Proof that I need to get out more often

This evening we did another Dine Out, at a nearby French place. We'd never been there before, despite it being four blocks away, but there are a million restaurants in this neighbourhood and we hardly had time to get to them all before we had a child.

Anyway one of the nice perks of this restaurant was that along with it's three course meal, it had a three course wine taster to go along with it. I like wine. I do. I'm fond of it. But I am a terribly cheap date. It's only been the last one, two months that I've been drinking with any regularity, and my usual drink is a half a glass of wine over dinner at home. 

So I paused a moment before ordering the wine. If half a glass of wine makes me feel pleasantly relaxed, three full restaurant glasses will make me ... well, pretty damn tipsy.

The Man and I figured we'd share the wine -- I can perhaps handle a glass and a half of wine, I think. I also order the warm goat cheese salad with prosciutto and tapenade (which was lovely), the steak with pomme frites (which was lovely) and the mouse au chocolat (because I am a sucker for such things. If chocolate is on the menu, I can hardly ever not order it.)

One half glass of wine later and it's clear that it's a good thing I didn't order the wine just for me. I am feeling decidedly relaxed. Two more glasses and I will be loopy as all hell. So we continue on, another course and another glass of wine and Man, Do I Feel Good.

And then dessert arrives. 

You know how mousse often arrives in a cup? or a bowl? Preformed or something? Well this mousse arrives on a plate. In two ... cynlindrical? oblong? brown lumps, one overlapping the other.

And I giggle. I'm 34 years old, I'm in a nice French restaurant, and I am tipsy enough that I am giggling about the food. 

Ay-yi-yi. It's embarrassing to think about. Clearly I am about as mature as my two year old. 

What's been on the needles recently

This is what I've been doing lately. Finished the other sock for my mother. It was a good knit, I will probably try and find that yarn again. It was fine enough to be good for socks, but thick enough that it went reasonably quickly. 

And now I'm on to the second for the other pair. Hopefully I won't get bored like I did last time and take more than a year to finish them. 

I still haven't gotten up the nerve to buy yarn for a pair of mittens, but I might try today. It's just intimidating!

Finished sweater

So here we are, on the body and everything. I bound it off at the length I thought was good, based on several other sweaters. It was shorter than the pattern called for, but the sweater I have that is that length is actually too long. I figured binding it off was about as easy as putting all the stitches on a holder and then getting them off again. After all, it was possible it was already perfect!

In the end it could use another inch of length for comfort. I mean, it's fine, as you can see, but another inch would mean I could lift up my arms without wondering if I'm showing the world a shot of post-baby belly. 

I don't know if I will go back and add the other inch. Perhaps. If I find I'm not wearing it, I will. But I've worn it twice the last week, so for right now, it's all still good. 

Today

Today we woke up early. We lay in bed and cuddled together until wake-up time. We got up and I made tea and breakfast and ate on the couch. The Boy was kind of cranky, and wanted to watch a movie, so I indulged him. It's Wednesday after all. I knitted while he watched. We also did some cuddling and some chatting.

We got showered and dressed. We went to a friend's for a playdate. We stayed three and a half hours, the boys played well together and we had some nice mommy chats and some lunch and I got to hold the baby for a while. I read books to the boys, we did puzzles together and they ploughed the snow out of the house. (Just relax. It was pretend snow.)

We came home after lunch and sat together on the couch for a while. I tidied the kitchen and did some laundry. We went out to the daycare for their music class, did some dancin' and some singin', and then had a snack and played for a bit. I got to chat to another mom for a while and to the daycare ladies. 

We came home and ordered sushi and watched another show. I did some more knitting. There were some more cuddles. 

During the day there were also some tears. There was an accident in public and one which drenched both me and him. There were too many shows. I didn't make dinner. There are still dirty dishes in the sink and the counter isn't spotless. The cat was sick on the floor. 

It was far from perfect, but it was perfect all the same. 

The good and the bad

The good: someone at city hall decided after the last debacle after the snowfall, that they should, you know, actually salt the roads. With the result that even in the heaviest snowfall yesterday, the roads -- even the side ones! -- were still pretty clear.

The bad: they completely overdosed on the salt, and I couldn't drive more than a few hundred meters without having to wash my windshield because of the crud all over it.

Ah well. I'm not really complaining, I think it's kind of amusing that we just can't. quite. get. it. right.

Hee.

It's SNOWING

You can imagine my extreme pleasure gazing out at the white this morning.

Funny, really. Yesterday on my way to work, I was struck by the beauty of the frost on the roofs of the houses, especially contrasted against the blue of the sky. Today, the roofs are still white, but with snow and all I can think is $#*($#$*#@*($*.

It's possible I am prejudiced, just a little. 

