Whenever in doubt, send kids to rookie mom...



... and go work out.

Hey, let's face it, if Becca isn't sure what she's doing as a parent, why the heck would I be anywhere close? You mean it's bad for babies to suck on old hot wheels cars? Whoops. What? I have to actually dump out the potty... every time? Then how come it's always cleaned out when I get to it? And so what if I didn't zip up Joseph's coat all the way up when it was freezing out. John Paul's crying again? Well, why did you take his toy car away from him?...

I think I'll go work out.

Let's face it, while a rookie mom attempts to "read the directions" and study up every possibly situation that might remotely affect her kids, the rookie dad, in true male fashion, just wings it. Or goes and works out. But here's a cute picture!

Rookie Mom

When Joseph was around 6 months old, we decided to start him on solid foods. At the time, we lived in a small mature-student apartment at Redeemer University in Ancaster. With just two months left in Dan's school year before we moved permanently to Saskatchewan, we had no intention of buying a high-chair and carting it back out west with us. So, we made do.

We still lived much like university students. More often than not, we didn't eat at our kitchen table. It was in an awkward corner of the kitchen and slightly too high for our $10 Walmart folding chairs. Instead, we just ate while sitting on the older couch my parents had loaned us for the year. 

Surely, Joseph too, could just eat on the couch. Or so we thought.

Now, while some first-time moms read all the books and do all the things, I was just not one of those moms. I figured that, having grown up in a family of 6 (not to mention Dan coming from a family of 7), mothering would just come naturally. So, I did not read all the books. 

We assumed Joseph was ready for food at 6 months because every time we ate, he reached out to grab our food. And most babies just eat at 6 months or so, right?

So around that time, I grabbed a banana, sort of mashed it up with a fork, propped my 6-month-old up against a pillow with a white pillow case on my oldish couch, took out the camera, and commenced introducing solids. Rookie mom.

Joseph made all the faces that babies eating food for the first time make. He rolled the banana around in his mouth and nursed on the spoon. He tried to eat the side of the bowl. Eventually, he got some of the banana down. Then he didn't poop for 11 days straight!

Yes, you read that correctly. 11 days straight! Looking back at pictures and, I believe, video evidence, I'm not at all surprised. Bananas? As a first food? Barely mashed? Not watered down with anything at all? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

After that, I read more and took more of a first-time mom approach: making special foods, freezing them in little ice cube trays, thawing them, warming them, and finally feeding Joseph. It was tedious, annoying, and he still didn't exactly eat that much.

With John Paul, I'm getting it a little better. I throw a squash in the oven with whatever I happen to be cooking, mash it up well, and he feeds himself. While sitting in a high chair. At 7-8 months old, not 6.

Sports and the Cross: On Why I'm Not Really a Loser

That sinking feeling. Every sports fan expects it, every year. The hard part about following sports is that each year, unless everything goes perfect, you will have to endure your team getting eliminated from the playoffs. In other words, you have to watch them lose their final game. It's is gut-wrenching, sad, and usually unavoidable.

This past Sunday Ridernation had to undergo the final defeat. We lost. Deep down inside we know that had Darian Durant been playing we would have won. But it doesn't matter. We lost.



Why do we undergo such pain, year in and year out? Because we're stupid? Should I take away the question mark from that last sentence?

Yet somehow the pain of defeat makes the thrill of victory all the sweeter. In 2009 the Roughriders endured the most crushing of defeats. They won the Grey Cup! But a penalty on the last play gave the other team another chance. They lost the Grey Cup!

It hurt so much. I literally locked myself in my office the next day. A priest stopped by to tease me. He saw my face and immediately he turned very pastoral, and became Christ-like in concern for a hurt and broken soul. At least he acted like it.

The next year, 2010, our 100th year as a football franchise, again we lost in a very close Grey Cup showdown. In some ways that loss hurt even more. The defeat of the previous year needed to be overcome. Instead, more pain. Why do we do it? Defeat, there is thy sting!

We do it because one must taste the agony of defeat in order to understand victory.

Last year's Grey Cup was literally a once in 101 year experience. The Riders won, on their own soil. It was joyous, cathartic, and ridiculously exuberant. It was healing. The victory was magnified astronomically by the previous defeats. One does not know victory until one has tasted such defeat.

And hey, before you write me off as ridiculous, or having too much time on my hands (I swear I don't!), remember this: Christ chose the most brutal death. He allowed the devil to "defeat" him. The result, of course, was the greatest victory over sin and death. There is no Easter without Lent.

