Mabel

As the youngest of nine children, I was often accused of being the "spoiled baby" of the family. I have never understood why my siblings would take it out on me, though, since I had nothing to do with either being the last born or having (alleged) extra attention paid to me.

Whatever their reasons, I think I now understand why parents might dote on their youngest more than the others. It's not because the baby is smarter or better looking than the older sibs (well, that may have been the case in my family, but anyway...) It's because getting older means life gets more complicated. And so too does the teen or young adult going through those awkward stages. We parents are simply trying to cling to the innocence of the younger years. Let's face it: while it might be sweet to hear your 4-year-old tell you about all the boys who kissed her at recess, it's not cute anymore when it's your 14-year-old telling you the same thing. And the schoolyard problems of the 8-year-old have far fewer long-lasting consequences than the teen whose highschool is in the downtown core and across the street from a methadone clinic.

I now have one kid fully entrenched in the drama and hardships of adolescence and another banging on its door. So it is understandable that I might indulge my not quite 10 year old and her childhood whims. "Mom, will you colour with me?" Absolutely! Break out the crayons. "Can you build a snowman with me?" Let me get my boots on. "Mom will you lie down with me when you tuck me in tonight?" I would love to, the laundry can wait. "Mom, will you watch 'Dog With a Blog' with me?" Okay, so maybe not all her whims.

Anyway, before she left for school this morning, Willa didn't ask but told me I had to look after Mabel. Is Mabel her sick guinea pig or pet goldfish, you ask? No, she is one of Willa's many baby dolls. Not just any baby doll, Mabel is the one that Willa fell in love with the moment her sensor-embedded bottom touched her sensor-receptive potty and made a tinkling sound. Bob and I have been charged with Mabel's care before and since she is an exceptionally well-behaved baby doll, I agreed to look after her again today. And so I find myself with Mabel.

When Willa asks me to look after her baby, I don't just put it out of my mind until she walks through the door after school. Nope, this mom brings Mabel with her around the house to engage and stimulate her tiny mind. We read stories, do laundry, wash dishes, maybe have a playdate and occasionally get some work done at the computer. You may wonder if I actually accomplish anything on these days. Well, no, not much really... But I document what I've done with Mabel so Willa can have a good idea of how Mabel's day went. (All the best daycares do this, I'm told.) Besides, Willa loves to see the pictures of Mabel's day and I love to see the smile on Willa's face when she looks through them.

After all, if I am trying to hang on to the sweetness of my baby's childhood for as long as I can, what's the harm in indulging in it myself? I can't keep her from growing up and all too soon she won't be so eager to play with me. So I will revel in it while I can. I will colour with her, play hairdresser, make snow angels and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. And if my kids can't stay young forever, I suppose I will always have Mabel!

You can check out Mabel's day here.

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca

Benny (not-so)Goodman

Music runs deep through my family tree. My maternal grandfather was a violinist and I will always have wonderful memories of my grandmother, and later my uncles, my sisters or me, accompanying him on the piano, while everyone else in the room sang along. The talent carried through my family: each of the nine of us took piano lessons; several of my siblings taught themselves how to play the guitar; we have sung in choirs and for weddings, taught piano, performed in bands and school musicals and I did my undergraduate degree in Music.

How is it, then, that my children appear to have so little musical talent? Neva refused to practise when she took lessons years ago and Willa shows next to no interest in lessons at all. But let's look at 11-year-old Milo. The boy, as much as he loves to sing and dance, is completely tone deaf. So when he chose the clarinet as his instrument in music class last year, I was less than excited. He squeaked and squawked his way through Grade 5 and eagerly brought his clarinet home every other weekend. (I was always relieved when his interest in practising vanished as soon as he walked through the door.) 

Fast forward now to Grade 6. He is a "role model" for the younger students in his split class and was asked to demonstrate, with another classmate, what he has learned in music so far. But he had to brush up over the holidays. So Milo arrived home that last day before Christmas with his clarinet and his music book. He immediately went to his room and began to play. And play he did - seemingly non-stop, for days leading up to Christmas. His excitement was admirable, even if it did frequently interrupt conversations. (As in, "Who wants to hear me play?" or, "Mom, Mom! Listen to this!") Not only did he practise the two songs he was assigned, he also moved forward in the book teaching himself new notes and new songs. And on occasion he managed to produce a lovely tone amid the cacophony. 

Bob and I were quite pleased to see this enthusiasm for practice, given our previous experience. Those squeaks and squawks leading up to Christmas were his and he was proud of every one. And we were thrilled. We were even more thrilled, of course, when the excitement of Christmas arrived and he traded in clarinet practice for playing board games and visiting with family. 

