An open letter to Tim Burton

Dear Tim Burton,

While I'm sure you get your share of fan mail and I do love every film you've ever made (well, other than Batman - nothing personal, I'm just not into the whole superhero thing), this is not just any old fan letter.

Yes, it's true that Edward Scissorhands is possibly my favorite movie ever. That scene at the end, where Kim is telling the story to her grandchild? Makes me sob like a baby every time.

I get teary-eyed just looking at this

You might also like to know that my husband and I loved The Nightmare Before Christmas so much we considered decorating our son's nursery Jack and Sally style. But friends and family intervened - they didn't think little skeletons decorating the walls would be appropriate for a newborn. However, knowing what I do now, I beg to differ.

I know that you've recently visited Toronto, so you're aware of our dipping temperatures, overplayed holiday music, frantic shoppers and children making their yearly wish lists (not exclusive to Toronto, of course). But it brings me to the point of my letter. I need your help with something - something I'm convinced only YOU can pull off.

It's not as if I haven't tried everything I could think of. For weeks I've been combing the web, to no avail. In desperation, I even appealed to a certain jolly man with a white beard and red suit, but alas, he is not as magical as he would have me believe. There are some requests even he can't deliver on and well...that's where you come in.

You see, my little boy is completely obsessed with a creation of yours from a certain movie called Beetle Juice. Not only the title character, but everyone in it, and in particular, The House, aka Adam & Barbara's House. He knows every nook and cranny of that house, can tell you about every window, door, step and hallway, you name it, he's memorized it.

A typical evening at home

I know it's unusual, and trust me, I don't encourage it. But if I don't let him watch his favorite scenes repeatedly, there's hell to pay. Have you ever dealt with an tantrum-throwing Junior Kindergarten-er, Tim? Let's just say it makes Beetle Juice himself look like a freaking saint.

In my darling son's frenzy to re-create the Beetle Juice house, he's torn apart my home, using furniture, cushions, Tupperware - anything he can get his busy little hands on to build it. Being the artist you are, I'm sure you can appreciate his creativity.

His latest rendition

However, my dilemma is this: The only thing this child wants for Christmas is the Beetle Juice house. Yes, it's my dumb luck that his little heart is set on a toy from a movie going on 23 years ago, which to my knowledge (and I have done my homework) has never existed. Oh, I've found Adam and Barbara Maitland action figures and tons of Beetle Juice dolls, but not one house was ever constructed.

Well, except this one:

My husband's solution to all of this is to order the above. And, although he means well hubby's obviously lost his mind. This $75USD ceramic work of art just will not do. Mostly BECAUSE IT'S CERAMIC. Read: Highly breakable. Not ideal material for a 4.5 year old boy's Christmas gift.

So, what do you say, Timmy - can you help a Mama out? Call in one of your... I don't know, production people or something and have them whip up a toy Beetle Juice house? I mean, it can't be that difficult. If you can make Johnny Deep look ugly, then anything's possible, right?

One last thing - I realize you probably aren't in the habit of perusing "Mom Blogs", but who knows? Maybe on that off chance you're searching for the next #BurtonStory... also, if anyone else has any suggestions - tell me, please!

Yours truly,

Ciaran's mom.

Wordless Wednesday - Updates, including the rapid deterioration of furniture

After our Halloween crisis this year, this is what Ciaran finally decided on. Some kind of winged hellcat; one that apparently likes to tear apart the living room furniture.

And this is why we're not buying new sofas for a looong time, or at least until he outgrows his latest obsessive compulsion:

Surviving Halloween #5

Halloween takes on a whole new meaning when you have small kids. You get to subject them to your own costume ideas and preferences, for the first couple of years, anyway. And, if you love Halloween as much as my husband and I do, there's nothing more exciting than that. I mean, this is coming from parents who actually considered decorating our son's nursery to the theme of "The Nightmare Before Christmas". We eventually came to our senses; admittedly skeletons and corpses (cute and cartoon-ish as they are) might not have been the wisest choice in newborn decor.

But, for Ciaran's very first Halloween, we wanted a mixture of cute and scary, hence the "Baby Frankenstein" number we rigged up for his 7th month on the planet. I have to give Tony full credit for making the whole outfit, from the head piece, the black jacket he actually sewed, and the platform shoes on his wee infant feet. Don't worry, the green tint on his face is totally photoshopped.

The next year, I turned all soft and picked out this little Dalmatian costume. Tony was a bit disappointed that it wasn't more spooky, but the Libra in me just had to balance things out. Plus, Ciaran got a lot of use out of the puppy dog ears, wearing them well into spring of the next year. It was adorable, I tell you!

