was called mamma too,” she said with a smile and then looked at her son with shaggy hair. I would guess he has about 10, but I’m bad with ages.
I smiled back and then it left my face. It then occurred to me that I would one day be a Mom.

A while later, we were all going upstairs to bed. Colin wanted to read his favourite story, “How I Became a Pirate,” but he left it downstairs.
“Can you go get it, Mom?” he asked.
I knew it was coming one day, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be until junior high school.
“Sure thing, Col,” I said back.
“That’s not my name,” he laughed. “It’s Colin.”
“Well, my name isn’t Mom,” I said, not knowing why this bothered me. You’d swear he called me Tina.
“You call Nanny Mom,” he said.
He had a point. Okay, I would have to let this go. I won’t be a mommy forever.

We all climbed up on my bed to read the story. As Colin swung his leg up on the bed, he whacked his ankle bone on the footboard post. (Why does that weird little bone hurt so much?)
Colin cried as if he were shot. “Mommy,” he screamed. “I broke my foot!”

I suppose when he really needs me, I will still be Mommy.

For over 6 years, I have been called mommy or occasionally Mamma. Both terms I wear like a badge. I was in the Superstore lineup putting my goods up to be rung through when Evan ran to the toy section and then couldn’t find which line I was in.

“Mamma,” he yells out in a panic.
“Over here, Evan,” I shouted back. The lady behind me gave me a knowing smile.
“I was called mamma too,” she said with a smile and then looked at her son with shaggy hair. I would guess he has about 10, but I’m bad with ages.
I smiled back and then it left my face. It then occurred to me that I would one day be a Mom.

A while later, we were all going upstairs to bed. Colin wanted to read his favourite story, “How I Became a Pirate,” but he left it downstairs.
“Can you go get it, Mom?” he asked.
I knew it was coming one day, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be until junior high school.
“Sure thing, Col,” I said back.
“That’s not my name,” he laughed. “It’s Colin.”
“Well, my name isn’t Mom,” I said, not knowing why this bothered me. You’d swear he called me Tina.
“You call Nanny Mom,” he said.
He had a point. Okay, I would have to let this go. I won’t be a mommy forever.

We all climbed up on my bed to read the story. As Colin swung his leg up on the bed, he whacked his ankle bone on the footboard post. (Why does that weird little bone hurt so much?)
Colin cried as if he were shot. “Mommy,” he screamed. “I broke my foot!”

I suppose when he really needs me, I will still be Mommy.

For over 6 years, I have been called mommy or occasionally Mamma. Both terms I wear like a badge. I was in the Superstore lineup putting my goods up to be rung through when Evan ran to the toy section and then couldn’t find which line I was in.

“Mamma,” he yells out in a panic.
“Over here, Evan,” I shouted back. The lady behind me gave me a knowing smile.
“I was called mamma too,” she said with a smile and then looked at her son with shaggy hair. I would guess he has about 10, but I’m bad with ages.
I smiled back and then it left my face. It then occurred to me that I would one day be a Mom.

A while later, we were all going upstairs to bed. Colin wanted to read his favourite story, “How I Became a Pirate,” but he left it downstairs.
“Can you go get it, Mom?” he asked.
I knew it was coming one day, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be until junior high school.
“Sure thing, Col,” I said back.
“That’s not my name,” he laughed. “It’s Colin.”
“Well, my name isn’t Mom,” I said, not knowing why this bothered me. You’d swear he called me Tina.
“You call Nanny Mom,” he said.
He had a point. Okay, I would have to let this go. I won’t be a mommy forever.

We all climbed up on my bed to read the story. As Colin swung his leg up on the bed, he whacked his ankle bone on the footboard post. (Why does that weird little bone hurt so much?)
Colin cried as if he were shot. “Mommy,” he screamed. “I broke my foot!”

I suppose when he really needs me, I will still be Mommy.