New Year's Eve

4:30 pm. My parents, who braved the conditions of the city to visit our child and take care of him for a few hours, have just left. There's tea fixings leftover, and the sky is darkening. 

Last day of 2008, 100th post. I think there must be something significant about this, but I don't know if I want to be all reflective. I think sometimes I'm much too reflective, that I live too much in my own head. And maybe just sitting here and watching a movie with my child and being in the moment is a better use of my time than sitting and thinking about what's gone by, and even what's to come.

In the end, what's to come will be what it is. By which I mean -- there are several things I would like to happen in the next year, but I have no control over any of them. Control is a big thing for me. I like to be in control; realizing that I have none is a big step for me. The future is completely blank. What I want to happen might happen; what I fear will happen might happen (although much less likely); what's most likely to happen is a combination of what I hope for, a bunch of things I don't expect, and ... nothing. By which I mean -- the status quo, which I think is a good thing. Some amount of stability and predictability is a good thing.

Do I have a point? Probably not. I guess in the end I mean -- 2008 had some great points and some low ones. I'm kind of glad it's over. I'm looking forward to 2009 and I hope that good things will happen. I know some good things will, and probably some bad ones will too. We will weather each one as we did last year. I hope very much that 2009 will bring some good things for everyone out there. If you're reading this, that means you too. Happy New Year. 

Christmas gift photo extravaganza

Well, not really, but here's some links for you.

The sweater that I am currently knitting, here.

And the pendant that The Man bought for me, here.

I hope that last one works, since it's a strange site and a long link. But while you're there, go have a look around! There's some pretty nice things there, I'm sure you'll agree ... 

Sometime today I really do want to get a photo of the snow outside our house, because the insanity is truly breathtaking, but alas I admit that I am posting while it is STILL DARK OUTSIDE because I have a toddler and I am ALWAYS UP THIS EARLY.

(This is also why I didn't take photos of the actual items received -- wool and necklace, because the photos would look shoddy in this light.)

Surprise

Sixteen years ago, I moved with my parents to central Copenhagen. It was the first of two trips I made there to live; I spent most of the months of this one attending a Danish high school and falling in love with a cute Danish boy. My mother spent her time exploring the city. One of the things that she found was the flagship store of the now-deceased designer Georg Jensen. She admired many of his things, and eventually decided to purchase a few Christmas tree candleholders as a reminder of our trip.

Two and a half years later, when I went back to the city to do a year of university, she asked for only one thing: more candleholders. It was on that trip that I also finally learned that his name was George Jensen, but gay-org yensen, because asking for George got me a ton of very confused looks from Danish folks.

Those candleholders were the bane of the family existence for years. Despite the carefulness of my mother and I, the rest of the family cringed each time they were brought out, with dire predictions of flaming Christmas trees and houses. Sometime over the past five years, the candleholders have been retired to preserve family peace. But they are works of art. Carefully wraught, perfectly balanced, simple but elegant.

***************

One of the silly bothersome things about my now-defunked marriage was that my husband never managed -- never bothered -- to surprise me for Christmas or birthday. I'm not sure this matters; I mean, I'm not a terribly materialistic person, and frankly some surprises suck, but there was something about it that smacked of carelessness. Surprising a woman with a present is easy: visit a nice jewelry store, or a spa, or plan a short weekend away. I can pretty much guarantee that 90% of women would be pleased by a small token from one or more of these things. And the fact that he never did always felt like he just didn't care. That he didn't want to bother.

Oh, I'm terribly one-sided with this, I admit. I don't think I ever surprised him, and I'm pretty sure I've never managed to gift The Man with something he wasn't expecting and was very  pleased to have. Maybe I should cut the ex some slack; maybe he just wasn't that good at gift-buying. But the hints I dropped really should have given him some clue.

***************

Earlier this fall on my usual trek to work and back, I spotted a poster in the window of a brand-new store in the classy (read: expensive) area of town. There was a familiar Danish name and a stunning piece of jewelry, and I admired it from afar whenever possible. Late last fall, returning to work in the afternoon from an appointment, I stopped at the store and went in. They had the ring I had always wanted. I hadn't known it, but I always wanted it. But alas, it was far beyond our current budget allotment, for gifts or Christmas or ... well, at all. But I wandered around the store admiring the items within, beautifully designed items for every room of your home! Now I don't know how much I need a teapot that's twice the price of any teapot I've ever seen, despite the fact that it's ten times more beautiful, but for the first time ever I realized as I walked around the store that someone could buy me any object from that store -- anything at all! -- and I would think it was beautiful. 

They gave me catalogues. Beautiful catalogues! In full colour! Five of them! And they've been sitting on my living room tables ever since. Weeks and weeks of admiring from afar. Thinking of the things I would buy if I had more money than God. Weeks of looking at items that to me hold a special place in my heart, reminders of the time I spent overseas, reminding me of good times and wonderful adventures.

*****************

For Christmas this year we didn't return to the store. The Man had a few ideas for himself, and given our schedules I ended up purchasing two books for him while he was standing in the store with me; with an unhappy toddler I'm pretty sure he ended up purchasing the books himself. As for me, I went to the knitting store and purchased enough pretty wool for a new sweater. (I'll post which one and the wool later.) We had many great surprises for our child, and presents for ourselves, but no surprises. That's ok. We don't need them.

*****************

Ten days ago I went to my parents' house two days earlier than The Man to give him a break, time to himself, a holiday from parenting and responsibility. Sunday was quite possibly the snowiest day of the year, and when I called him he was planning nothing more than sleeping and movie-watching and frozen-pizza eating in the comfort of his own home. 

On Christmas morning he passed me a shoebox that I had seen him wrap earlier that week. It was full of wool. In the excitement of the day, I pulled off the paper, distracted, watching my child unwrap things and enjoy his gifts. The wool was tightly packed into the box, "so it'll pop out when you open it!" enthused The Man. I left the box shut; after all, I knew what was in there, and I wanted it all to STAY there, so why not leave it taped up?

But The Man seemed to want it to pop, so to indulge him, later on, I opened the box. Let the wool pop out. Pulled some of it out to show my mother.