Year three was when Mom and Dad had to relent and give in to Ciaran's costume wishes. We made the unfortunate choice of bringing him to the costume store, where he took one look at the Viking hat and sword and decided he was going to be a little warrior. But, by the time Halloween night rolled around, he wouldn't have anything to do with this costume and one of the pumpkins ended up wearing the helmet.

And last year was the year of the ladybug, when he became ridiculously obsessed with the red and black insect, so it was only appropriate that he donned this costume.

As for this Halloween, well, let's just say we're still (2 hours before trick or treating commences, nonetheless), trying to iron out the costume details. You see, Ciaran really wanted to be a house. Yes, a house. So, we finally got it figured out just how we'd make said house costume, and then a week ago he changed his mind. He wanted to be some kind of winged cat creature. So back to the costume store we went. Again, very important advice to parents: Do not bring your child to the costume store once they decide on a costume. There are waaay too many options. Go there yourself, grab the costume and Bob's your uncle. But, no, we didn't do that. Back to square one. *Sigh*. I'll keep you posted.

On another note, I here's one of my fave family Halloween pictures circa 1984 - my cousin Jackie the vampire and my brother Jeff as a tiny Mr. T!

Happy Halloween to all!!

The Price of Free Babysitting

Ciaran's first sleepover at Tony's parent's place went so well, (too well, actually), that my mother-in-law offered to take him on a regular basis. "Once or twice a week, if you want" were her exact words. Should have been music to my ears, but trust me - those words have severe consequences. 

My in-laws have been dying to keep Ciaran overnight - they've even got a kids room all set up, not to mention some 30-odd acres of farmland complete with sheep, chickens, wild turkeys and rabbits.

And tractors. Big, shiny red tractors that my machine-obsessed child goes apesh!t over. Those, and anything in the color red. So red tractors? Are da bomb as far as Ciaran is concerned.

But time and time again, when I'd ask if he'd like to have a sleepover at Noninna's, he'd nod but then quickly ask, "You're coming too, right Mommy?" Now, not to judge or slam my mother-in-law here - she is a wonderful, generous, woman. But she would totally tell him "Oh yes, Mommy is staying too." I, on the other hand, can't tell him those kinds of untruths.

Yeah, sure, I do still tell him The Man is coming if he doesn't stop playing with the washing machine, vacuum cleaner, (insert practically any mechanical object here). But I could never lie for the sake of making him stay overnight. I have some scruples. He had to want to do it on his own accord.

Then one day he mentioned that he wanted to sleep over at Noninna's - without insisting that I be there. Before he could change his mind, I packed his bag and called my mother-in-law to tell her what she'd been waiting 2 years to hear.

But, as anxious as I was to finally have a child-free night, albeit during the middle of the week (beggars really can not be choosers, y'all), it's hard watching him become more and more independent.

I worried that come nighttime, he'd realize I wasn't there to read him a story, scratch his back and do all our other little bedtime rituals. What if he freaked out in the middle of the night and wanted to come home, I asked Tony. He assured me he'd drive the 45 minutes north to go and pick him up.

We called after dinner and I pressed my ear to the phone, listening to him recount breathlessly how much fun he was having. The rest of the night I half-expected the phone to ring, telling us to bring him back home, but the call never came.

Excited to see my little monkey the next day, I imagined him running up the driveway, his arms spread open to greet me the way he often does when I fetch him from daycare.

Except that was so not how it went down. Instead? He started crying the instant he saw me, kicking and refusing to get out of my MIL's car. We finally pried him out of his car seat, MIL repeating over and over how he didn't want to come home, how he begged to stay there one more night, making me feel oh-so-peachy at that particularly stressful moment.

Inside, he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs for 45 minutes. Straight. No break. I was seriously gonna lose my marbles. I walked away and washed my hair while he curled up on the sofa and kept wailing away.

Later that night when the demons finally retreated and I was tucking him into bed, I casually mentioned how he must have really enjoyed his sleepover. He got all quiet and I thought: Here it comes. That knife into my heart. He'll straight out disown me after one night of no rules and a ridiculously late bedtime, not having to eat his veggies and a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream...

Then he looked at me and said in the sweetest little voice ever, "It wasn't THAT fun, Mommy. I just really liked playing with the tractor."

Wordless Wednesday - Good thing he takes after Mommy

Look what happens when Dad's left in charge!

The Invasion of the Ladybugs

They came not in droves, but slowly, one by one into our home. The first one arrived about a year ago, received excitedly by Ciaran, who loves all things red, and now apparently, red with tiny black spots. It was plump, rubbery and kind of evil-looking, but my boy was delighted and so, we let the creature stay.

