I suspect that this is just the beginning

Last Thursday at our multiples club playgroup Tristan was climbing on some large crash-pad-like things and fell. Being the exceptional mom I am I was too busy talking to some of the other moms and didn't actually see what happened. I did react to the blood curdling scream. When I picked Tristan up his nose was bleeding a bit but I couldn't really see anything so wrong that it called for the "mom I'm seriously in pain here" kind of cry.

We went home. The kids had a nap. They woke up. (Thrilling isn't it? Oh the life of a stay at home mom.) Tristan's eye was black and his nose was so swollen across the bridge that his eye was being pulled funny. Again being the exceptional mom that I am I thought wow he really fell hard. I sure wish I had seen what happened. And then we went on with our weekend.

It wasn't until Monday that I finally googled the symptoms of a broken nose.

• Nose bled at time of injury. Check.
• Nose swells into the eye. Check.
• Swelling doesn't go down within 24 hours. Check.
• May sound congested or have trouble breathing. Check.

Oh Lord.

So Tuesday morning we took him to emergency to get x-rays and surprise! it's broken. Do you know what is so fun to do? Take 2 two year olds and sit in a waiting room for hours on end and after playing with all the toys and eating all the fruit and crackers you brought and exhausting every children's song you know let them have juice to stave off the boredom. Then move to a little room with no toys and wait for more hours while the two year olds literally bounce up and down and almost literally try climbing the walls because the unfamiliar substance of sugar is coursing through their little bodies like crack. Then, try to get the hurt two year old to sit still for an x-ray when he's tired because it's nap time and he's cranky because he's just come off his sugar high. THEN go back to little room with no toys and wait some more so you can be told it was a clean break and will heal on it's own. Super.

I didn't think to take a picture until a few days after the injury so it's not nearly as dramatic as it looked the first day or so but you get the idea.

Teaching Ava her name part II

"Ava what are these letters?"
"A, V, A."
"Great! What does that spell?"
"Ava!"
Wow! I did not expect her to know that. I think I have a little genius on my hands! I wonder what else she can do.

"What are these letters?"
"J, O, Y."
"Good job! What does that spell?"
"Ava!"
Hmmm.

"How about these letters Ava?"
"C, Y, R."
"Awesome! What does that spell?"
"Ava!"
Alright so maybe not quite a genius....

Has anyone else seen this?

So there's a fried chicken chain out there that "puts an addictive chemical in it that makes you crave it fortnightly".*

I just saw their new holiday ad last night. Can there be anything more depressing than the "holiday feast for one"?

*More bonus points available. Where is the above quote from?

How do you spell mortified?

Last week we were in recovery mode from the previous weekend and our house had severely suffered. Especially the master bedroom.

We were expecting company Friday morning at 10 and I had to run a quick errand before they came. As I ran out my bedroom and down the stairs the thought flashed through my mind "Thank GOD no one will EVER see my bedroom like this."

I got home at 10:15. An hour or so later we were seeing our company off . I had just closed the front door and breathed a sigh of relief that there had been no reason for our company to see the upstairs when Hugh says, "So they asked for a tour of the house before you got here and I gave them one."

"What do you mean you gave them a tour? Tell me you did not take them upstairs. For the love of God you did not show them our bedroom....did you?"

"Maybe...."

If Hugh ever has occasion to ask why his xbox has been smashed to pieces and if I did it, I think I'm going answer maybe.

Remembering

Last weekend was a weekend of remembrance. I have struggled to get these words out and debated on whether to post this entry.

At various times throughout the weekend the sky was clear and blue, dark and stormy or just plain grey, as if colour and vibrancy had fled the chill of winter to wait for the newness of Spring.

Remembrance Day dawned crisp and cold and so blue it almost hurt. Standing in Riverside Park, listening to "Taps", I watched an old military helicopter fly overhead and release thousands of poppies to the crowd below. The arms of the trees around us were gnarled and knobby but still they reached to embrace the sky. I watched the blood red poppies float down through the brilliant blue sky to dance among the stark white trees. And my heart ached that there could be such beauty in the cold and chill and barrenness. And I released a breath I did not know I was holding.