And found another small wrapped package.

****************

No, it wasn't the ring I had always wanted. It was a pendant -- something that didn't quite break the bank as much as the ring would have. But it's beautiful, quite possibly the most beautiful item I've owned. On his one Sunday off from parenting and work and housework, he braved the snow and the public transportation system to go to this store and find something that I would like. Something within our budget, but something beautiful all the same.

I'm not sure that his sacrificing his own time, his precious time for himself that neither of us has enough of, or the gift itself is the greater surprise, or the greater gift. Either way, it was nice to spend a Christmas morning knowing that I'm worth surprising, and worth making the effort for.

Bad Parenting Moment #7,459

Whilst at my parents' house, we continued to have problems with The Boy throwing items as well as hitting his parents to get attention, or when angry. He's normally a very vocal child and we don't often have these problems, but you know -- it's a phase, sh*t happens. Anyway, my parents' house being the size it is, has plenty of uninhabited rooms just right for taking a moment to Cool Down and Consider Our Behaviour (what many people call a time out, but that I'm avoiding, given we don't do the exact two minutes on the naughty chair idea. I'm reframing it, that's all.) 

On one such occasion, The Man had removed The Child from the living room to my old bedroom for a quiet moment, and had placed him in one of the two easy chairs that are currently in there (my mother, far from creating a shrine to my presence as she did for my sister in the years after my sister left home, redecorated my room within 15 minutes of the words "I'm moving out" leaving my lips.)

The Man placed The Boy on one of the chairs, asked him firmly to calm himself and consider what he had done, and to come out when he was ready to apologize. He sobbed and sobbed, which was somewhat unusual, and The Man and I stood outside, wondering if perhaps there was some other problem. When he came to a gasping point in his sobs, we heard "BUT I JUST WANTED ANOTHER CHAIR!!!" followed by wails of the injustice of ages.

....

It's a shame we're not better at concealing our laughter. But we laughed so hard in the hallway that we were leaning on each other for support. 

Snow, snow, and more snow

We drove many hours yesterday, stopping briefly at a wonderous waterpark that is newly installed in a small town upisland, which was of course to entertain and awaken the child. 

(From the outside, the waterpark looked amazing -- waterslides! hot pool! wave pool! river section! pirate ship for climbing! small slide for children! tiny pool for toddlers! The only part the child enjoyed was the last one. The waterslides were too old for him; the hot pool too hot, the river too fast and too crowded, the wave pool too rough, the pirate ship too splashy, the tiny slide ditto. Sigh. Ah well. I did enjoy my time sitting in 18 inches of tepid water. Really, I did.) 

Anyway, where was I? Right. I had held my breath about this trip; travelling north in winter always seems like asking for bad weather. If there's snow in Victoria, you gotta know there's more snow further north. But the drive was relatively painless. There was some rain, but the roads were clear of snow and ice, so that while it wasn't a pleasant drive -- rain, backsplash, and even some bright sunshine making for less than pleasant driving -- it wasn't a dangerous one. 

We arrived at the house of friends to a lovely meal and some nice wine; The Boy was shy and reticent about a new place, but soon warmed up. The best thing by far about this place was that the two hosts have a 3.5 year old nephew who is often around, and so there were new toys  -- not many, but some -- and the place was largely toddler / preschooler proof. What's better is that the two homeowners themselves were very relaxed about things -- don't worry, he can't break anything, oh, it's ok if he touches this or that. It was quite the contrast from my parents' home, and very nice. This was also compounded by them being childless themselves and loving children, and so not only was the house child-friendly, but they were keen to interact and entertain the child, and tolerant of our entertainments (conversations being interrupted, etc.) so that the visit was very relaxed. 

Alas, we had only thought to stay one night. 

This morning as they prepared yet another gorgeous meal (we really must visit these people more often!) we glanced casually outside and noticed that the rain, which had been falling steadily all night, had turned sleety. I anxiously checked the roads and then the computer for both weather forecasts and road conditions, and was reassured on all counts -- it was warm enough that everything was melting, and the roads and forecast were clear. We finished breakfast, unconcerned that the precipitation outside was getting whiter and whiter. I made  a ferry reservation for 3, and then we headed back into the living room, where, ominously, the blinds had not been opened. 

We sat in there a half hour or more, and then one of our party happened to leave the room; upon returning she opened the blinds to reveal two inches of snow accumulation and heavy snowfall. 

You know, you just have to laugh. This is so damn unusual for this part of the world. To have snow at this time; to have so much of it; to have it for so long. To continue to have it, for it to accumulate, and for -- for the love of God! -- for it to rain all night, not melt the snow, and turn back into snow that actually accumulates. I hadn't even really considered it was a possibility; not when there were puddles outside! when it was melting as it fell! when the temperature was above freezing! Ah no! It won't be a problem!

Our hosts were so welcoming and so amiable that they were more than willing that we should stay another night, but we had been away from home for so long and were just eager to get back to our own beds. However, we did realize that the 45 minute trip to the ferry would be downright dangerous under these conditions, and so we sat back to wait and see -- nothing to be done about it, after all, none of us has the ability to stop the snowfall. About 45 minutes before our desired departure time, the snow let up slightly, and we began to rush about frantically packing (us) and making lunch (them) in preparation for leaving. 

Suffice to say that we are all home safely (not to ruin the story for you all) but that was easily the worst drive we have made in five years. The snow on the roads in the town was wet, heavy, and inches thick; the accumulation meant we skidded around when turning corners and bottomed out on particularly nasty stretches. The highway had patches of clear pavement but was also mostly covered with thick, packed ice, which made driving uncomfortable and perilous. In sections where there was no ice, there was water running in rivers over any available space. The back spray from the inches of slush was blinding. 

I hate winter. 

Vancouver is its usual mess. The main roads are all fine, but the side roads are a complete disaster. There's only a single track down most of them, and no place to park at all. From the looks of things, many people who parked on the street haven't moved their cars in a week or more. There's easily a foot of snow lying about; since it's covering the drains we're in for a long slow melt and some flooding before this is all over. 

