It seems that there comes a time in every lils life when they are curious enough about money to want some of their own.  For us, this came in the last six months of our time in India. I guess that the lils had heard enough of us converting prices and exclaiming over the relative price of things, and wanted to have a little bit of pocket money of their own. I was surprised that it came this early, but saw an allowance as a good way to teach about managing money, so we agreed to start contributing.

I had put a good deal of thought into how they could earn the allowance already, and talked to Willy about paying them for special chores.  I didn’t want to be giving them money just so that they could have money, and felt that they shouldn’t be compensated for chores that were part of their regular contribution to the household (ie clearing their dishes after a meal), so we started to pay them for special chores, things that weren’t part of their regular routine.  Chores like pulling the laundry out of the washer and bringing the basket to me, or bringing me one of the endless things that I had forgotten elsewhere in the house but was too lazy to go and get myself.

For the most part, they loved it.  We were living in India, so they were paid in rupees.  The rate for a chore was in the neighbourhood of 2-5rs (or 4-10₵), which might seem really low, but actually allowed them to but tonnes of stuff. At first all they wanted to do was play with the money, which was fine until it all gravitated to Woo’s secret hiding place.  We redistributed and eventually convinced them to go shopping and see what they wanted to buy.  They knew that they could buy ANYTHING they wanted, but both wanted books. I felt bad that they were using all of their allowance on something that I would have bought them anyway, so we struck an agreement. We would subsidize the cost of anything that we would have normally bought for them, like a new book they were keen to read or art supplies, but that they had to pay the full price for toys or treats.  We were all happy.

The allowance practice has continued since we have returned to Canada, although we have converted to Canadian dollars and upped the rate a bit.  Their willingness to do chores is pretty sporadic at best, but so is my ability to remember to come up with chores for them.  They actually haven’t had a chance to spend any of their allowance since we moved home, and, given that they seemed to care more about getting a coin that was from their year of birth than they were the value of the coin, I was beginning to worry that I needed to rethink allowance as a way to educate them about managing money and it’s purchasing power.

That changed this evening when the lils were sent to tidy the play room.  It had been well played over the course of the weekend, and needed quite a bit of work.  I was curious when Woo returned to the kitchen after just a few minutes in the basement.  He was looking a little too pleased with himself, so I asked him what was up.  He replied that he had made a promise to his sister.  He convinced her that she should clean the mess in exchange for some coins from his piggy bank! I did not expect that he would be paying her to do his work at such a young age, but I was impressed that he had negotiated it with little fuss.  I wasn’t sure how to react, so I headed down to check with Goose, and make sure that she was aware of what she had agreed to.  I found her in the basement, happily tidying and singing to herself.  She recounted the same story that Woo had told me, and seemed to be happy.  When the tidying was done, Woo did pay her 51₵, an amount that pleased them both.  Maybe they are getting the hang of this money thing.

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From the moment that he came into our lives, we knew we had an imp on our hands.  Woo seemed to want to play a trick on you, make you laugh, or get you riled up from an early age.  I’ll never forget the first time that I became aware that he was a trickster.  He was six or seven months old, and had just woken from a nap.  I was listening to his happy babbles on the baby monitor in the kitchen, when I noticed that they had changed from babbles to a new pattern.  I would hear some rustling of his blankets, followed by a few seconds of silence, then he would say “HEE HEE HEE”, and giggle.  He repeated this a few times until I got curious enough to check it out.

I snuck up the stairs and opened his door.  He had been sleeping in a lounger on the floor and was facing the door.  When I quietly opened the door, his blanket was over his head and he was perfectly still. He gave the “HEE HEE HEE”, giggled, and shot his arms up in the air to pull the blanket off his head.  He then gathered the blanket up, covered his head again and grew still one more time before going through the routine again.  After I watched a couple more times, I snuck in and said “where’s Woo?” at just the right moment.  He paused and then carried through his routine, but when he pulled the blanket off this time he looked so pleased with himself.

This was the first sign he might be a bit of a troublemaker. It’s continued as he has grown, and most of the time he is trying to get a laugh.  Once he does, he can’t stop trying for more laughs.  It is generally pretty cute, but occasionally gets out of hand.  Like after a few weeks of school last year when every parent that we met made comments like “oh, so THIS is the famous Woo” or “so YOU are Woo’s parents, we have heard so much about him!” He settled down after a couple of weeks, but I often wondered what we weren’t hearing about, and when it would start to get out of hand.

