The Trouble with Boys ...

My 10-year-old daughter told her 7 1/2-year-old brother that boys get "stupid" when they turn 13. Clearly she heard this from a friend with an older brother. So I explained that, while they don't become stupid, puberty can often make them do stupid things.

Satisfied with my explanation, the two went off to play hide and seek. Within minutes we heard a big crash from the bathroom.

I ran upstairs to see if anyone was hurt and Milo emerged with a goofy look on his face. He'd jumped into the bathtub to hide, but tripped and knocked all the shampoo bottles off the ledge.

"Or," he said with a laugh, "maybe we just get stupid at 7!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Look it Up ...

Bob and I were discussing the future of bound books with a college professor friend of ours. With the availability of so much on the internet, there seems to be no use for "old-fashioned" reference books like the thesaurus or an encyclopaedia. In fact, The Oxford English Dictionary will no longer publish new print editions, only online versions. So it's no surprise when students these days need to be taught how to properly reference sources when writing essays and papers.

Knowing this, however, doesn't make it any less frustrating for the parent helping her 10-year-old daughter with homework when translating comes into question.

"Mommy, I need to go on your computer to do my French homework."

"Why don't you use my French-English dictionary," I said, pulling out the one I've had since high school.

"No!" Uh-oh. Here comes the protest. "It's too confusing. I just wanna do it online!"

"How can it be confusing? The front half is English to French, the back half is French to English."

"But, there's too many words!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Dog Tired ...

Our 10-year-old daughter Neva has many friends at school and we've become aquainted with most of their parents. We were talking in the schoolyard the other day with one mother when her daughter approached and asked about their neighbor's dog.

"You can go to dog training with them tonight," our friend said. "And we can take the dog for a walk when we get home from school."

"No don't take him for a walk now," her daughter protested. "He'll be too tired for training and he'll sit on the Chihuahua again!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Home Sweet Home?

We have been house-hunting the last few months and this past weekend we found one we liked enough to go back a second time. Since the house was vacant, and our agent is a good friend of ours, we brought the kids with us. They ran excitedly through the house, designating rooms as "mine", "yours", "office", "TV room".

Next was the backyard where they ran laps around the perimeter, testing out its kid-worthiness. The shed would hold their bikes, the garden could go here, a swingset there.

Finally we showed them the "secret" entrance to the loft, through the closet in the master bedroom. This was the height of excitement and they could no longer contain themselves. They started to run around and bump into each other. This turned to falling on each other, then tickling and wrestling and, finally, kicking and screaming.

Once I got them separated and downstairs, one at a time, I told Bob it was time to go. He asked, "Well, do we like the house? Is this the one?"

"It must be," I said, "they seem to fight in it just like home."

We'll let you know how we make out with the house...

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

"As Time Goes By" ...

As our kids grow up, we often think of times gone past. "Remember when...?" we wistfully ponder. Here are a few things I miss about my kids "younger" years:

I miss the lamb-like cries of a new born.
I miss the toothless, full-body smile of a four-month-old.
I miss the sumo wrestler thighs of my six-month-olds.
I miss sleepers. With feet. Is there anything more lovely than hugging a baby in a one-piece sleeper?
I miss the newly-walking toddler who drags the favourite stuffed animal behind them.
I miss how stacking tins of tuna can amuse them for an hour.
I miss how they readily ate every new food I offered.
I miss how perfectly they fit in the contours of my body, feet tucked into my tummy, when snuggling in bed.
I miss their peculiar "dialects" as they learned to speak. Like how Neva used to say "all by my Neva's self". Or when Milo, at two, would call Willa "La-la-beela". And how Willa always said, "that feel me better".

Now the lamb-like cries have been exchanged for ear-splitting shouts from the hormonal pre-teen or her saucy 5-year-old sister. The newly-walking toddlers are now riding their two-wheeled bikes faster than I can keep up. If only tuna tins were as enthralling as the 24-7 cartoon channel or Super Mario. New foods only push out old favourites, as if there is a finite number permitted in the repertoire. And don't get me started on chubby thighs!

But every new stage has its own rewards, like Neva's sincere and hearty laugh when she's with her best friend; Milo's toothless grin when he lost his two front teeth not too long ago; now I get to watch Willa learn to read, Milo whiz through math and Neva put her creative imagination to paper. And, best of all, they all still like to have me lie down with them at bedtime and climb into our bed early in the morning.

I know in 5 and 10 years' time I'll be lamenting the loss of the days I'm living right now. So here's to the present. And to snuggling with your kids -- at any age!

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

October is Breast Cancer Month

Last Sunday was The Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation's 18th annual Run for the Cure. In 56 communities across the country, more than 170,000 people ran, walked and wheeled their way to raising $26.5 million for Breast Cancer. Among those people were me and my girls. I first participated 10 years ago when Neva was just a toddler. It was a way for my mothers' group to get together and give back, but at the time breast cancer hadn't touched any of our lives yet. In the years since, I've met more women than I care to count who have been diagnosed with, suffered through, conquered, survived and succumbed to breast cancer. One of those was Bob's sister, 8 years ago.

So Sunday morning, Neva, Willa and I dressed in pink, donned our Run shirts and joined thousands of others in a downtown park to beat a disease I hope never effects my girls. And as I wondered who to include on my "I'm running for..." message bib, I decided I'd run for those closest to my heart. My message:

"I'm running for MY GIRLS: the two I gave birth to and the two who nursed them and their brother for 6 years!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Coming of (r)Age

Our children grow up in all different quirky and wonderful ways. Some milestones we embrace warmly -- the first steps, the first lost tooth, the first crush. Others we don't even like to touch with a ten-foot pole. Like, for instance, make-up.

This morning I was reminded it was picture day at school. No problem, I thought. I just did laundry yesterday and most of it was even folded. So everyone had good clean clothes to wear. All done, right? Wrong! Okay, Milo was easy: throw clothes at him and make it a race to see how fast he can get dressed. No different from any other morning. I suspect the same will be true when Willa goes to Kindergarten after lunch. However, not only did I have to send Neva back to change out of the seasonally inappropriate outfit she had first picked out, but I had to deal with the thorn in every "tween" mother's side: make-up.

She came to the kitchen looking like she had Fifth Disease, cheeks as red as beets. I did my best to gently tell her that you need to learn how to apply make-up before you can wear it and to please go clean up. I also did my best to gently tell her that I didn't think it was either appropriate or necessary for 10-year-olds to wear make up other than for play.

After she stormed from room to room, yelling about the likelihood that I'd never let her wear make-up, that she was going to look ugly in her picture just like every year, how I was the worst mother ever, and she wasn't even going to school anymore, the only thing I could do was pull her into my arms and love her. She cried. She yelled. She hurled insults. But we could discuss it all later, when everyone's calmer.

Sometimes you just need to hold your kid. And your tongue!

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com