Garage sale city

I am a devotee of the garage sale and of secondhand living, and it's all Yellowknife's fault.

When the Hubby (then Fiance) and I moved North, we needed many, many things to furnish our first home. We owned no furniture, no cutlery, no pots and pans. We essentially owned the clothes on our backs and an old dresser my former roommate gave me.

What we needed we got from friends, the secondhand store in town and the Yellowknife garage sale circuit.

You see, in the North, furniture is an expensive and precious commodity, since it has to be shipped from down south to get there. It doesn't matter if the local furniture store is selling it or if you order it from IKEA in Edmonton, it still has to travel, and the consumer pays up the nose to get it there. That goes for lots of other stuff, too, such as brand-name clothes and chic baby gear.

Conversely, when people leave, it is often more expensive to ship their Northern furniture and other items south than it is to buy all new and shiny stuff at their destination. That means you have people desperate for cheap furniture and other items, and other people desperate to sell their stuff for any price, just to get rid of it.

It's garage sale heaven.

We furnished our apartment on the Saturday of the May long weekend in 2000, with the help of our friend Julie and her trusty truck. She'd just moved North too, and with her wheels and Hubby's lifting skills, we all did well.

When the Hubby finished his basic training, I held a massive garage sale a week before he came home to move us to Victoria. It was raining, so the turnout was small. For two hours my front yard was stormed by about a hundred furniture seekers, clothes shoppers and pregnant women.

So imagine my dismay when I saw the Victoria version of a garage sale: a few paltry tables of worn-out toys and kitchen stuff, with one lonely and disgruntled shopper digging through the wreckage.

We are holding a garage sale tomorrow to sell some old furniture (Northern vintage!) along with a tonne of awesome kids' clothes and shoes (including two pairs of Robeez), a bike, some DVD stands, computer games, a computer speaker system, etc. If you live in town, come on over. Whatever is left will be free for the taking after noon. (This never would have been an issue in Yellowknife.) Wish us luck!

A day as a solo mother

The Hubby sailed to Alaska on Tuesday morning, so I am alone with the kids and a temporary live-out nanny for the month. (for those of you who don't know me in real life, we have had child care hell the past few months. I can't get into it here for many reasons, including legal ones.)

People often say, "I don't know how you do it." Well, let me tell you! Here's what happened today.

5:30 am: Alarm goes off so I can get up and exercise. Toddler N. wakes up at the sound, demanding baba. I'll just nurse her for a few minutes in my bed and then sneak downstairs to do my Pilates....

6:55 am: Dang, dang, dang.

7:00 am: Shower, dress and blow dry.

7:20 am: Head to the kitchen, empty dishwasher, plug in kettle for children's oatmeal.

7:40 am: Go and wake sleepy heads. Convince boys to get dressed ("No, Big I., your penis is not supposed to stick out of the underwear hole. Put it back in. Now.")

7:45 am: Change Toddler N.'s diaper, convince her to sit still so I can put her hair in a ponytail. Give up trying to put her in shorts and cede to her demand for a "pwincess dwess."

7:50 am: Breakfast for the kids while I desperately brush teeth and throw on makeup.

7:55 am: Nanny arrives on time, like clockwork. Realize we have no bread.

8:00 am: Tear out of the driveway in minivan to the corner store for bread, head back home, drop off bread. Kiss oatmeal-eating children. Deal with last-minute Big I. tantrum. Run out door at 8:15 am.

8:38 am: Arrive at work after taking every shortcut I can think of. Still have not eaten breakfast.

9:45 am: Sneak down to the Starbucks for a low-calorie, high-fibre smoothie (4 Weight Watchers Points.) Ask for a shot of espresso in smoothie (o WW points.) Pick up cup by lid and drop it on floor.

9:50 am: Starbucks barista remakes smoothie (with double shot now) for free while I sponge smoothie off myself and another 'Bucks worker mops the floor.