But here we are, back at home, safe and sound despite mother nature's attempts to make things difficult. The heat is turned up to where we want it to be -- no more freezing like at the parents! -- and my things and my comforts are all here. I am looking forward to a lot of sitting down and relaxing, to some time with my child, to some time with my husband, to building an enormous train track in my living room and watching Thomas the Tank Engine puff his way merrily around it, and to buying stock in battery companies because inevitably Thomas will be left on, wedge himself somewhere, and be powerless the next time we come to play. While I'm left with the customary post-Christmas let-down, I think that the relaxed routine of this week will let me down with a nice soft bump instead of a head shaking thump, and that I can look out towards 2009 with a rosy glow of contentment, seeing the realization of hopes, the continuation of personal growth, and the gratefulness that I have a family that I love, a child I adore, a career that is satisfying, and a great future to look forward to.

That is, if the snow ever leaves. 

Christmas melt

As is custom in these parts, the snow disappears quickly and without warning. My parents' front lawn is completely grassed, in less than 24 hours. It's rather disconcerting, really, that I saw my parents' off yesterday morning to a snowy winterland, and welcomed a friend to the house midafternoon and saw only grass. 

This afternoon we will traverse the island and see some more friends before heading back to Vancouver on the morrow. Work doesn't begin until January 5, and daycare starts on the 30th, with grandparents babysitting on the 31st and daycare again on the 2nd. It's going to be a nice week.

Merry belated Christmas

So the past few days the cold has changed into a sinus nastiness that has amazed with with its prodigious amount of production (ahem!) and into -- oh joy and rapture! -- yet another case of pink eye. How is it that I have had pink eye twice this year and not ever before in my entire life? Is this a daycare thing, or am I just terribly unlucky? 

Anyway, we hied ourselves to the nearby clinic yesterday to deal with the grossness before it became truly horrifying, and I made yet another mental note about the wonderfulness that is Victoria -- only a single other person ahead of me at the clinic! We were in and out in less than half an hour!

(Might I just note though, that the doctor came into the room, asked what the problem was, and began writing on his prescription pad once I told him, without once even looking at my eyes? I mean, I'm happy that he trusts my word as to my affliction, given I have no medical training whatsoever, but shouldn't he have perhaps once just had a quick peek?? I mean, we do have a problem with antibiotic overuse, and should he adopt this routine with everyone, I think it could really compound the problem. Just sayin'.)

And then the inconvenience of Victoria came back to haunt us when we had to drive over hell's half acre to find a damn pharmacy that was open. 

Anyway, we did manage to find one, and were served by a woman about my age who looked hauntingly familiar. I arrive back in my hometown once a year or more and rarely see anyone I know from high school, but I was certain that she figured in my schooling experience in this town, but try as I might I could not remember her name. Completely gone. And she didn't seem to recognize me, so perhaps I was wrong. After all, she knew my name, and surely if it had rung a bell, she would have said something. 

Or not, perhaps she was just shy. I pondered this riddle all afternoon, even going so far as to dig out my high school year book to see if I could find her picture, to no avail. I gave it up as a lost cause; it doesn't matter that much, of course. 

And then this morning. Well, last night. At around 3am. I was awake, or perhaps half asleep, and all of a sudden I knew. I knew. Of course! That was her name! And it was of course obvious. And I'd remember in the morning!

And off back to sleep.

Only this morning? I remember that I woke up and remembered her name. But not for the life of me do I actually remember the name itself. 

Argh.

Anyway. I hope everyone had a nice Christmas / Hanukkah / holiday season. If I don't write again for sometime it's probably because I have completely succumbed to this cold and can no longer create coherent sentences. 

God bless grandmothers

This afternoon, my mother bundled up my child, and took him off to the nature sanctuary for a quick visit. On the way she went to the drug store for more cold drugs for me and to another store to buy the last item on my list of things to buy. It's been almost three hours she's been gone, three hours in which I finished wrapping things (all for The Boy), played a few games with my significant other without a single interruption (except for my coughing) and sat down and read a few things on the computer. I think I have just enough time to have some tea and cookies before they are due to return. 

Merry Christmas indeed. :)

A Christmas Miracle

Once, many moons ago, I watched in stark amazement as a small child, four months old, same age as my child, lay in his mother's lap and with nary a movement nor nursing on her part, fell asleep. My child had never done that. Not once. Never had my infant fallen asleep without nursing or rocking or walking or driving. NEVER. 

He did it once, much later. He was almost exactly one. He had a terrible kidney infection, and we'd been at the hospital emergency almost all day. He'd missed his nap, it was five in the afternoon, and then, finally, when we'd given him more advil and the fever had gone down, I sat down on the bed in the room we'd been given, and he fell asleep. 

But that's the sum total of it. Every nap and every night of his life except for that one, there's been nursing and walking and singing and soothing. Sometimes all of those at once. What's MORE is that from the time he was nine months old, the room had to be quiet and dim without any interruptions, including a cat meowing, otherwise he'd be instantly awake again.

Yesterday, he was in a terrible mood. THere were loud wails and much knashing of teeth. I sat down to cuddle with him, and fed him two cookies, and he leaned his head back against my shoulder, and then, in a moment, I realized he was very still and very heavy, and my mother said quietly -- he's going to sleep! And there was light in the room! And music playing, and four other people talking! And he slept for an hour!

It was quite possibly the nicest hour I have had this holiday season, and not because he was quiet. Just because of the simple peace of a child sleeping in comfort on his mom.

Cold

So The Man arrived last night, dinner time. My Christmas gift to him was 48 hours alone in the house, cozied up against the snow, sleeping until all hours and eating what he liked. And this morning I woke up, and the cold that I have been battling for several days now walloped me with the tired stick. I still feel like I have a cold, but the cold itself is less but now I feel TIRED. I suppose it was the 48 hours I spent with my child, on CONSTANT VIGILANCE. (I feel like Professor Moody!) Now all I want to do is sleep.

I am not a good day sleeper. I am someone who can only rarely get to sleep during the day -- seriously, once I am vertical, it is almost impossible to nap. This sucks. It means I spend a fair amount of time walking around in a fog, when a good nap would probably fix me up. 