Now aren't sports just so spiritual! Losing is for holiness, is it not? Maybe not. Otherwise all Leafs fans would be saints.

As for me, I swear I'm not a loser. Just a holy sports fan. Humble too.

Good luck next year Riders! Let's kill the opposition!

We're a Team

My kitchen window looks out on our backyard and the back-alley Dan takes to and from work. More often than not, I'm at the sink or running back and forth between the table, stove, and sink trying to get a meal together, when I see him walking home down that alleyway.

I barely have time to give a quick smile, "hey," or perhaps a groan his direction as he comes in the door, before I'm back to attending to some starving child or trying to get those potatoes on the stove that should have been there 25 minutes ago. But always, I'm so happy he's home! 

Because when Dan's not home, I'm double-teamed, but when he is... we have a slim chance of getting the better of our kids.

The past week's been tough on us. Terrible colds, sore throats, near-sleepless nights, stupid student-led conferences (i.e. parent-teacher interviews), many bills to be paid, kids that won't sleep, kids that wake up every 15 minutes, kids that pee in your bed, kids that wipe their snotty noses on your jeans, their own sweaters, and your couch cushions, and all over huge piles of Kleenexes, dirty laundry everywhere.

I brace myself when I hear Joseph remark, "That's okay, you can just wash it!" or "It's okay, I'll get the floor towel!" or "John Paul just wants to be holded!" And too often I want to run from the messy house and messy children, hide in my room with book, and just wait until I hear the back door opening. Alone, I sometimes feel unable to keep up with these boys. 

So when Dan walks in the door after a long day of work and instantly gets right down to holding a needy baby or washing dishes or mashing potatoes, or generally taking over while I go nurse a baby, I am so thankful it's not just me. We're a team! And it's been our mantra of late.

Together we can get the better of our kids. Sometimes.

And when we fall into the same bed at night, we can whisper a quick "We're a team" before one of our children wakes us, requiring us to do one-on-one battle in separate bedrooms.

That, dear friends, is how we sometimes survive: just knowing we're in this parenting thing together.

Dad Trads

I remember well going to Mass as an OLSWA student, and later as registrar, and seeing the dads at St. Hedwig's parish in Barry's Bay, Ontario. We're talking about the dads of those families where all the kids came pouring into Mass, always late, with the dad trumping in with his big winter boots and jacket, holding a kid, or two, or three, plus a diaper bag, car seat, some odds and ends winter mitts and scarves picked up along the way, and a Latin Missal so that he can translate the Mass into Latin. The dads are always tired, unshaven, wearing Mass clothes (never jeans) that are crumpled, old, and tucked in at the front only. They'd be spaced out. Their kids would predictably take advantage of them too, and sneakily act up from time to time. What were these dads doing? Certainly not praying, right?

I'd look at that and shake my head. Not too hard, mind you. I wouldn't want a hair to come out of place as I looked all spiffy and proper in my altar boy clothing. Thank goodness I'm not like them, nor ever will be, Lord. In charity, as I would walk by these families holding the processional cross I would be sure to walk with great confidence and zeal. With professionalism and apostolic purpose. Perhaps they will be inspired by this proper display of how to carry oneself at Mass? One does forget things when one gets older.

Sometimes a child or two of these dads would come to serve Mass as well. Heaven help us! They're wearing tan pants! With a black cassock?! I will try to protect these people from themselves. And so I would make sure these kids did NOT ring the bells, where such unsightly pants would be more noticeable. Perhaps they can simply wash the priest's hands. The altar will hide their pants for the majority of the parish who will be watching. 

Barry's Bay was full of such dads. They aren't as common out in Saskatchewan. There are some at the Traditional Latin Mass, but that's more or less all I've seen. I know I vowed to avoid such a la-ti-da attitude towards the Mass. "Familiaris Consortio" exhorts the family to be a sign to the world, after all!

So I was a little surprised to see such a dad at Mass tonight. This dad was the prototypical unshaven space cadet, right down to the winter clothes and late arrival, whom clearly was taken advantage of by his son who was with him. I don't know why some dads are like this. Can it really be that difficult? Are they really that tired? Is this how they treat the Mass?

Then I distinctly remember the boy asking the dad a question. He said: "Dad, are you happy that I'm at Mass with you?" As my eyes focused in a little closer I noticed something peculiar...

...the boy was asking me.




As I was saying good night to Joseph tonight, before I left the room I whispered in his ear: You made me very happy by coming to Mass with me...

...Jesus is very happy with us.