10:00 am: Think about lunchtime. Continue writing news releases.

noon: Go out to lunch with office staff, have a salad (yeah me, on diet!) and have a great time. Also drink a cosmo (bad girl, alcohol at noon.)

4:40 pm: After quiet day at office, run like mad thing toward parking garage. Wish I was riding my bike but takes too long.

5:15 pm: Arrive at home, receive hugs, kisses and nanny debrief.

5:30: Start cooking supper while trying to load washer and listen to kids talk about their day.

6 pm: Supper of low-fat burgers and veggies with dip. Kids actually eat everything served, including vegetables. Sit in stunned silence.

6:45 pm: After kitchen clean-up, brave the grocery store with all three kids. "I., don't sit on the bread. A., come back here and stop flapping your arms and head around [Someone is going to think there's something wrong with him, heck sometimes I wonder.] N., Bella [her doll] does not need her own cookie; share yours. I., you need to pee again???")

7:45 pm: Arrive home, chat with neighbours, put away groceries. Catch N. eating cookies out of one of the bags, shrug and let her.

8:25 pm: Clean-up of bedrooms and living room; kids actually help!

8:35 pm: Bedlunch.

8:45 pm: Send them upstairs to brush teeth while I prise Cheerios off the floor. Wonder why cereal bonds with hardwood on contact.

8:55 pm: Find kids brushing teeth instead of fighting as expected. Hug them all, help them finish.

9 pm: A full hour after bedtime, put the boys in bed, tell story about Daddy sailing, say prayers, turn out light, turn on music.

9:15 pm: Prepare for Toddler N.'s bedtime showdown, and am shocked when she asks for baba. She falls asleep nursing, an almost unheard-of occurrence lately.

9:30 pm: Sink into office chair and drink Coke Zero.

So there you have it, an easy day when Hubby is sailing. You don't want to know about the ones when I end the day sobbing and begging the two-year-old to go to sleep. Feel free to send wine, though.

Day One: A new solo adventure

The Hubby left this morning for his first sail, a ten-day trip around Vancouver Island. He packed yesterday afternoon, alternately excited and worried, while I desperately tried to get the house in some kind of order. I won't have his help for the next two weeks, so I can't just leave supper and clean up to him in the late afternoons.

The fact he'll be gone for awhile made me think about how far we've come in a month on the whole division of labour in the home front. My husband is not a sexist, but he does hate housework, and he will take whatever action necessary to only do what absolutely must be done around here. What ends up happening is I pick up the slack, so he has had a false impression of how much must be done to keep a place borderline clean.

But now I am working, and he is the first adult in the door most evenings. He is learning dishes left in the sink or crumbs left on the floor in the morning metastasize into a full-out disaster in the eight hours we're away from the house each day.

"Can you believe the mess on the floor?" he'll grumble, fetching the broom. "That was never there before!"

No, honey, it wasn't. That's because I was here cleaning it up.

He cleaned the bathroom this weekend without reminding (i.e. nagging.) He just did it!

I am appreciative to him learning to haul his own weight. But now I am hauling it myself for a little while, plus working full-time.

I know I can handle the time with the kids, no sweat. Ten days is nothing compared to five months. But can I handle the housework and the job? We'll see.

As for the rest of life, things are still a bit insane here. A. is struggling with day care. He is angry a lot of the time, has developed a saucy mouth and has hit other children from time to time. All of this leads to time-outs and groundings, of course, but also lots of time with my big boy just sitting in my lap. He often says he wishes I wasn't working. It breaks my heart, but I need to work, both for the money and for my sanity.

Little I. is a bit clingy but is adjusting well to the new sitter. Toddler N. is very happy at K.'s place. That's great, but the child should have been named Typhoid Mary, because this is the third time she's been sick this month. First the hospitalization, then a head cold, then she got food poisoning this weekend from a supper out. At the hospital, the doctor discovered she also has an ear infection. We two are home today so she can start recovering.