Cost of living

On the way home from datenight on Saturday, The Man and I were discussing our lives (it was a short conversation, we were only 15 minutes from home). What we came round to -- something we often do -- is how much living in Vancouver with a family really does suck. Trying to find balance in living in Vancouver really does suck. The cost of living is so high that unless you are making a killing, you have to work a LOT just to stay afloat. We live in a tiny place that we love but it really is too small. We both have jobs that pay well, but we still dread unforeseen expenses because we often have to run debt to pay for them. We are really well off by many, many standards, but we are still feeling like we are running hard just to keep up. 

And it's a hard thing to take once one realizes that for the same cost as we paid for the place we live in here, we could buy a very nice house in most other cities in Canada. We could also buy a smaller house, and I could afford to freelance for a living, work less, spend more time with my child and any possible additional child that we might have. It's an attractive prospect. Less stress for all of us, as we divide household responsibilities. Less time rushing about. More space. 

Horrible weather. 

This is the problem. I grew up in Victoria, and I can't stand cold weather. Or terribly hot weather. Basically the temperature needs to be between 10 and 25 for me to be even remotely comfortable. Preferably 24, with no breeze. And this is a circumstance not found anywhere in Canada, but is best approximated in Vancouver or Victoria. Edmonton? Is not the place to find a temperate climate. 

So how do we balance it? I hate feeling trapped in my career and job, hate working hard in a job that I no longer really love, to stay afloat. And I'm starting to wonder if I'd be happier spending my days in a way that I love, and sacrificing the climate I adore. What's more important -- the outside climate? Or my day to day existence?

You'd think when it's put that way, that the choice is easy. But it's not. Let's face it, the outside climate has a pretty big impact on how you live your life. Whether you drive or walk to the store. If you go outside for walks. If you sit outside on a hot summer's day and enjoy the sunshine. How you socialize. How much you enjoy your commute (if such a thing is possible). How housebound you are.

Or, you say -- how about another job? Well, the fact is that I write for a living, and my current employer pays me handsomely to do so. And being paid handsomely for writing is, as far as I can tell, a rarity. And trust me, I've looked around. I do look around still. But having someone write, and write only, all day, within an organization, and paying them well and giving them benefits and a pension plan and subsidized daycare and NOT having them working in the volatile high tech sector ... rare. 

But moving? Moving I could afford to freelance. To expand my writing career and write what I want, or even write what I don't want but not work at it all day everyday ... it's attractive. 

Anyway. This is long and disjointed and not very good. (Ha! I write for a living! You'd never know it!) It's a brain dump. I haven't sorted it out, we haven't sorted it out. We may not. We will probably still be living here in a few years, because moving is a hassle and expensive, and we have good jobs and good daycare and there are good schools nearby. But the economics of our society are volatile these days ... so you never know. And part of me thinks -- well, you know, that's ok. Because maybe something that forces us to change will bring unforeseen gifts to us as well.

Date Night

We still have a kid who has difficulty falling asleep for anyone but mom or dad (but at least it's both of us now, instead of just me, because a friend of mine recently confessed that her almost three year old AND her baby both will not fall asleep without her. Dad will not do.) 

Where was I?

Right. Difficulty falling asleep for the kid. Which means getting a babysitter and having a late night out are almost impossibilities. We tried it with one of our former favourite babysitters, and she eventually called us mid-movie because of the crying. It sucked the miss the movie and I can't think it's just coincidence that she -- no joke! -- moved to Croatia soon afterwards (I kid, I kid, she was planning to move home.) So we haven't tried it since. 

Not to say we haven't had a babysitter -- We just get them for the afternoon and arrive home back in time for bedtime. This kind of babysitter makes me feel more guilty -- the Saturday days are the time I get to spend the most time with my child, and he's in daycare most days, and then on the days he gets with mom and dad, we get a sitter? Really? But what else is there to do? We still need to nurture our marriage, and that has to come first on occasion. 

It's Dine Out week (two weeks?) in Vancouver, which means hundreds (literally) of restaurants join in and present a three course meal for a set price of $18, $28 or $38. It's often a great deal and a great way to try something new or enjoy an old favourite. Yesterday we left at two and caught a matinee and then an early dinner at 5:30, arriving home just less than two hours later for bedtime. We went out with a friend of ours, a longtime friend who happens to be both currently single and childfree. She's great -- doesn't mind too much our severely curtailed social life and is happy to come over and be clambered upon by our child. But when I was single and childfree, or partnered and childfree, hanging out with kids wasn't always high on my priority list, so it was nice to get out with her and have some childless time. 

But you know? Having said all that? We spent a great deal of time over dinner talking about The Kid. We get a babysitter, we go out, we invite a friend along to encourage conversation that drifts away from our lives ... and we still talk about the kid. I guess there are some things you just can't get away from. 

Knitting update

I finished the sock, as noted. You will see from the following picture that it reaches nowhere NEAR my knee as I predicted. 

Apparently I forget that, you know, my legs increase in size the further you go up. Apologies for the shocking expanse of whiteness above the sock. I am pale at the best of times and winter ... I practically glow.

The second sock of the first pair is coming along too. I have so far managed to avoid the second sock boredom. I guess I just like the wool, it's just so nice to knit with.