The crowd clapped for the Veterans as they marched out of the Cenotaph and I remembered an Armistice Day ceremony I attended in Belgium while I was backpacking through Europe. I think the entire city had turned out and were lining the streets. The various military groups paraded by and I stood silent and small in awe of the roar of a crowd that celebrated as if the armistice had been signed yesterday and not almost 90 years ago. Canons boomed in the distant during the moment of silence compelling us to remember...remember...remember... Remember the sacrifice of those that have fallen. Remember the cost of our peace and freedom. Remember that life is meant to be lived. And I understood the passion of the people and I heard my voice join the cheering crowd as the soldiers made their return journey.

This weekend, November 13 also marked the one year anniversary of the day my sister lost her husband in a car accident. That day dawned dark and stormy. At the cemetery we stood in a semi-circle around Colton's newly erected monument and laid flowers and remembered. And we were silent. Because the day belonged to the wind and words had no place in it.

How can it be that it only takes one moment to change life so irrevocably? How is it possible for your entire world to be altered in just one instant?

I often think back to what I was doing a year ago. Who I was a year ago. What I took for granted a year ago. And I am determined not to waste today. I will not wait for winter's chill to thaw and release the colours of Spring. I will mix my own colours. I will paint a new canvas. And I will let the shadows of the grey that I cannot erase make the colour more brilliant.

In which I try to teach Ava her full name

"Can you say Ava?"
"Ava!"
"Can you say Joy?"
"Joy!"
"Can you say Cyr?"
"Cyr!"
"Can you say Ava Joy Cyr?"
"Ava Joy Cyr!"
"Okay. Now what is your full name?"
"POOP!"

Well that was unexpected.

putting the "fart" back in artsy-fartsy

Let's talk about crafts for a minute.

I consider myself fairly creative but not necessarily craft-y. My friend Michelle could do seminars on scrapbooking, makes her own Christmas cards and is a whiz with an embosser.

I embossed something once. I didn't so much melt the glitter as light the paper on fire.

Apparently my kids aren't so much into the crafts either.

We go to a structured play group every Wednesday (as opposed to the free-for-all that is the multiples playdate on Thursdays). It starts with a little song and then we sit at mini tables for craft-time. This week the kids were given glitter pens to squeeze onto paper plates. First Tristan tried to eat it, then he spent the rest of craft-time playing with the glitter pen; lid on, lid off, lid on, lid off. Ava let me squeeze some on her plate but wouldn't touch it preferring to name the colours of the glitter pens on the table. How funny, they were all purple!

The week before it was finger-painting. Well that didn't go over well with my uber fastidious kids. One of the play group moderators put Tristan's hand in the blob of paint and smeared it on his paper. The look on his face reminded me of those girls in horror movies who've just realized the "kindly neighbour" is actually the axe murder. "ah, Ah, AH" he said, the decibels rising with each word.

After much encouragement I managed to convince Ava that dipping her finger into the itty-bitty-est amount of paint would not be fatal she managed to make a mark on her paper about the size of a pin head. I tried to show by example just how fun finger-painting could be. They totally didn't buy it but I discovered that I am a finger-painter extraordinaire. My artwork was fridge-worthy.

The week before finger-painting was pumpkin decorating. This should have been better. No messy paint. No sticky glitter. Just stickers and markers. First Tristan tried to bite into the pumpkin and after realizing it didn't taste very good my kids sat the entire craft time staring at their mini pumpkins. Do you want a sticker? "NO! NO! NO!" I guess that was a pretty offensive question. How dare I think they would defile their pumpkins with markers and *gasp* stickers!

I should have known how it would be from the very first week. I dipped a sponge into paint, handed it to Tristan and he promptly put it in his mouth. (Did I mention that Tristan has a slight oral fixation?) Ava picked up the sponge with her thumb and first finger, her nose crinkled like she had just smelled a dirty diaper, and let it dangle over her paper for a moment before disdainfully letting it go. That sponge did not get picked up again.

Maybe they'll be good at sports...

the definition of chaos

1 multiples club play date
9 moms
23 kids under the age of 4