The boys also caught that cold, and Little I. just finished a round of antibiotics for an ear infection. Since I started my new job six weeks ago, I have missed 4.5 days due to child illness. I'm starting to understand why some bosses are reluctant to hire mothers of young children. My boss has been great, but I still worry about the impression I'm making.

Off to catch a quick nap with the girlie.

Woman vs. Toddler

You already know who won this battle.

Little I. will soon be three years old. In September, he starts attending pre-school two days a week. Both he and I are very excited about this.

There's a catch, however. He has to be completely potty-trained before his first day. That's five weeks away.

So I started training him today. He went once in the potty (hooray!!!!). He's had 10 accidents.

Accidents my butt.

He requested a pull up for bedtime, but made me promise I'd get out his "big boy underwear" in the morning.

At least the dining room floor got mopped again today because of it. Five times.

Woman 1, Toddler 10.

Woman vs. nature

Anyone who knows me well knows I'm an outdoor kind of girl. I love to camp Girl Guide-style, in tents and lean-tos and quanzees. My bedrolls are water-proof and tight as a drum. I love to start a cooking fire with one match, some newspaper, pine cones and kindling. I excel at cooking on rocks heated in a fire. I make the best S'mores ever.

But I loathe bugs in all their shapes and forms. And Vancouver Island is full of spiders and hornets and bees and beetles and ants of all shapes and sizes.

There are earwigs in my backyard and three types of ants in my front yard. There are flying insects everywhere -- everything except mosquitoes.

Ugh.

Our PMQ (that's a house for all you civvies out there) has hardwood floors in the living room and dining room, and lino in the kitchen, front entry and laundry room/back entry. The hardwood is lovely, but every drip and spill on the dining room floor shows up, even after being wiped with a sponge.

My floors were filthy last night. Two weeks of visiting relatives and days at the beach and a heat wave will do that.

Last night, the ants discovered a way in my back entry. And they discovered the bounty of dried beer and wine and pop on the floor around my blue box.

The bugs had invaded my domain. And they were looking hopefully towards the bonanza that was my dining room floor.

Attack!

Out came the mop and bucket, hot water and Pine-Sol. I mopped the back entry and kitchen, teeny ants shrivelling up as the soapy water hit them. Mwahahaha!

Then I entered the dining room. And an alarm started sounding in my brain. It was using my mother's voice as a weapon.

"Cindy Marie, don't you DARE use Pine-Sol on those hardwood floors!" it admonished. "Vinegar and water mopping only, followed by a quick buffing. That's the PROPER way to clean them!"

"But, Mom," I countered in my head, "the ants are coming! I need to disinfect, and fast. Besides, my neighbour Kim cleans her hardwood this way."

"You'll leave a film on them!"

I was pondering this when one tiny ant skittered from kitchen to dining room.

"Sorry, Mom, this is war. And war is ugly."

Twenty minutes later every ant in the house was dead, and all my hardwood was gleaming. The whole downstairs smelled of pine trees.

Woman 1, nature 0.

Last Yellowknife post

We're desperately "pre-packing" our house right now. (Yes, I typed "we"!) Although we don't have to pack the house, we do have to separate what we're bringing in the minivan from everything else, and it's a lot of work.

Things are good. We're settling in as a family again. Hubby and I are learning to parent together again, too.

We met Hubby at the airport, signs and banners waving. When he stepped off the plane, I didn't recognize him. He's lost 30 pounds! That was a shock.

It's good to be together again. I missed him desperately.

This will probably be my last post until Victoria.

Goodbye, Yellowknifers! It breaks my heart to leave such wonderful friends. I love you. Know I pray for you.

Come visit!

M4 W2 D6: Hubby graduates. I scrub floors.

Acting Sub-Lieutenant Hubby called last night, overflowing with good humour and a few drinks, to fill me in on the plans for today, Graduation Day. We had a few laughs, wondered if he'd ever get his hands on his ticket to Esquimalt and eagerly discussed the soonest date we would all be together again.