Ahh... Peace on Earth!

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca 

New Year's Reflections

This time of year is one of reflection and hopefulness. We look back on the year that was, sometimes with pride and joy or perhaps sadness or even relief that it's over. And we look forward to the year that will be: full of promise, like starting that book you've been wanting to read. 

People often refer to the new year as a blank slate or book of blank pages waiting to be written by you. It's about turning over a new leaf and making resolutions to "be better", whether that means losing 30 lbs or quitting smoking or planning the perfect wedding. But a friend of mine described the coming year as "an incredibly complex puzzle" that she has to "decode". For her, it's about hanging on to what did work last year and getting rid of what didn't. Her musings really spoke to me because it's not about setting lofty and unattainable goals. Or "getting it right" and being perfect.
This view comes from the realistic perspective that we are fallible, imperfect and always changing. There is no absolute when it comes to life plans. Oh, maybe for a very determined few, but not the vast majority of us. We will always be learning. We will always need to adapt and change. There will always be both great happiness and great pain in our lives. And choosing to be "okay" with this is probably the best resolution any of us can make.
So as I very gratefully, but respectfully, shut the door on 2013, and take a good look at the puzzle that is 2014, I wish you and your families "Happy Decoding"!
Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca

Happy New Year!

Well, the holidays are officially over. Gone are the days of Baileys in my coffee and extra cookies at lunch. (And tea time. And dessert. And before bed snack.) Decorations and fruit cakes have been boxed away for another year and children are back to school.

Wait... No! Both London school boards have declared a Snow Day and that means parents are frantically trying to arrange child care and employers are facing a morning of delayed commuters and called-in personal days.

We here at ContestHound, however, are seeing first-hand the benefits of owning a family-run home business: no child care or work panic. We just have to contend with three kids that we would rather have had out of the house today, after two and a half weeks of non-stop "Can you take me to so-and-so's?" and "Will you play with me?" and "Go to your room and leave your sister alone!" and "MO-OM!!"

Don't get me wrong - I love my kids like crazy. But this extra "holiday" I've been given is really pushing the crazy part!

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca

Tricky Teens

Our nine-year-old daughter Willa was upset listening to Bob and me arguing about something. We tried comforting her by reminding her that she sometimes has fights with her brother Milo but they still love each other.

"Yeah," she replied, "but that's family; you always love your family. Unless they're a teenager, then it gets tricky."

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca

Rites of Passage

Recently we've passed a number of milestones in our family: Willa, now in Gr. 4, is no longer considered Primary in the school system; 11-year-old Milo has begun school instruction on that uncomfortable health topic and as a result is requiring much more frequent bathing; and Neva has had her braces removed and is off to high school. All good indications of life moving forward as it should. Of course, we aren't the only family facing big changes.

We were saying goodbye to our neighbour's daughter, who was heading off to university across the country. Bob said, rather dramatically, "Ah... and yet another rite of passage: kids going off the university, never to return again."

Our 9-year-old daughter, Willa, responded sweetly, "Oh, they'll return!" Then more pointedly, "With their dirty laundry in the trunk."

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.ca

Back to Shcool - Back to Work

When we first started ContestHound, some 13 years ago, Bob and I believed we needed a "hook" to get subscribers to our newsletter. So in each issue, we included a story about life as at-home parents with our then toddler, Neva. As ContestHound grew, so did our family and our readers were there when Milo and Willa were born, offering us parenting tips and name ideas along the way. We cherished every email we got from our readers. (Yes, even when you suggested we name our youngest after your great grandma Ethel Minerva!) The "hook" had done more than build our audience, it had hooked us as we documented over 500 stories about our children.

Over the years, however, ContestHound led us - or we led ContestHound - away from our real beginnings as we expanded and became more business like. And we dropped the stories from the newsletters. The dollar value of each issue became more important than the connection we had with our readers. But that's not how we want to operate. It's not enjoyable anymore and we certainly all could use more fun and less stress in our day to day.

So, as our kids head back to school to begin a new year, so too will Bob and I head back to our roots to bring you great contests and sweeps and, hopefully, a smile to your day.

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

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

Cookie Capers ...

We have a rule in our house: no sweets or treats until you've had a piece of fruit or a vegetable. For the most part the kids are good about following this rule, even to the point of letting their friends know when they come over. Going to a friend's house, on the other, is different entirely. They still know my rule, but if another parent doesn't care, my kids certainly aren't going to insist on a piece of broccoli before accepting a cookie. Would you?!

