Notes from the Blue House

I've had a bad week. One of those weeks where a daily dose of Merlot is a must. I've been brought to tears on three separate occasions this week as Owen recovers from his tonsillectomy and adnoidectomy. On a side note, am I the only one who finds it funny that the medical community refers to that surgery as a 'T&A"?  At first, Owen seemed completely unaffected by surgery. For God's sake, he was ticked off with me because I wouldn't give him corn pops the morning after! I thought we were home free. The only family on the face of the planet with a child so astoundingly amazing that he was unaffected by having his tonsils out. He's basically Superman. I was wrong. Within 48 hours, he'd taken a downturn. The moaning, the whining, the crying, the restlessness, the boredom-it's been a bummer in the Crick household this week. Once or twice, I felt my patience wearing out. I snapped at him when he asked to watch Cars 2 again, I demanded that he choose s...

I've been looking forward to today for a long time. With each cycle of antibiotics that coursed through my 37lb son last year, my anticipation for this day mounted. Owen was on antibiotics for strep throat 5 times in as many months last year, it seemed as though we'd finish one cycle and start another. Honestly, I'd have reached in there and hauled out those bastard tonsils myself on a few occasions.  Eventually, I was rolling my eyes each time Owen spiked a fever and whined about a headache. "Again?!? What the deuce??" The ENT doctor we saw in January was quick to agree with me, these tonsils would have to go, they were doing more harm than good. Today was the big day. We woke at 5am to take Owen to the hospital, leaving Simon at home with his Grandma and Grandpa. We lifted him onto a stretcher and stripped off his clothes, putting on a little hospital gown just for kids. Still, he was swimming in it and I tucked it around him as best I could. Suddenly, the boy...

I'm afraid of some strange things. Rabid raccoons ( http://cricktricks.blogspot.ca/2012/02/my-kid-talks-to-strangers.html ), clowns, dying alone and the dentist. Most of these things can be easily avoided, I don't lure raccoons into my garage by leaving the garbage can open. I give clowns a wide berth at fairs and children's parties. It's really only the man clowns that unnerve me, thanks a lot John Wayne Gacy-you've robbed me of a simple childhood pleasure. Dying alone might be out of my control, so why stress about it? Now, the dentist. I can't avoid him. Inside my head, this is a typical visit to the dentist  I've been cursed with crappy teeth. I swear I brush them...ahem..and floss...OK, that last one was a fib. Still, despite my vigorous brushing, I seem to have a cavity at every check-up. I've even had the unfortunate experience of needing a root canal. Here's how that went down. I went for a check-up and discovered that not only did I hav...

After reading Tina Fey's prayer for her daughter, (which you can read here: http://www.parents.com/blogs/goodyblog/2011/05/tina-feys-a-mothers-prayer-for-her-daughter/  ) I felt moved to write down my own thoughts, hopes and intentions in raising my boys. I'm calling it my manifesto because, well, because it sounds wicked cool. Here's the definition of the word "manifesto": MANIFESTO: a written statement declaring publicly the intentions, motives, or views of its issuer By it's very definition a manifesto must be made public, so here ya go, blogosphere. It's my hope that, by publishing it to my own wee little blog, I will feel more accountable to these goals. It's my hope that I'll remember this post when one of my kids is being a fartface, here's hoping that it inspires more patience and commitment from me during the tough spots. Kids, here are my intentions in raising you from babbling infants to bright, compassionate young m...

Owen likes to talk, he'll seize any opportunity to chatter away to an attentive physically present audience. Generally, he'll ramble on about his various bumps, bruises, and misadventures. Most stories start with the words "Well, you know what??" or "Guess what happened to my knee!". Then, he bombards the poor soul he's just cornered with a story that may only be interesting to him. One of those 'you had to be there' tales. Owen's articulate and social, and I'm not just saying that because he's my kid. He's always been a communicative guy, happy to reach out and connect with the people around him. As he's gotten older, he's four now, I've started thinking (and stressing) about Owen's view of the world around him. He thinks that everyone is good and kind. He's sure that everyone wants to engage with him, and he confidently strikes up conversation. I love that confidence in him and I'm hopeful that, as he gr...

It doesn't seem like all that long ago that a birthday meant I had an excuse to pull out a pair of heels and flat iron my hair. It meant vodka, lipstick and cover charges. My, my, my..how birthdays around here have changed. The mere mention of a birthday has me thinking of face painting and loot bags. We recently celebrated Owen's 4th birthday and we hosted his party at a play centre because we're not crazy enough to invite the kind of destruction that accompanies a herd of 4 year old's into our home. Don't get me wrong, each and every kid who joined us that day was a cutie patootie but they've got some serious energy to burn. By the time we schlepped our kids, gifts and leftover pizza home, Tim and I collapsed on the couch and moaned about how exhausted we were. It was 8:30pm. What the hell has happened to us? When we were dating in university, we were capable of rolling in at 3am and still getting up for class the next morning. Not so anymore, my friends. T...

I want to like Valentine's Day but I just don't dig it.  At this point in life, it seems I have no reason not to enjoy this day of love. I'm happily married to a guy I'm really pretty nuts about. Yet, there it is-that nagging disdain I feel for this day. I hate the garish decorations that fill every store. I hate the expensive and overly-mushy cards. I hate the dust-collecting stuffed animals, but most of all, I hate the pressure. This overly-hyped holiday takes me back to the 10th grade. Like most highschools, the one I attended hawked 'candygrams' during lunch break during the days leading up to Valentine's Day. I'm sure it was a good idea on paper and I bet it's still a popular fundraiser but, for me, it was an obvious display of popularity. Some dufus from the student council would knock on the door during Biology class and announce that he was there to hand out candygrams to the lucky recipients. You're damn right I got one every year, best ...