I told him I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments. I am always proud to be my husband's wife, but that pride shone a little more brightly last night and today.

Tonight, though, I had the inevitable come-down. Little I. was being a B-R-A-T at bedtime, making messes and trying to keep his brother awake. When I finally settled him to bed, I started in on housework, as always.

And then it hit me: here I am, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while my husband celebrates one of the most significant accomplishments of his life. I can't be there. I can't even talk to him on the phone unless he finds a moment to call (unlikely since he will be entertaining his mother, sister and future step-father after the graduation.) I don't even know when I will see my husband again.

It's cruel, this uncertainty. The people around me expect me to be happy and excited and say things like, "Almost done!" But who knows if I'm almost done? I don't. Neither does the Hubby. All we know is he flies to Esquimalt tomorrow to start his new career, without wife or children.

About other people's expectations: I honestly wish they'd think them through before sharing them with me. The people who expect me to be miserable all the time tick me off just as much as the people who expect me to be happy. They foist their own fears and beliefs and foibles on me. I wish some of these people would just ask me, "How are you doing? How do you feel about that?"

My good friends and family do, thank goodness.

There is a woman I frequently bump into who always says or does the wrong thing with me. She has a background with military life. I try to be nice, since I am trying to follow Jesus, and that means looking for Him in every person I ever meet. But I wanted to rip her face off the day she asked me when Hubby was done, then smugly announced it would be harder when he came home than it is now.

Why did she say that? I understand reintegration is difficult for families. Heck, the MFRC offers reintegration sessions for spouses, it's that stressful. I expect bumps. But HARDER THAN NOW? We may argue when he returns, but when the Hubby is back I will be able to shower with the door shut, eat my food before it is stone cold and sleep in until 7:30 on weekends. I will go grocery shopping alone from time to time. I will have someone else to step in at bedtime when I'm about to lose it.

I can think of a lot of things that would be harder than now: flood, fire, tsunami, cancer, another HG pregnancy, a death in the family. Having my husband come home does not tip high on my freak-o-meter.

Some people are only happy when they are making others miserable.

Okay, rant over.

Once again, CONGRATULATIONS HUBBY!!!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!

M3 W2 D7: Emerging

Sorry about the radio silence here. It took FOREVER and a trip to the hospital to get Little I. more or less back to normal. He had a "para-influenza" with delusions of grandeur, and got a bit dehydrated for awhile. He's fine, although he sounds like a barking seal. (Yum, muktuk.)

Anyway, things are settling in here. Still have a week of March Break, though.

Caribou Carnival started today; the fireworks are popping outside as I type, but I'm also nursing a cranky baby, so I'm stuck. I'm taking the boys to the ice tomorrow, so I'll post pics then. Yum, tire d'erable!

As for housework, the kitchen, floor, fridge, bathroom and laundry are done; still trying to get the polishing, Windexing, dusting, vacuuming and fish tanks done.

By the way, if you're the praying type, please remember my friend Brooke in yours. She is 22 weeks pregnant, has HG, and is in the ICU with a blood infection (sepsis). Her baby's name is Gabbey. St. Gianna and St. Gerard, pray for Brooke and Gabbey. Lord Jesus, give Brooke strength and please bring them through this. Amen.

M3 W2 D3: Welcome to puke city

Little I. is sick with a fever, vomiting and the most tenacious case of the whines I have ever encountered.

"Buuuuuttttttt it'sssss miinnnnnneeeeee! I want iiiiiiiit!"

"Nooooooo, I want to put on my snowsuiiiiiiit!" (followed by laying on the floor and refusing to do anything, then screams of rage when Mom puts on the suit.)

Multiply this by oh, 50 million times, and that was my day.

The baby is also feeling unwell and clingy, so by the end of the evening I was so fed up I was cursing under my breath and wishing to high heaven I had never given birth to any of them. I had two crying jags today; I haven't cried from exhaustion and frustration in a long time.