Anyway. We are apparently set for more snow tonight, and we'll be out in it today, and I suppose a good night's sleep and holing up against the snow will be as good as anything for fixing me up instead of napping. 

So off we go. Again. To the snow!

On the upside

I did manage to successfully make a snowman yesterday, complete with THREE large snowballs and a carrot nose, and was inordinately proud of myself. Less successful this morning for some reason, but I can now blame that in a blase way on the snow itself, rather than my own lack of skill. Because clearly I am a snow connoisseur now.

Not a single spare second

Subtitle: This kid is in to everything!

Sub-subtitle: I might not survive the holidays, the child is trying to kill me.

My God, how is it possible that my parents have so many thing to get in to that a two year old shouldn't have? How is it possible that I grew up in this house and lived? How is it possible that with six -- count 'em, six -- other adults in the house last night and this morning, I still feel like I am on constant vigilance for this child?

In all fairness, my 22-year-old cousin entertained my child for a solid half hour this morning, which is more than a single young man in his early twenties should really be expected to spend with a two year old, even one to whom he is related. And my mother has truly been beyond the call of duty as a grandmother, even going so far as to drag my child 'round the back forty on a sled earlier (there's 18 inches of snow outside, so deep my child can't walk .. did I mention that? So we're kind of snowed in, at least in that all the good outside activities are impossible, so there's no point in going to the park or beach or other place that is used to exhaust my child. And taking him to an inside place, such as a mall ... you must be kidding!) but my mother's brothers are much less interested in playing with him -- and rightly so, they are in their fifties, not yet grandparents and no longer parents and on holiday to boot, and I can understand an active two year old wasn't on their to-do list for the holidays. I am merely grateful that they tolerate his presence with good grace.

Anyway. Back to the point at hand. He. Is. In. To. EVERYTHING. Seriously, I cannot let my guard down for a single second and it is EXHAUSTING. I keep telling myself this is just a phase, that next Christmas I will have a moment to sit still and he will quietly play on his own or more than five seconds and the Christmas tree will remain unmolested. 

If I don't wholeheartedly believe this, I may not make it through the holiday season. 

Relaxing with the 'rents

Or not, since my child -- the one who hates toys -- has been into EVERYTHING since we arrived, and not one hour had elapsed since my arrival when I found myself cleaning the carpet of the oil he had found in the cupboard and splashed all over the place.

And then not a minute later as I was trying to get the oil up, he dumped my mother's earrings all over the bathroom floor.

Sigh. 

Option A

So the weather seems to think that snow is in the offing for the next few days -- every day except for tomorrow, in fact, so it looks like I'll be going with Option A: try and survive more than a week in your parents' house with a small child. You know, a house where almost nothing is touchable, and you with a child who doesn't believe in toys, but loves electronics, especially ones with buttons that can be pressed. 

(As an aside: I was tempted to go to the nearby Salvation Army and buy him an old radio or appliance and some tools and let him go to it. But I really do think that he should be at least four before he starts tinkering with electronics.)

So. Driving tomorrow, alone, small child, ferry. Four hours door to door. Long trip. Ugh. 

And then a week living out of a suitcase in my parents' basement. Hmmm.

Maybe being snowed in at home over Christmas isn't such a bad idea. 

I'm dreaming of a ...

white Christmas? Seriously?

I remember one white Christmas in my life. One. It was in Vancouver, and I was ... what, five? Maybe six? We were staying with my grandparents. So this, this weather, is very strange. Every Christmas I spend with my parents we go walking on the beach. Of course, we have to bundle up, scarves and coats and hats, but I suspect that this year, in sub-zero temperatures, that walks along the beach even in temperate Victoria will be perishing. I don't even know what to do with this. How can it be Christmas when there is snow??!

State of the Roads and what to do with family members

Don't ask me why I think this is fascinating; I have no answer for you. It's probably the same reason why, when it snows, I stare out the window and every hour or so exclaim "My God! It's still SNOWING!!!" Anyway. I did have to go out today, and found the usual Vancouver mess -- snow on roads, even the main ones, and no sign of a plough anywhere. There was barely evidence of salting trucks, apparently Vancouver is still relying on the ol' "if enough people drive on it, eventually the snow will go away!" ploy. The fact that it's -5 outside and that this policy is ... well, you know, dangerous ... apparently hasn't occurred to them.

Anyway: the point being that the roads are a mess, and I am currently trying to decide how I might get to my parents' for Christmas, as we are scheduled for another dump of snow this Sunday, and I was originally planning on going Monday morning, first thing. And given the track record of this city for clearing roads, I figure that is just plain old dumb. So now my choice is:

a. go Saturday, when the roads are clear (-ish), and see if I can last a whole week with my parents, my mother's two brothers, and one brother's new girlfriend all while entertaining a toddler

or 

b. go Tuesday when the roads are better and it should be a tad warmer and then feel like I don't quite have enough time with same folks.

Gotta love family. Is it just me or is it always this way? One week is too much, four days is too little for people I only get to see once a year and actually love dearly. 

I suppose one advantage of going early is all the extra babysitters and activities. There's a great big backyard, miles of parks and beaches, a television, baking and crafts to do with a child, as well as ... gasp! ... other people to watch him while I sleep. 

Hmmmm.

Confessions

So it has not stopped snowing all day people. Huh ... Whaaa??? This is Vancouver! It doesn't snow here! Not like this! 

Anyway, the result of this deluge is that we have a good six inches of soft white snow on our big back patio. And more coming. And this being the day away from daycare, after our post-lunch rest (more on that later!) I decided we should go outside. 

So here's the confession part. What has 34 years of snow-less existence done for me? You know, besides given me a so-far life-long hatred of snow?

Turns out? I have NO IDEA HOW TO PLAY IN SNOW.

Seriously. The snowman I made? Totally unrecognizable as such. I cannot roll snow. I cannot make a snowball. And what's worse, I cannot even tell if this is just due to lack of skill on my part. It might be because the snow is not the best kind for making snowballs. It might be because I have hand-knitted mittens that stick to the snow like glue (all the while keeping my hands toasty, so I can't complain!). The point being? I don't know. I have no idea why the making of a snowball is an impossibility for me. Just completely clueless. 