I was certain that he was going to grow into the class clown and that we would have many, many calls to pick him up from the principal’s office for this behavior.  I was wrong. The lils met me at the gate one day last week, and Goose reported that Woo had hit her.  I tried to get to the bottom of it, but neither were really clear on how it happened, if a teacher had been notified, or if he had been punished.  I figured that I would try again later and we headed home for snack.  As I was unpacking his back, I got to the bottom of the story.  It was there that I found a note.

The note had clearly been read by Woo, as it was ripped in half.  It told how Woo had been naughty at school and had to be sent to the principal’s office and miss the majority of his recess as punishment.  It seems that he didn’t just hit his sister, he did it with a shovel! This was not the impression that I thought he would be leaving, just two short weeks into school at the age of five! His teacher did acknowledge that it was out of character and he had clearly been punished for his actions, so we talked through the behaviour and why we never take out our frustrations by hitting.  He seems to have gotten the message, and we haven’t had any incidents since.  I am hoping that there will be no next note, or the dreaded call from another child’s parents, but I fear that hope is in vain.  Perhaps this is why you don’t put siblings in the same class?!

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We have all gotten them.  Back in the day, they came by postal mail, and asked that you write out the letter and send it to some random number of people to either ensure world peace, or prevent eternal damnation.  Sometimes there was a list of people that HAD participated, and you were supposed to add your name to the bottom when you sent out your copies.  I never forwarded any of them on, which likely explains why there are still wars in the world and the fact that I am going to hell.  Still, I don’t forward the emails that these letters eventually became, and I can’t be bothered to update my status with whatever is going around to raise awareness for various causes.  I am clearly going to hell.

As we were getting the lils ready for bed tonight, our doorbell rang.  It was odd because it never gets rung, unless we are expecting guests; and the front of our house was completely dark.  I was reading to Goose, but curious enough to answer it. When I flipped on the light and opened the door I saw no one.  Kids, I thought, and was about to close the door when I looked down and saw a brown paper bag on the edge of the porch.  I reached for it, then hesitated, as you never know what is in a brown paper bag that is left, in the dark, on your porch, about a week before Hallowe’en.  I sniffed and noted that it was not flaming, so I picked it up and brought it inside.

Once I was inside, I noticed that “Happy Hallowe’en” had been written on the bag.

I turned it over and saw this (you can read it if you enlarge the picture).

The Coles notes version of the text is that the bag is filled with candy.  The recipient is supposed to keep the candy, but fill five more bags, drop them on their neighbours porches and dash before being seen – they are “ghost” deliveries of candy.  My heart sunk a little as I ready this.  A chain letter.  A Hallowe’en chain letter that comes with candy.  I love Hallowe’en, I really do, but I can’t do this, because I hate chain letters.  Not everyone loves holidays that I love, not everyone shares the same beliefs, not everyone believes that a letter will bring world peace.  There is no obvious agenda  here and no goal other than sharing a little candy, but deep down, it is still a chain letter.

I’ll eat the candy though.

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I found our pediatrician when I was expecting Woo. Finding someone was not an easy task, largely because I didn’t have a family doctor to refer us and there were very few doctors in Ottawa who were actually taking patients. She was the first that said yes and I signed up without a second thought. I knew something was off during our first visit when we felt we were rushed, and our very valid, brand spanking new parent questions and concerns were brushed aside in an apparent effort to get us through the appointment within our allotted time. I should have just trusted my gut.

Over the five plus years that we have taken our children to see this doctor, I have grown increasingly frustrated by her bedside manner and the way that she has treated our family in general. It seems that every time either of us leaves her office we have yet another story to tell. In our tenure with her she has: told us to book a second appointment time if we have questions to ask; minimized my concerns about my child’s development; told me that one of my children’s behaviour was “just strange” when I asked about it; told me that my four month old was OBESE; gotten mad at me for not calling her when Woo and I fell down the stairs and he fractured his skull; doubted that my children could speak when I told her how much and how early they were talking (possibly because they were too scared to talk in her presence); shushed my infant who was happily babbling; scared both of my children by ripping their shirts up and jamming a cold stethoscope on their back, then getting mad at them because she could not hear when they were crying… I could (and have been known to) go on. We have stuck with her, though, partially because it is still hard to find a pediatrician in Ottawa, and because it seems that every time that I get irked enough to just stop bringing the lils to her we have a good visit; where she is caring, attentive, and charming with the littles. Normal even.