A. was a trooper, though. He distracted his siblings as much as he could, making them laugh every once in a while, and helping me in countless little ways. That boy really does have a compassionate heart. He put his arms around me at one point, looked in my eyes and said, "Tomorrow will be better, Mom."

Well, maybe I'm just wishing I'd stopped after A.

One of the reasons I'm feeling this way, of course, is the housework. I have a hard time keeping up on the best of days; add two sick children to the mix and it's darn near impossible. (Warning to HGers: GROSSMENT) My fridge smells like something is rotting, although I can't find it. My kitchen floor is sticky and grimy. My living room is full of clean, unfolded laundry. And my bathroom WAS a toothpasty, smelly mess until an hour ago. I scrubbed it out as soon as I got all the kids to bed. END GROSSMENT

I also managed to start the washer and dryer, wash the dishes and start the dishwasher tonight. Tomorrow night I'll scrub the fridge, the kitchen floor and clean the little appliances in the kitchen. Wednesday night is dusting and polishing. Day times will be laundry folding and vacuuming. By Friday the place should be clean enough to allow visitors.

A. spent yesterday afternoon and this afternoon at friends' houses (it's March break here, so no playschool for TWO. ENDLESS. WEEKS!) I'm hoping he can go out and have fun tomorrow, too, while the siblings recover.

Five weeks and 5 days to go.

M3 W1 D3: Just can't compose a post

I dealt with business taxes tonight, and everything I want to say is either unkind or much too melodramatic. So I will say only this: I miss the good money I used to make and how, at one point, my debt load was shrinking quickly and efficiently.

I remember when tax return season meant another student loan gone forever. Not anymore.

The Hubby better not be sailing during next tax season.

PS. Today was weigh-in day. I lost another 2.5 pounds! Total loss: 7.5 lbs

Calm out the window

I can't believe how much can change in less than 12 hours.

I'm done. I'm just done with being ignored and picked on and provoked. If these kids weren't my very heart, I would walk out the door.

The baby cried all day -- every time I put her down. EVERY time! So I got nothing done. I stayed home all day to clean and got no cleaning done.

I am also getting another intraductal yeast infection. It hurts to nurse. Thanks, antibiotics.

Little I. moped and whined and tantrumed and refused to talk to his father on the phone.

A. blatantly ignored me all evening, even as I was telling him he had poop on his bum and to NOT touch it. He looked me straight in the eyes, touched it and almost put his freaking finger in his mouth. I grabbed it just in time and frog-marched him to the sink. I wanted to shake him. It took every last ounce of my strength, and probably the arms of his guardian angel, to hold me back.

I ended the night a bawling mess. I would never hurt my kids, but I think my emotional state frightened them.

I sat down on their bed and apologized, making it clear that I am responsible for my actions, not them. They sweetly forgave. "Mommy," Little I. said, shaking a finger, "you frew a tantwum! You need to cool off!"

I want to EAT, but just keep telling myself that food fixes hunger, not a broken mommy heart.

Month two, week two, day three: My housework and Mother Teresa

"The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it." -- Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

My housework is attempting to make me a saint. And I am resisting mightily.

The saints fascinate me. They are my friends and role models. I love to read their works, especially women saints. The thing I love most about them are their humanity, their faults and failures, and watching in awe as they rise above them through Jesus.

One thing that distinguishes the saints from the rest of us is their attitude towards the trials, both great and small, in life. Saints see onerous chores and heroic deeds in the same light: as an opportunity to serve Christ and grow closer to God.

For example: Saint Maximillian Kolbe, imprisoned in a concentration camp during the Second World War, had an aura of peace and serenity as he was starved and abused. He achieved the martyr's crown by offering to take the place of a father who was selected for the gas chamber. These are acts of heroism.

Yet Saint Therese of Lisieux was canonized for her "Little Way" -- her decision to dedicate every task she did to Christ, his Kingdom, and the conversion of sinners. She washed floors for Him. And she is a doctor of the Church (BIG Catholic deal) because of rendering each small domestic chore to Him.