See what I mean? Not a real Canadian. Truly this is probably the real reason I shouldn't go outside when we visit the in-laws for Christmas -- I look like a bumbling idiot out there. Who doesn't know how to play in the snow??!

Me. 

I should note that the one thing I did remember how to do is to make a snow angel. My two year old declined the honour of lying down in the snow, but requested that I show him. Being the mom I am, and trying so very hard to have some fun for my child, I did so. And made a very nice snow angel, if I do say so myself. 

What I forgot was that lying down in snow brings warm skin, in jeans, close to cold snow. And hey, for the one other person on earth who doesn't realize this, here's the problem: Warm legs + cold snow = wet jeans. 

Because of course I don't own any type of appropriate clothing for snow.

Yeah. I'm awesome.

Dentist

I admit that I have been lax in the dental area where my child is concerned. I have religiously taken him to the doctor, got all his vaccinations, yada yada, but he's heading for three years old and up until this morning had never seen a dentist, despite the fact that it's recommended by the powers that be that he see a dentist at one year old. Or as soon as he has teeth, but I really did think that five months is just too young. 

I've been putting it off, I know, because I have such terrible memories of the dentist as a child. I had a pretty good dentist from the time I was about eight or so, but even so I remember dreading to go to the dentist. Dreading it. Crying. Wailing. Knashing of teeth. The whole gamut. And I remember the terror of having various procedures done, and just the thought of putting my child through that ... well.

Let's not even go to the logical step of -- you know, if you take your child to have his teeth cleaned every six months, there will be no need to have any procedures, because his teeth will be perfect. 

Yeah, I am not so terribly logical.

Anyway. My own dentist doesn't do children, so I also had no idea where to go or who to see. So of course I did nothing until the guilt got too bad, and I looked up someone on the intarweb. (because that's how I want to care for my child's precious teeth -- some random dude on the net!) And I found a pediatric dentist who had a very flashy website. He's a specialist in children's dental work, and does a lot of the extra stuff -- cavities, surgery, etc. And I figured -- what the hell. If I don't want The Boy to dread going to the dentist like I did, let's make his first experience as fun as possible. And this place has TV! And toys! and a fish tank with clown fish! (well, actually, that might be a little disturbing given Nemo and all, but hey.) And they are Great! With! Kids! 

Now when I called to make and appointment way back in September they gave me an appointment for ... December 17. Crazy. And lo that was this morning, and so we hied ourselves to public transit in the snow and went off to the dentist. We had been practicing, you know. We had been talking about the dentist and practicing opening our mouths WIIIIIDE so that the dentist could Look! At! Our! Teeth! And how Great! that would BE! And how nice the dentist is! Wheee!

No, I'm not projecting my fears on to my child AT ALL. 

And we went, and he went in, and he sat on the chair that moved (which they showed him how to move, which was a Very Smart Move on their part) and he talked to the dentist and he lay down on the moving chair, and he let the dentist not only look in his mouth, but poke a little here and there, and he didn't have a single moment of being scared or unsure. There was a fun toy at the end, and I don't think for a second that he thought going to the dentist was a bad thing.

Me? Me, I panicked in the middle of the appointment and had to leave the room. Seriously. You'd never know that I no longer have a fear of dentists since I had braces at 12. I was completely panicked. It didn't help that when I was filling out paperwork just before we went in (and The Boy was far away) there was a small girl who'd had a tooth pulled sobbing in her mother's arms. She was about 9, and he face was blotchy and red, and there were tears running down her face, and Oh my heart was in my mouth because one day many years ago I had BEEN that girl, and I had felt that scared and that traumatized and that's why I hated the dentist so much because it was the only place I ever went where they hurt me on purpose. And it was awful.

I'm trying really hard as a parent to be a good one, to be calm and confident and raise my child to cope with life and all its pitfalls. And I'm doing a pretty good job. 

But I think that next time? Daddy gets to do the dentist. Alone.

Vancouver Road Report

FAIL.

It's been snowing since the wee hours, and continues to fall from the sky, and the roads? A MESS. Thank God I have no where to be between now and, oh, January 5. Except, you know, for the whole family Christmas thing. It would be a real shame to miss that, I suppose.

Putting Vancouver to the test

So tonight we're scheduled for yet another dump of snow, and unlike Sunday -- a non-working day for most people -- Wednesday will be a full commute day. If indeed Vancouver has turned over a new leaf in the snow removal department (hmmmm. something not quite right about that turn of phrase ... ) then now's the chance to show it.

What's better? Wednesday is the day I don't have to commute, so I can gauge Vancouver's progress from the comfort and safety of my living room. Thank heavens.

Something strange has happened to the city of Vancouver

It's been ... ploughed. 

Yeah, yeah, I know, some of you -- anyone who deals with snow regularly in winter -- are thinking .. well, duh. But you know, the reason I hate snow is that Vancouver, as I mentioned yesterday, deals with it extremely poorly. And yet today .... all the main roads are clear. The side streets aren't too bad. People can drive. And the snow around ... 

excuse me a moment while I get all white-christmassy on you ...

the snow looks magical. 

Man, if having snow was like this all the time, I might not hate it that much.

I suppose now is the time to reconsider that move to Alberta.

Snow and Fire

The last winter I spent in Victoria, it snowed once. Once. It lasted less than twenty-four hours. Vancouver, where I've lived for the last six years, gets more snow than Victoria, but not that much more. Snow is still on occasion, here. Mostly, as an adult, a horrible occasion because of the nastiness of the conditions that provide snow here -- wet, heavy snow that is delivered close to freezing temperatures, resulting in thick, heavy slush which quickly sets into thick, treacherous ice. That combined with a population of people who have no idea how to drive in anything worse than rain provides snow chaos. So I'm not a big fan of the white stuff, nor the cold that comes with it. Somehow I think I cannot be a real Canadian. 