He looks menacing but he's harmless

This next specimen was handed over by his Dad as a bribe, one of many items given in such a manner, this time for sitting quietly while getting a haircut. (A cherry-flavored lollipop was also part of the bargain.)

Wind me up and watch me go!

By Christmas, news of Ciaran's insect collection had spread and good old St. Nick delivered a very special bug that lights up and is the perfect companion for little boys who are just a teeny bit afraid of the dark.

The added bonus of lights made this one an instant favorite!

Then, we spent New Year's Eve with a very dear friend, who also decided to add to our infestation  with this fun little guy.

With 8 legs, he really gets around!

By now, a precedent had been set and whenever we'd see any red and black spotted object it would inevitably come home with us. Like these recent inhabitants:

And finally, seeing that we'd become some kind of crazy, red toy insect magnets, the mother of all ladybugs showed up on Ciaran's 4th birthday:

Unfortunately, our runaway cat got really freaked out and peed all over the above giganotosaurus, somewhat  putting a damper on the birthday festivities, so we now keep it in a safe, high and dry locale.

So, what does one do, you ask, when such creatures have overtaken your living space and you can't go three feet without tripping over, kicking or accidentally stepping on a ladybug?

If you can't beat 'em join 'em!

The New Babysitter and The Man

There's a new babysitter in town and I must say, she not only provides Ciaran with endless entertainment, but she's (mostly) quiet, well-mannered and hard-working too. I leave him in her care with complete ease of mind. I've never seen him so content in my absence; I can actually walk away without the usual clingy and tearful goodbyes that mar most of our partings. Her name? She goes by Whirlpool model no. YLSR7233EQO but my son lovingly refers to her as "washing masheen".

That's right, Ciaran is obsessed with a laundry room appliance and has been for over a year now. It started by letting him accompany me to the basement to sort and wash clothes, rather than leave him alone upstairs to get into who knows what kind of trouble. He was instantly fascinated. He's always had a thing for water - turning on the faucets at full blast, flushing the toilet over and over again. I finally told him that The Man would come and yell at him if he didn't stop wasting water. I had to, he wouldn't listen to my rationale on expending resources. I honestly don't even know who The Man is, but in Ciaran's little mind it must be a scary man. Not my proudest parenting tactic, but hey, it works and sometimes desperate measures need to be taken.

Anyway, once Ciaran discovered the spinner part of the machine, (the agitator, I think?) well, he went completely apey. Turns out he loves spinny stuff too. I can't tell you how many times he's asked me what the spinner is doing, why does it turn, how come it spins so fast? Question after question about something I'd never given much thought to other than cramming filthy clothes into and peeling clean ones out of.

I deferred him to his Dad, who explains these types of technical questions much better than I do. His Dad not only explained every working part of the machine, but in my absense took these pictures of Ciaran inside of it. (This is exactly why I rarely leave the two of them alone in the house): 

In no time the kid could tell you what cycle the machine was on, just by standing at the top of the stairs and cocking his head towards the laundry room.

"Mom! Mom! I hear the rinse cycle!" And the joy in his wide-grinning face would have you believe Santa Claus himself had just dropped off a heaping sack of toys, or at the very least a handful of red lollipops.

"Mmm hmm", I respond. And every time I lug yet another basket of laundry down the stairs, my little helper races past me into the creepy, damp place where spiders hang out to seek out his new favorite pastime.

The routine goes something like this: Ciaran stands on an old kitchen chair directly in front of the washer, I select the time required per load and he starts the machine. I measure out the detergent and pass it to him to carefully dispense into the water. I hand him each article of clothing and he tosses them one by one into the sudsy abyss.

Yes, we are a dynamic duo. There's nothing that doesn't come out sparkling clean using our team effort - toys, money, household items - you name it. I dare anyone to find a grungy plush toy in my house. And coins? You'll never see the Queen's face gleam as brightly as it does on the spare change around here.

Yet, as cute as I found his washing machine fixation in the beginning, it quickly started to wear on me. He would not stop talking about it, asking even more questions, wanting to visit it after all the laundry (and other assorted items) were washed, and put away.

At first I'd hang out with him, until after the machine filled up and began its washing cycle, but he kept wanting to stay longer and longer. I tried dragging him away, but he'd sneak back down. Then, I did as other busy, tired parents do and just gave in.

So now, he stays in the laundry room until all cycles are complete and then yells up the stairs for me to bring down the next load. It's actually working out very well. I can clean up, make dinner, I even started my blog during one of his washing machine sojourns. I do check up on him often, just to make sure he hasn't stuck his hand into the machine or anything like that. But he's very cautious, and has been warned over and over about touching the machine when it's working. Besides, he does not want The Man dropping in on him and his favorite new babysitter.