The lesson from this: God cares more about why we do our deeds than the deeds themselves. The tiniest things done with great love make Him supremely happy.

So, back to my house: I hate getting to my housework. I hate trying to figure out what needs to be done and when I will have time to do it while cooking and caring for three small people. I put off fridge-cleaning and floor-scrubbing and laundry folding for as long as possible.

However, once I get to a task, I often find myself enjoying it. And every once in so often I'm given the immense gift of being so immersed in it, so happy to be doing this necessary task, that I can actually think of Higher things, and be happy to do it.

That happened last night, as I scrubbed my kitchen floor with an old-fashioned scrub brush. Down on my knees, the constant anger and annoyance I carry with me now, that feeling of being overwhelmed and exhausted, left me. It was just me and that scrub brush and my Creator. And I could understand why He values these repetitive tasks that bring no glory. After all, listening to our rants and raves and prayers and tears , the billions of us crying out to Him, must be extremely repetitive.

"Help me."
"Please let him live."
"Cure my sister."
"Forgive me."

So repetitive, yet so important to us, and so cherished by Him.

One full calendar month: Clean bathroom

I am the owner of a shiny clean bathroom. It does not have toothpaste smeared on the sink or hairspray on the mirror. There are no stray hairs on the floor. I am so happy I could dance.

I decided I needed a change from folding freakin' laundry every night after the kids go to bed. That and it was so gross in there I was avoiding going to the toilet. After all, it hadn't been fully cleaned since the Hubby left. (YES MOM, I scrubbed the tub down after the poop incident. And I've been spot-cleaning the sink.)

A. and I had a good day today. He behaved very well at church, at home and at Grandma G.'s. It was nice to have a mental break from the War of the Oldest Child.

The Husband called today. He had the day off, so we got to talk for a full hour. He's having a rough time. His main superior has decided to scapegoat him. Basically, everything C. does is wrong. No one gets treated worse. His master corporal met with him at the end of week four and tried to guilt him out, and C. basically told him he was giving 120 per cent, and if that wasn't enough, then kick him out.

He's still in. And his attitude now is he can only do his very best. If that's not enough, it's not enough.

I think that is a great attitude. I know he'll make it through.

Random musings after two and a half weeks

It's been two and a half weeks since the The Hubby left. Some random thoughts buzzing in my head, in no particular order:

• I never truly realized before now how much children crave and demand order and routine. The more our days are predictable and patterned, the happier my kids are. If I get the kids washed and dressed and breakfasted right away, rather than lounging in our pjs in front of the TV, the day goes smoothly. Wait even a half an hour to start the routine, and I can expect tantrums and bickering the rest of the day. Weird.
• My boys never liked being up late, as I used to think. They went to bed late because Hubby procrastinated getting them to bed. He's a great dad, but bedtime is his weak point.
• My default tired, hungry and overwhelmed setting is Screechy, with Guilt. If I don't watch myself, I sound like a fishwife.
• Modern women are spoiled rotten. Now that I don't have time for the little luxuries in life, such as lunch with a friend, professional facial waxing or even a supper where I eat a hot meal rather than a lukewarm one, I realize they are just luxuries.
• I don't know how women survived before the invention of washers, dryers and dishwashers. I haven't cleaned my bathroom in two weeks because I don't have time. My house would be condemned by a health inspector if it wasn't for all the time-saving devices in it. When the dishwasher does my dishes, I have time to sweep and mop.
• Anyone who wants to help me this week is more than welcome to come clean my bathroom or my fridge. :-)
• I think I'm going to have to start actively looking for a new owner for our tropical fish. Two fish tanks are too much. I can keep up with the goldfish, I think.
• I miss my husband terribly, but I am remembering what it was like before we were married, when I was at university alone, in a city and province of my own, no family and no boyfriend. It was okay and I was happy despite missing them. I am the same now. I suppose I am just a happy person.
• I took Baby N. to the doctor today for her six-month check-up. The oinker weighs 16 pounds, 15 ounces. It's time to look into getting her a bigger car seat.
• I found out today that Dr. Phil is planning a show on HG, that pregnancy condition I suffered! I was so excited I called Mom. Finally, some attention and press to a frightening and under-treated condition.