This morning, however, was Sunday, and we had no place to go and no reason to remove the car from the garage. We woke up to five inches of snow and a week that promises freezing temperatures and much more of the same. I am dreading the commute tomorrow, but for tonight I sit in a cozy home, looking out at the snow from a place by a roaring wood fire. We spent the day playing outside in the snow, eating nice food, and watching Christmas specials. My son is in the bath, starry-eyed from the rare snow and the show with Santa Claus. Today, snow wasn't really so bad.

Wean, already!

So two months ago we decided that the nursing should stop. We figured -- the parents -- that the bedtime nurse would be last to go, that the nap nurse would be easy to get rid of. He naps at daycare all the time, no nursing, so we figured that would be an easy one. 

Not so much. 

But turns out? Not nursing at night was easy. Well. Relatively. And for two months, no nursing at night. 

And then there was the nap reduction. So we went without naps for a while. So no nursing at night or at naptime for some time. 

And the kid? Still asks. This whole "Don't offer don't refuse" idea? SUCKS ASS. SO DOESN'T WORK. 

I mean, honestly, the kid's almost three. We've tried the don't offer pattern. We've tried just not nursing at all. We've tried daddy doing bedtime, no naptime ... he still asks. He still knows. He still wants it. 

Is it me? Yeah, partly. I confess that I kind of feel that if he hasn't nursed very much in two months and he still asks and wants it -- needs it -- that it's still serving some purpose. That he still needs me that way. And so I give in relatively easily. I suppose if I were firmer, it would help. At least, it would speed the weaning process. I am not convinced it would be good for him. 

I don't suppose it matters; nursing a few times a week at this point in his life isn't a big deal. 

But huh. He's almost three ... isn't this part of parenting supposed to be done by now??

Snippets at two and three quarters

Snippet the first:

This year I have been racking my brain trying to decide what to get my child for Christmas. I have thought and thought and thought and I have come to one conclusion. My child doesn't like toys. 

Oh, sure, he plays with a few of his toys, but mostly he wants to talk to us, or play on the computer or with his dad's Nintendo. Right now one of his favourite activities is to play on his "program on the computer" which is to say, we put on the text edit and he types letters. He can type his own name, although on occasion he needs a few reminders on which letter comes after which, and he also dictates hilariously wonderful stories, and then asks to see them over and over again. Mostly they involve animals that jump. I have no idea why. Sometimes the animals get in trouble for touching the Christmas lights. No idea where that came from. {snort}

I'm still going to the toy store soon and I'm still going to buy things for him -- he is getting a train set from his grandparents, and I'll buy some nice engines for it, and there'll be some cookware, as he enjoys cooking. There'll also be some books and some other small fun items. But really, we'd be best off just buying him his own laptop. And I don't mean one of those dinky little kid's laptops they have at big box toystores. I mean an actual laptop. His third favourite activity is looking up stuff on the internet -- pictures of dinosaurs, or youtube movies of animals. Once he learns to work the track pad, all will be lost. 

Snippet the second:

I suppose all little kids are strange in their own way. Yesterday on our day off together I decided we'd do something fun! and interesting! and we hied ourselves to the rec centre to the drop in gym for toddlers and preschoolers. They set up the gym with mats and small ride-on cars, and balls and hockey sticks, and 50 screaming children and beleaguered caregivers descend on the place and cause havoc. My child, being the introvert that he is, spent part of the time actually sitting on the risers with the adults, watching the other children with fascination as if they were a particularly spectacular zoo exhibit. The rest of the time he half-heartedly played with a few of the toys, and then told me he wanted his snack. I can't help feeling grateful as hell that he's in daycare; I think if I were a stay at home parent he'd have no social skills whatsoever for other children.

As it was, when he finally decided that he was interested in the variously shaped mats and then was unceremoniously pushed off one by another small boy, he stood up, tears streaming down his face, and said loudly, "DON'T PUSH ME!" Which I applaud; this behaviour is better than throwing a tantrum, or smacking the other child, or any number of other things. I'm so pleased he uses words and phrases to express his emotions. But this other child literally had no idea what to do with this information; it was like he hadn't heard him at all. This isn't my doing; he's being taught this in daycare, but I can't help thinking that were he not in the daycare with people who try to teach the children how to relate to each other, that such an outing with a stay at home parent (me) would be radically different. He'd sit on the sidelines for the whole time.

Snippet the third:

After two days with naps, our relatively sane child has been returned to us. Dressing this morning was a surprisingly painless endeavour, and it makes me shake my head to realize how far we'd come down the path of the tantrums without really realizing it. You never know how bad things are until they change and then you remember -- hey, morning ablutions can actually be relatively pain-free! We had no tears this morning, despite the lack of Backyardigans bribery, so apparently we're just no ready for the lack of nap. I suppose we'll figure out how to save our couple relationship some other way, given this way means a total lack of mom and dad time.

Not that I am in any way suggesting there are any problems, might I add. There aren't. But you know. We're together because we actually like each other and like spending time together, and we miss it when there aren't lazy evenings of bad television together. 

Snippet the fourth:

And now that the naps have been reinstated ... may I pause for a moment to consider how much I love my child? I don't write very much here about how much joy and wonder he's brought to my life, I don't do those monthly odes to my child. I don't have anything against them; it's perhaps that my staid British upbringing has meant that waxing poetic about my child feels like an odd thing to do. But in the interests of committing this to memory, and in the interests of having something for him to read later, let me say this:

When I got pregnant with The Boy, it was at the end of a couple of nasty years. He was the beginning of the belief that good things can happen again, that life hadn't abandoned me. And two almost three years later, he is still the very best thing in my life. Oh, sure, I'm terribly sleep deprived because it seems I have the child who took the very longest ever to sleep through the night, and this has taken a pretty nasty toll on my life. But each and every night as he lays in his bed, finally sleeping, I still pause and look at him, at his total perfection, and feel that rush of gratitude and love and joy. Yesterday as I made dinner in the kitchen, and he stood behind me happily playing in the sink, I got a feeling of peace of just being together. I love hearing his stories, love talking to him, love feeling his body cuddle up against mine as we sit on the couch reading together. I love hearing him call me "Momma", love feeling his little arms around my neck, and love feeling his squiggly warm body still hot and damp from the bath. I sit and picture what he'll be like as a five year old, or ten year old, or twenty-year old, and I can't wait to see him then, to talk with him and know him as he grows and changes. I hope very much one day to share Christmas dinner with him and his family. I know that this feeling I have for him, the rush of joy and love that I feel when I look at him, will be the same at 5 and 10 and 20 and 40 as it is today. He and I were once one, he grew within me, we shared a space, and no matter what he will always be a part of my heart, one way or another. He will go and live his own life and have his own experiences, but somewhere inside me will always be the little boy who rests his head on my shoulder, hugs me, and says "I love you Momma" and kisses me on the lips. And the giggles, because our noses bumped together.