Points to Ponder - Sickly Edition

When I get busy two things usually happen with this blog. 1) I don't blog very often. 2) When I do blog, it's usually just random points. I prefer single topic blogs. But I'm busy. So here goes...

  

1) Durant Durant.

Yes, communicating with good ole Darian Durant, star of the Riders, seems to be a regular occurrence now. Here's the latest (sorry for the fuzzy picture):

2) Costco Pays Off

I feel like picketing Costco with a sign saying "I Regret My Costco Membership." But then that'd mean I'd have to circle the parking lot for an hour in order to get a stupid place to park, and then risk getting trampled by the mob rushing to and fro. Thankfully the store finally paid off somewhat. I risked the crowd and stopped in last Saturday in Saskatoon. Though I thoroughly hated my time there, I did manage to score a smaller deep freeze for $199. We previously went to Sears to buy one (at a much greater cost) but the salesman was frantic: "Are you kidding me? There's a freezer shortage! There are only two in stock in all of Canada... one in Calgary, one in Montreal! You want a freezer!?!" Maybe he wasn't quite that animated. But I sure am lucky to get a freezer. There's a freezer shortage, after all.


3) Appliances Mean...

Forts! Houses! Beds! Whatever you want with the box!




4) Bathroom Done!

This summer I tore our entire yard apart and put it all back together. It took less than two months. And then it took us nearly three months just to fix up our basement bathroom! There was mold and a a chunk of a wall missing because of 1) a broken shower door that was leaking water into the floor and wall, 2) the previous owner covered the bathroom vent with siding. I took stuff apart, patched it up, and then we've spent the past two months painting. Don't judge us. Sinner. As they say when painting: repaint and thin no more.

But it's more or less done. There's still stuff we might change in there, but it's only a basement bathroom. Now, why did we fix up a basement bathroom that never gets used? Because it was a relatively cheap fix and it will be good to have a usable bathroom when we get to our main bathroom this summer.

It took three trips to the paint store to get our paint colours sorted out. And four trips to a store to get the shower curtain properly picked. Hard to believe the project took three months.

5) Sick

Becca and the boys are sick at the moment. Yech. It's not fun. They're fighting colds and what seems to be a touch of the flu. As I write this I can feel my stomach churning. But married couples know how it goes, right? Biologically speaking the partner must wait to get sick until the other partner is physically capable of handling things at a bare minimum level. Or maybe that's not biology, but rather grace of state?

So here's a couple of cute pictures to cheer up on:

Joseph proudly showing you his truck! He said he's holding it a special way. Can't you see? What an imagination!

It's all about the hair. Not only does John Paul have bed head, but his sideways hair has a shadow too!

 6) Catholics Acting Like Protestants

Given that everyone is sick and it's been a ridiculously long day, I have the right to complain about something. No? Ok then. I'll spare you the rant.


7) Plug

I will end by putting in a plug for a new website. One of the folks at Holy Apostles College has started a website called epicpew.com. It's a humour website, but also contains some more serious articles as well. Anyway, it's got some big name writers helping out, and though it is still in the infancy stage, seems to be well worth checking out from time to time.


That is all for me. Take care. Go Riders!

Snippets: anecdotes

1. November 6th and we have no snow?! Mark this on your calendars, folks!

Meanwhile, Joseph is desperate for snow and whenever a little tiny bit remains on the ground after a colder night, he asks impatiently if he can go out and eat the snow. I may or may not have given him the idea that "snow is yummy" last year. I also may or may not feed him enough. You decide!

2. At his library story time yesterday, when asked his name, Joseph introduced himself to the new librarian as "Tonka boy." She recounted it to me a few minutes later and asked what his real name was. I don't know whether to be embarrassed, proud, or just grateful he didn't tell her his name is Mose. 

3. John Paul seems desperate to keep up with his older brother. His favourite toys of late are mini-sticks, board books, and plastic tools. When it's especially quiet, I've walked into the living room to check on them, only to find Joseph reading a book and John Paul eating/reading another book. Start 'em reading young!

4. By the way, thank you to all of you that commented on my last post with your favourite children's books! I've gone out and ordered or got some of them from the library and so far, your taste is excellent!

We also took out the Cars movie, having decided Joseph should probably know who the guys on his hand-me-down jacket and shirts were. Part way through it, he decided it was a little scary and didn't want to watch the rest (ok, whatever). This morning, though, he pulled out his Cars shirt to wear and told me he was going to have a race but with no crashes (unusual, but again, ok whatever). 