And I'm spent. Time for bed.

Week three, day three: Recovery mode

Baby N. is well on the mend now, although still not completely back to normal. What started as a tummy bug has turned into a cold. Her nose is running like a sieve, and she still has the occasional case of diarrhea. But she is smiling and laughing again, and her fever is gone. Thank God.

I have to be thankful she got sick over a weekend. We had lots of help from people who work during the week. My friend C. came over with fresh supplies of diapers and diet Coke (life-preserving products!) She watched the boys while I showered, too.

Grandma G. took the boys to her house twice that weekend, allowing me to get a bit of sleep.

Thank you so much, and bless you both!

The Hubby called Saturday night. He sounded really down, but said he was NOT going to quit. He got two warnings in two days, and the head games were getting to him. He knows they're supposed to get to him, but knowing and feeling are two different things.

I told him I love him very much, but I didn't want to see him home until the end of April.

I need to vacuum and keep a look-out for the snowplow. My next-door neighbour has a guy coming to plow out both our driveways and take the snowbank away. We're going to split the cost.

Day 13: Secret snow-shoveller

It's been snowing off and on for over 24 hours.

This afternoon, an hour before I took the children to an activity, we shovelled out the driveway and the steps.

By the time I put the boys in the bath tonight, we were snowed in again.

When the children fell asleep -- at 8:45! -- I prepared to go back outside and shovel us out again.

However, when I looked out the window, someone had already done it. The driveway, step and path had all been cleanly shovelled.

Thanks, Secret Shoveller, whoever you are! I've been smiling ever since.

Addendum: Gail and Gilles were my secret shovellers. Thanks!

Day 12: Maple syrup massacre

No, it wasn't the kids who got massacred. It was the maple syrup bottle.

I dropped the plastic syrup bottle this morning during breakfast and the entire bottom broke off. There was syrup everywhere, including under the fridge. It took over an hour to clean. Yes, I cried.

Surprisingly, the rest of the day went very well. I dropped the boys off at the MFRC for child care for a few hours, then it was lunch and play school drop-off. Little I. slept for two hours this afternoon, yet was sound asleep by 9 pm tonight. I have a book that claims children who go to bed early sleep longer at night and nap better during the day, and that a nap leads to early and good nighttime sleep. I never believed it until this week (but watch, he'll be up at 5 am just to prove me wrong.)

In fact, bedtime wasn't stressful at all and the kids were all asleep by nine.

Sorry if you're looking for a thrilling plot here. After all, I spend my day with small children, who thrive on routine and predictability.

I think I will stop posting every day when I hit two weeks. I'll just hit the highlights after that.

PS. Today is the feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists. St. Francis, pray for all journalists that we may know the truth and be brave enough to tell it.

Day 11: Bedtime triumph

I should be folding a mountain of laundry in my living room right now, but I had to blog this right away before I forgot.

We had a good day!!!!!

No tantrums, no meltdowns, no angry defiance, no major lollygagging. (I only yelled once,and that was before 9 am, so I've decided it doesn't count.)

Alex got his flu shot, we went to a play group and we had a play date in the afternoon. After supper, we played Hungry Hippos and Chutes and Ladders (Little I. won.) Then we cleaned up and had a snack and got ready for bed. We read books, prayed, turned out the light.

Little I. and Baby N. are snoozing. They've been asleep for 20 minutes. A. is gently gliding into dreamland after a second snack and a pee; that boy is always hungry. It is 8:53 pm. This from three children who would stay up past 11 some nights when Daddy was home.