Experiment: No Nap

FAIL.

So over the past two weeks of no napping, The Man and I have noticed ... how shall I put this ... a slight decrease in positive behaviour on the part of our child. It began slowly enough, with a little defiance here and a few more tears there, but slowly it has dawned on us that our child has become a monster. Seriously, our previously happy, mostly cooperative child has turned into a child to whom the least little request is akin to torture. "It's time to get dressed." results in running away and shrieks of misery. "We're going to the store," is cause for all-out war with air-raid level wails and tears for ten or more minutes.

Slow parents that we are, we kind of maybe figured that perhaps this might not be a phase, but maybe, just maybe, he's not getting enough sleep. And we'd even noticed that our wonderful early bedtime weren't always early, either. Often our evenings were nasty, brutish and short, but more often they were becoming nasty, brutish, and long, which really wasn't serving anyone. I mean, at least the old way we had a cheerful kid for hours each night; having a grumpy kid for hours wasn't exactly what we had in mind for this change.

Slow parents that we are, we hadn't really gotten around to doing anything about it, either.

Until yesterday. Yesterday I arrived at the daycare and was taken aside by one of the caregivers. She seemed ... nervous. She told me that they'd had to nap my son yesterday. "It was like the other day," she explained, referring to the last time they'd napped him, "He just seemed to lose it, to really need the sleep." I assured her as how we didn't mind that they gave him a nap some days if he needed it. I then confessed that we had noticed some behavioural changes, and her entire face cleared and she said, rather quickly, "Oh, Good! I'm so glad you said that because we've noticed that here as well ...." and trailed off.

Translation: Your kid has been a major pain in the rear, lately, and we're going to strongly suggest that you reconsider your nap priorities for the sake of our sanity and the other children in the daycare. 

So we had a nap yesterday, and I had a regular bedtime last night. And a nap today too.

And we have our cheerful kid back again. 

I will miss those early evenings, though. Sigh. 

Because if you can't wear your wedding dress home from Stanley Park, where Can you wear it?

So early this morning, right before I woke up, I was having this dream. In this dream, I was discussing with a couple of my colleagues my upcoming trip to Stanley Park, and how it was rather dangerous to go at night. I was going, I mentioned, to take my dogs. I had three, a pit bull and two german shepards, which I think would ensure my safety in the wilds of downtown. (Frankly with those in tow, I could probably genuinely compete for scariest thing in the damn place. Mostly because I wouldn't have a clue how to control three large dogs at once.)

Anyway, in this dream I was also discussing my plans, whilst in the park, to change from my current outfit into my old wedding dress. This was an essential part of the plan, I have no idea why. What's weirder is that we were discussing how I would do this later but in the dream I was actually changing into the wedding dress at that moment. And what I remember is that the dress was actually loose around my stomach, which I actually thought even in the dream was weird, given that over ten years ago when I wore that dress and back then it was form fitting; ten years and one baby on and I definitely don't have the stomach I had then. Oh, sure, it's fine and all, I'm not in the least complaining, but the dress definitely wouldn't be loose now. 

We were discussing how nice the dress was (it was a very nice dress. Cursed, of course, given what happened to the marriage, but I hardly think that was the fault of the dress. The groom, perhaps, but not the dress.) and how much I had liked wearing it, and one of the girls questioned my wisdom in wearing it again, especially at night in Stanley Park, and that's when I, rather airily, uttered the immortal phrase,

"Well, if you can't wear your wedding dress home from Stanley Park, where CAN you wear it?"

I ask you. 

Made it!

So the precious wee lad was out like a light, done like dinner, at 7:30 last night, and I staggered out to the living room to curl up on the couch and stare blearily at a movie I had procured. The Man got home last night just before nine, exhausted from a whirlwind three-day trip to the far east (that's Canada's far east, not the Asian one). I went to bed at 9:30, and got up at 7:30, but had a waking in the night for a half to full hour or so (I try never to check the time for these, it's far, far too depressing!)

I am very tired this morning. I'm battling a cold, for one thing, but I admit I sat here stumped this morning wondering why I was so tired. So out of curiosity I thought to myself ... what did I eat yesterday? 

I've never in my life counted calories, so I don't have the first clue how to do it, but I looked up on the web for some advice on it and totalled everything I ate yesterday and realized that I ate about 1000 calories. If I'm being terribly generous. (Four fruit bears is 100 calories, right?) Now I realize that being a small person who is relatively sedentary that means that I don't need the full 2000 calories each day that they recommend for women, but 1000 calories? Is apparently for EXTREME weight loss. I'm not losing weight, I hasten to add, I'm just thinking that maybe? on those days I'm home alone with my kid? That eating might be a good way to get through the day with a little less exhaustion. 

Just sayin.

Chalk another one up to my stellar parenting

So what did I decide to do this afternoon with a small child?

Well. Let's see. Of the available options, we had:

go for a walk

play with cars (the toy kind. really.)

go to the playground

go to the library

visit a friendly toy store

walk along the beach and look for rocks / shells

go swimming (no, not at the beach)

And that's just off the top of my head. I'm sure seasoned parents would have plenty more than that.

So which option did I choose?

None of the above: Put up Christmas lights!

Because electricity + standing on stool and reaching to the ceiling + sharp pins + toddler + 3 cats = GOOD TIMES. 