5. Dan has been trying to teach Joseph the goalie pose with stick guarding the hole between the legs and left hand out ready to catch. And while his enthusiasm is great, Joseph's left hand flying around up behind his head doesn't really do the trick.  

The other day, Joseph and I were busy playing a game of mini-sticks in the living room. He, practicing his moves, was instructing me on how to keep my hand at the ready. During the instruction, John Paul happened to get a ding on the head. But true to his tough Millette skull, he merely looked up from his own little stick, furrowed his brow, and stuck the stick back in his mouth. 

6. Often (meaning, every time anyone sees him), we get the comment, "Oh, I love the cheeks!" John Paul is fat. I mean, he's really fat. Yes, we call him John Paul the Fat, but sometimes you have to see it to believe it. His legs, they are linebacker legs. His cheeks, they must weigh a pound each. His gut, well, I guess it keeps him balanced out. And his head... seriously, my kids have big heads. 

If ever I make the comment, "Yes, he's pretty fat!" I either get the reply that he's just chubby or breastfed babies are never fat. True and true.

So if ever you have looked at him and thought, "Wow, that baby is fat," yes, we are aware of this fact. He proudly wears a shirt over his gut that says: Chubby and loving it.

6. As you might have guessed by the short-anecdote-style blog post (again), things are still (always) a little busy around here. Case in point: I've been 'painting' the basement bathroom for almost a month now and it's not nearly finished. 

31 and So Much Fun

I was just thinking about the last time my birthday was on a Sunday. Ah yes, the day I turned 25. Becca and I joke about it... now.

I was in Barry's Bay, ON. My first year in the exalted position of Registrar (i.e. $300/week not including taxes and deductions). I had broken up with a certain redhead a few days before. I was alone. Not one person said happy birthday to my face (though I had dropped several hints). My youngest sister baked and mailed me a little dessert square. I remember really appreciating that, because it was the only cake I got. The day was snowy and cold and dark. I was so alone. It was the worst birthday of my life

Ok, that's sort of funny, isn't it? Fast forward to this year. Another cold, dark, and quiet Sunday. Except from the moment a certain little 3 year old boy woke me up I haven't stopped hearing "Happy Birthday!" I've had many renditions of the happy birthday song sent my way too. I've also had many presents too. Joseph keeps bundling up certain toys of his into a box and presenting me with these "happy birthday gifts."

And the food! Becca slapped together some large-sized spring rolls, complete with decadent rice and perfectly cooked stir-fried veggies.

The cake was almond cupcakes. This picture is a re-take. Joseph excitedly blew out the candles the first time.

Even John Paul couldn't refrain himself from the festivities. He managed to get his little paws on a good chunk of icing.

So there you have it. Oh to be young again? Like 25? 

No thanks. 

31 is too much fun!

Halloween: Does it Pass the Smell Test?

Another Halloween has come and gone. This year there were many Catholic bloggers writing about why we as Catholics should be going out and celebrating Halloween. With all due respect, I'd rather not. Sure, we might take out the boys trick or treating when they get older. But we're not going to "celebrate" the day (scare quotes for Halloween, oooh). Here are some of my top reasons for not celebrating Halloween:


A Day Early

All Hallows Eve? Yeah, and November 1st is All Hallows Day. Celebrating it because of the Holy Saints is nice, but it's actually a day early.


And A Dollar Short

Why should I spend my hard earned money to feed kids who completely don't need candy? Especially since I know the exact fitness level of about 120 students over at the school, and what they really need.


Speak of the Devil

We had a school assembly yesterday where the grade one classes sang us some nice little songs about witches and ghouls and other jolly good demonic characters. "One little, two little, three little witches..." Awww. Cute little references to diabolical beings who want your soul to be chewed up and burned miserably in hell for all eternity.


"Mr. Millette's Not Dressed Up Either!"

I didn't wear a costume. Whether I wanted to or not, it's simply easier to teach phys. ed. in normal clothes. There were quite a few older students who didn't dress up either, for whatever reason. They really liked having a teacher not dress up. It made them feel more comfortable, and less like outsiders. It's nice to have their back, so to speak.


Put Some Clothes On

I don't teach at a high school, but if I did I'm sure a main theme for Halloween would be immodest costumes. I suppose versus the rest of the year where a main theme is immodest clothing.


Gas Attack

Finally, a dirty horrible little secret about teaching at an elementary school. Little kids fart a lot. And they really really smell. It's just about the worst part of teaching (next to dealing with parents). Kids eat horribly. They then smell horrible. Why celebrate a day that promotes sugar, chocolate, and chips? I suffer enough already!