There have been two instances where I absolutely should have switched from her, but didn’t. Yet. The first was when Woo had peanuts for the first time. He was two, and we gave him peanut butter on a cracker. He loved it, but his body did NOT. He started coughing, having trouble breathing, swelling, hives, all the classic signs of a reaction. We rushed him to the hospital, where they confirmed that it was an anaphylactic reaction. They treated and advised that we avoid all nuts and see his doctor for a referral to an allergist as soon as possible. I made an appointment the next day, and she did not believe that the reaction was allergic/anaphylaxis and didn’t want to refer him to an allergist. She thought it was VIRAL. I insisted, and we were referred. Our allergist was quite ticked when he got the referral, on which she had written a snarky little note saying the referral was being made “only because the mother insisted.” It was a classic case of anaphylaxis, and Woo has quite a serious peanut allergy. We should have switched.

The second, and last time that she has really ticked me off, was during our visit last week. I had the lils in for a post-India check-up, and was meeting with her about Woo. Early in the visit she made some remark about him being four and a half, so I politely corrected her because he is five and a half. She questioned me, in an “are you sure” kind of way, and then CHECKED THE FILE to verify his age. Cleary I wouldn’t know how old he is. We moved on, and I mentioned that he was still experiencing constipation, sometimes for prolonged periods. She immediately told me that this must be behavioural, given that it had just started. I explained that it was not always severe, but that this was something that he had been experiencing from the time that he was not yet two. At this point she started flipping through his file, reading his history. When she was finished, she looked at me and told me that he did not have a history of constipation, as she had no note of it in the file!

I was livid, but Woo was in the room with me, so I managed to keep my cool. I hate the insinuation that she knew my child’s history best, based on four pages of notes that cover the last four five years of his life. The bottom line is that we know it is not a new “behaviour”, we are both certain that it has been mentioned at each and every check-up type appointment that he has had, and at some point the doctor needs to believe what the parents are telling them. She set up a follow-up appointment, but I have since cancelled it because of a conflict. I hope that I don’t have to rebook it with her. So, anyone know of a GREAT pediatrician** who can take on two more low maintenance lils?

** EDIT – We are looking for a doctor – family doc or pediatrician! 🙂

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This likely isn’t going to come as a surprise to some, but I have a confession to make.  I have a potty mouth.  It’s something that I strive to control, and can pretty effectively hide it when I need to, but once I get started I swear like a trucker.  This only really became a problem after Woo was born and started to echo the things that we said.

When I was on maternity leave there were large chunks of the day where I had two choices, I could talk to Woo, or I could talk to myself.  While I did talk to Woo a tonne, I often wanted a response and could only get that from myself.  The more I talked, the more I realized that I didn’t need a filter.  My days were coloured with many an expletive.  This went on for about six months, until our early talker’s babbles became words and he added new ones every day.  We instituted the swear jar, where everyone had to add a dollar for every curse made in the presence of the lil one and two dollars for any word that Woo repeated (each time it was repeated).*  I added one hundred and twenty dollars to Woo’s piggy bank in the first week. Thankfully I got better, but not before I had added over five hundred dollars.

Part of getting better involved learning new ways to express my agitation/anger/dismay with things.  One of my favourite phrases became “what the heck?!”, which is infinitely better than the alternative.  So much so, that I thought it was darling when Goose started saying it a while back. At first she just echoed my usage, but then branched out and began to use it appropriately, and without prompting.  I was a little proud.

Lately she has started to put her own spin on it.  Always monkeying with the word heck, she has gone through several different pronunciations. First it was HE-ECK, then HI-YUCK, and most recently HUCK.  Goose goes around saying “what the HUCK”.  That is just way to close to a word that I have never said near her, but I can see where this is going. It involves bringing back the swear jar, as I know this will get pinned on me.

Fuck.

*This rule as actually (and thankfully) only been invoked once. Shortly before Goose was born Willy was tasked with putting our very nocturnal and hard to get back to sleep boy back to sleep.  It took a long period of cuddling and rocking, when finally Willy put Woo back in bed.  Just as Willy was creeping away, the bed creaked, Woo woke and Willy whispered “oh fuck”.  There was a long and silent pause before a sweet little boy voice repeated (three times) what his dad had said.  I heard this all on the monitor, so when Willy eventually returned to bed, I leaned over and whispered, “That’ll be eight dollars”.*

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