And it was only after the first time the pins spilled all over the floor that I thought ... hey, maybe this wasn't such a good idea .... 

I'm a bright girl, but sometimes lack a little common sense, I suppose. 

**************

Anyway, I suppose it wasn't all bad. I entertained the toddler for half an hour, taught him some new words and phrases, not all of which were bad, and now we have holiday prettiness. 

If I can just find the camera, I'll show you.

The death of the nap

Since approximately the beginning of November, my child has had yet another sleep development: wakefulness. Most specifically -- since this has been his problem since day one, really -- wakefulness and cheerfulness at night. Until, say, 9 or so. Since we had normally begun bedtime at 7, that's two hours of bedtime, of trying to get a wakeful child to go to sleep. After one memorable evening of sleeping at 10, long after mom and dad were (well -- wanted to be) passed out, we finally thought -- this doesn't appear to be a phase. Perhaps it's time to change things.

Yeah. We're bright that way.

The problem being, though, that we kind of need that evening time to ourselves; it's the only time we get together sans child or work all day. So just accepting that bedtime was now nine instead of 8 was just not an option.

And that meant: nap had to go. 

I have lived in fear of this moment. For two and a half years, the nap was the respite in the middle of the day. I didn't get much time (unlike many children who sleep hours in the middle of the day, the most The Boy would do on any given day was an hour and a half. If I was lucky.) but BOY, did I treasure that brief respite, a time to sit down, collect my thoughts, be on my own for a short while before becoming mommy again.

So I came up with, instead, a brilliant plan: Stop the naps at daycare (four days a week) and keep the naps on the other three days when we are home with him. I figure that this would work, most moms tell me that naps had to continue on every other day for a while with their kids in the nap transition phase. It's win-win! Time with the kid, but still get breaks, but bedtime doesn't extend into the wee hours! Whee!

Ha ha ha. 

Last week was the first one we tried no naps at daycare. The first day we came home with a child who crumbled to tears at the least little thing (my macaroni ... sob! ... isn't! ... sob! sob! curved!! .... I only ... sob! want Sob! THAT .... sob! sob! sob! pillow!) and we thought ... huh. But we persevered for the week, and ended up high fiving each other Friday night when he came home, spent the evening relatively tear-free, and went to sleep before 8, allowing us a luxurious hour or two to cuddle on the couch watching goodness knows what. 

Anyone else care to hazard a guess as to what happens after we congratulate ourselves on mad parenting skillz?

So we tried the nap Saturday, and bedtime again extended into the wee hours. 

Yeah. So the kid LIKES NOT NAPPING. 

I mean, sure, you can colour me surprised. Hates sleeping, sleeps minimally at the best of time, has an option not to nap .... is going to take it, for all it's worth.

But what that means is that this is WEDNESDAY. And I am HOME ALONE. with a child. And there will be NO BREAK. NO BREAK AT ALL UNTIL BEDTIME AT SEVEN. THAT'S SIX MORE HOURS, PEOPLE.

May I just pause for a moment for the obligatory I love my child really I do disclaimer. I do love my child. Really I do. But mothering an active toddler is HARD. I am a person who likes to read and knit and watch movies and I sit in front of a computer for a living and constantly moving? NOT MY THING. 

Anyway. Back to the freak out. AIIIIIIEEEEEEEE. What the heck am I going to do?? I had great plans to head to my sister's place, but I know that he would drop off on the drive home (45 minutes) thus really negating any kind of advantage of the extra stimulation of similarly-aged cousins. 

So we are home. We went to the beach and playground this morning; I have plans for the playground and / or library later on. There are also movies and such, I suppose. And I keep clinging to that realization that if I just keep this going, the bedtime will be, by comparison, relatively painless. And then I will have an hour or more to flop listlessly on the couch and breathe.

But ... five hours and fifty more minutes. I'm not sure how that's really going to go. 

AIIIIIEIEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Clearly, someone is misinformed

So being two-almost-three, The Boy doesn't really remember much about Christmas. It was a whole year ago, after all, and when something was a third of your life ago, it's hard to recall it; I don't really remember 11 years ago all that well either, at least not in detail.

Anyway. So I've been talking about it, here and there, with the idea of getting him excited about it but not SO excited that he asks every second minute when Christmas (and his presents) is coming. So far he's grasped the idea that Christmas is coming. I think he might actually realize we're going to the grandparents, but I don't know for sure. He's kind of grasped the idea that there will be presents, kind of, but not so much so that he's asking for them -- thankfully. 

One thing I haven't at all introduced is the concept of Santa Claus. Why, I'm not sure. I guess for one thing I'm not entirely sure that he's grasped the concept of Christmas itself, and introducing something new seems just a poor idea. For another I have to be honest in that I'm not entirely comfortable with lying to my child about this. Oh, at some point I'm sure we'll have a discussion about it, but right now I'm just not sure about how to approach it so I am taking the easy way out and avoiding it. 

However. 

I arrived at daycare today to see that holiday decorating was already well in hand. There are swathes of glittery fabric around posts, garlands on the walls, snowflakes (I think) and a large amount of Hanukkah-themed items, such as cut-out menorahs and glittery dreidels hanging from the ceiling. 

(I have to pause here and wonder ... since I don't remember from last year ... do they take down the Hanukkah things post-Hanukkah, and leave up the rest of the decorations for Christmas? It would seem weird to decorate and then remove half the stuff, but then oddly inappropriate to leave things up, I suppose.)

Anyway. The point being only that The Boy is gaining holiday knowledge from someone other than me. I'm not at all worried about him confusing Hanukkah and Christmas; he'll figure that out soon enough, seeing what we do at home. What I do worry about is the following exchange:

Me: So Christmas is coming soon!

N: Yeah! And Santa Claus will come!

Me: (Not remembering that I ever connected those two events) Uh ... yeah, he will!

N: And he'll come with his balloons!

Me: ???!

N: And then he'll bop us on the head!

Me: [speechless]

No. Not worried at all about confusing traditions from two major faiths.

TOTALLY worried about the nightmares he'll have about Santa Claus coming here to hit him. And somewhat concerned about what. The. Hell. they are saying at that daycare.