I didn't have to yell or time out once after lights out. Didn't have to tell anyone to get back in bed. Didn't have to swallow my rage as I frog marched a small boy back into his room.

I feel like a new woman, and all because I moved bedtime back an hour. We used to aim to have them in bed by nine, asleep by who knows when. Now I aim for bedtime by eight and sleep by nine. They actually fall asleep quicker at an earlier time. Amazing.

Thanks, St. Monica for favours received!

Okay, I have laundry to fold and adult TV to watch. Hoo-ya!

Day 10: Construction Zone

Yesterday totally sucked rocks, so I'm not going there. Let's just say that A. is testing me.

Today, for the first time since university, I assembled a piece of furniture by myself -- and for the first time ever, did not swear or break anything. Woo-hoo!

I ordered a toy sorter before The Hubby left -- y'know, one of those things with nine or ten plastic bins so the kids can sort their toys into different categories when they clean up (dinkies in the dinky bin, animals in the animal bin, etc.) It arrived today, and the boys love it. It has characters from their (current) favourite movie, Cars.

After putting it together, we went through all their toys. I took out a whole garbage bag of broken toys and half-there puzzles. The boys' room is so neat and tidy, and you can actually find specific toys now.

Hubby called tonight. Still doing well, still has his eyes on the prize. We got the baby to laugh into the phone for him. Sounded as if he might cry, but he kept a straight voice and face. He can't cry, he's in the Navy now!

Day four: Truly on my own

Today was the day when I well and truly realized I am now on my own.

When I woke up this morning, our front door was snowed in, and our driveway was covered. I didn't think much about it. Instead, I fed, washed and dressed three kids, got myself presentable, made some phone calls, paid some bills online, etc.

It wasn't until 11 that I realized three things: 1) Baby N. had a doctor's appointment at 1:45; 2) I needed to get out my front door; and 3) the snow wasn't going to magically shovel itself.

So I dressed all three kids in snowsuits and went outside with them to shovel. Huh.

I put Baby N. in the giant, 2-seater enclosed Chariot stroller in a snowsuit and a giant duffel bunting bag, warm and snug. She proceeded to scream her head off unless the stroller was moving. I spent more time rolling the stroller back and forth than I did shovelling.

After 15 minutes, the boys started complaining of the cold and demanding to go inside. Baby was screaming louder than ever because Isaac had crawled into the Chariot with her. I started begging her to be quiet.

Then it dawned on me: if I take a short walk, she might fall asleep.

We walked to the mailbox. By the time we returned, baby was snoring peacefully, and the boys were ready to go in.

The driveway and step were still covered in snow. I took a big breath and sent them inside with instructions to help each other out of their boots and to raid the melba toast in the cupboard.

Half an hour later, I had shovelled us out and carried a still-sleeping baby into the house. The boys had hung their coats and put away their things. They were happily playing in their room, melba crumbs everywhere.

I have never been so proud of my little men.

Then, at bedtime, the power went out. It was that moment I realized the Hubby had "put away" (read "hidden") his Maglight, the BBQ lighter, and all the matches in the house. I couldn't find any of them.

A. led us around the house with the Indiglo face of his watch until I finally found the flashlights my mother had sent the boys for Hallowe'en. There's still no sign of the emergency equipment; I've been searching for hours. There isn't even a flashlight in the minivan.

I was seriously ticked at Hubby, let me tell you. What, did he think I wouldn't need a flashlight while he was gone?

The boys have placed their flashlights next to their beds, just in case. I'm going to Canadian Tire tomorrow and using our CT money stash for flashlights, matches and an emergency kit. That CT money was supposed to buy Baby N. a new car seat next month.

Tomorrow the boys go to casual child care at the military family resource centre. It will be the first time I've been "alone" since Saturday. I'll still have the baby with me, but that's a cinch.

The Hubby called tonight before the lights-out fiasco. He passed the last fitness test and will receive his uniform tomorrow morning. Hoo-ya!