This morning, Willa was playing at her friend Marc's house. Marc's mom baked cookies with them and made macaroni for lunch. I picked Willa up after lunch to take her to school.

I just a call from Marc's mom. She was cleaning up after we left and noticed two cookies left on the plate of four she'd put out for Marc and Willa. She asked Marc if they'd only eaten one cookie each.

"No," Marc replied, "I had two. Willa didn't eat hers."

"Why not?"

"You told her she had to eat her apple first and she wasn't finished it when her mom came to the door."

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Back to School ...

We're half way through the second day of school and it is only now, as I sit here, that the house is finally quiet! Milo missed his first day of Grade 2 yesterday due to highly contagious pink eye. And Willa doesn't go to school in the mornings. But now that all three are gone, I think I can finally concentrate on work for more than 3 minutes at a time.

Working from home while all three of our children were home for the summer is challenging at the very least. While 7-year-old Milo kept himself occupied for long periods of time (if a very noisy time), our two girls seemed to be at a loss if they didn't have a playdate or an activity planned.

My youngest daughter, Willa, typically started asking if she could call a friend about 17 seconds after she'd finished eating her breakfast. It was like that every day for the 9 weeks of summer holiday. (No, really, I'm not kidding.) One day last week, I had to endure what seemed like hours of "who can I call now?" before she finally found a friend who was available to play that afternoon.

"Marc's coming over," she told her dad.

"Is that a good thing?" he asked.

"Yes! Cuz now I won't be following you and Mommy around all the time!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

A Story By Willa

One day there was a Dad walking in his garden. He was harvesting vegetables from his garden for his Granny. And then he went off and found a basket. And he found a big bad wolf in it. So he took the wolf out and put his food in. And then he went through the fireworks and he stayed for a little. When he was sitting down he found a ginormous toilet. [Here she snickers] So he sat on it.

Then he went off to the woods. And then he started walking again and found a college school. He went behind the college school and found a big ginormous tower. At the top there was a toilet. [more snickering] And he sat on it again. And then he started walking again.

At the end of the forest, he found his Granny's house. They were in the back. He went behind Granny's house and said, "They forgot about my birthday!"

When he sat on the toilet, they all jumped out and said, "Surprise! Happy birthday!" And they had a wonderful picnic birthday.

The End

Happy sweeping!

Willa Gunther, as told to Kathleen Gunther (Ed).,
Most Junior Writer in Residence, ContestHound.com

Swimming, Swimming ...

All three kids have been taking swimming lessons again this summer, something we believe is not a matter of sport or fitness as much as it is a matter of safety. Luckily, none of our three have ever had a fear of water, preferring to spend more time under it than above it listening to their instructors.

During one class last week, the instructor had the long rescue hook in the water, the pole touching the bottom of the pool. The kids were supposed to hold on to the pole and swim down as far as they could. At the end of class, Milo approached me on the pool deck, a suspiciously huge smile on his face. The kind of look that almost screams, "guess what's different about me!"

"What?" I asked.

"Do you notice I'm extra wet today? That's because I had to swim to the bottom of the pool!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com

Stuck ...

I find myself wondering sometimes whether kids forget to plug their brains back in when they wake up in the morning. After a good night's sleep, my 7 year-old son Milo was getting dressed when from his room, I heard him calling for help. It wasn't a pained cry but more of a "what have I gotten myself into?" one.

We met halfway between my office and the bedroom and I was struck dumbfounded by his predicament. It seems that he had pulled up his pants as high as he could get them without having unbuttoned and unzipped. They were stuck around his thighs. Laughing, I suggested he undo the button, but to no avail. They were too tight. Okay then, how about you try to pull them down, I offered. Still too tight.

As I was busily trying to explain to a very frustrated Milo that we weren't laughing at him but rather at his predicament, I just couldn't find the right words. Meanwhile, there he stood, pants stuck halfway up forced to listen to me toss out nothing more than "word salad".

It wasn't until my wife Kathleen came to his rescue -- and pulled his pants down for him -- that his suffering ended. Turns out that maybe my kids aren't the only ones whose brains are not up and running first thing in the morning.

Now, where's my coffee?

Happy sweeping!

Bob Gunther
Webmaster, ContestHound.com

Innocent Until Presumed Guilty ...

Bob was taking apart the old computer to retrieve any reusable parts. He thought it might interest the kids to see what a computer looked like inside so he called them all to come see.

Milo took one look at all the parts all over the floor, some of them (deliberately) bent out of shape, and said, "I did NOT do that!"

Happy sweeping!

Kathleen Gunther
Editor, ContestHound.com