The sweater is also coming along, and I have a little helper to prove it. I got this out to take a photo and he was all -- hey look! It's a sweater! A knitting sweater! 

And what's next after all these socks and sweaters, you ask? Oh, don't worry. My knitting obsession has gotten completely out of hand and I have convinced myself that I can actually knit something from this book below. Feel free to laugh. I don't know what I was thinking. 

Har har

Today in the mail there came one of those consumer surveys. I had no intention of filling it out, but I wanted to look at it all the same, so I opened it up. I have come to the conclusion that we do not have regular buying habits; for 90% of the stuff on there I would have to check "Other" for what we purchase in any category. Although I admit that in the "pain relief" category they didn't list Advil. Whaa?? We are not the only people who buy that, and it's pretty much the only thing I've used in years except post-childbirth. 

Anyway, the thing that made me chuckle was the question -- is anyone expecting a baby in the house? And then asked you to check a box next to the month you are expecting. They listed all the months. Clearly someone needs a lesson in babymaking, because hello? It's JANUARY. If I was expecting a baby in December, I WOULDN'T BE PREGNANT YET. 

(I am not expecting a baby. Not now, not next month, and not in December.)

I know, I know, they print those things once a year and send them out all year long, but still. Made me laugh. 

Oh, woe

Let me just say for the record that I love my daycare. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. The people are kind and caring and remember all sorts of small things about my child, tend to his needs in a caring way and allow him to express his personality as much as he wishes while gently encouraging proper social interaction. It is a great place.

But yesterday when I went and got him the first thing I noticed was a small swelling bump on his head, right between the eyes. When I asked, the lady in charge said that he had recently bumped heads with another kid, but that since he hadn't cried (and the other kid had), she hadn't actually offered him any ice. I understood this -- you can't tend to someone's needs if you don't know they have them, and if he didn't cry, perhaps it didn't hurt that much and he didn't need anything.

On the way to the car, I gently reminded him that he could tell the ladies at daycare if he was hurt, that he should do it. He said he knew that. I asked him if his head hurt, and he said it did. I asked him why he didn't tell them it hurt and he said ... (gulp)

"They don't make it better"

Now I know this could just be a toddler thing -- only mommy or daddy makes the hurts better, but it still made me sad. When The Boy was first at the daycare, we had the same problem -- he wouldn't talk to them and ask them for things, he wouldn't tell the other kids to give him back toys they had taken from him or to not push him. He just wouldn't say anything. He's not overly shy; he's just reticent to speak up. I don't know why. He sure speaks up at home, we always know when there's a problem. We always tend to the problem if there is one. Perhaps it's just a social thing -- I'm like that, I don't like crowds of people and it was only in the last few years that I will speak up in classrooms or meetings of people I don't know. For the record, I'm 34.

But it's not a trait I want my son to inherit. I want him to trust himself, to trust the people he's with, especially at not-quite-three. I want him to get his needs met -- when he hits his head hard enough that there's a red bump, I want someone to put ice on it. 

So today I went back to the same lady in charge and told her what he told me. I told her I thought it related back to the bee incident, when he got stung and nobody did anything because he wasn't crying. I mentioned that they might want to remember that he doesn't cry all the time, but that if they think he's hurt they should fuss over him so that they know he needs help and can get it.

I don't know if it will help. Maybe he just wants to be his own person, maybe he doesn't -- like me -- like being fussed over in public (Yes, in private is fine, which you'd find out if you asked The Man, who complains I want fussing over far too often.) Maybe this is just how he is. 

One of the many reasons I like my daycare is that they take stuff like this seriously. So in the end, even if next time he gets hurt he doesn't cry and he doesn't get ice for his owies, at least I'll know they *want* to do so, that the help is available if he asks. There's only so much I can do, and I hope that it's enough. 

Yesterday's creativity

I don't consider myself a terribly creative parent. I think this is likely because I'm not home all day -- surely if I was, I would be searching the internet, the library, and the seven seas for fun, interesting, and creative things to do with a toddler. I'd need to, for my own sanity. 

But on our weekends home and my Wednesdays with The Boy, we stick with the usual -- a playdate here or there, playing with toys, reading books, watching the odd show here and there. And errands. There are always errands. We don't tend to do crafts or create new games to play or go to interesting places to learn where food comes from or something. I know some moms do this. My sister-in-law is a stay-at-home mom and she hand makes all her cards and they are so nice I am sure she has done lots of practice. I know she also has activity baskets put away to bring out each day for her kids. She is a truly creative mom.

Yesterday afternoon, The Boy and I did at least something a little bit creative. The Man works in a place where there are HUGE printers, and so he brings home paper that's wasted or no longer needed. I taped a piece to the floor, and The Boy and I made a seascape with crayons -- waves, plants, sunshine. And then we used his fish stickers from his Christmas stocking to populate the place (I am lousy at drawing fish). And then he decided to name them all, which was truly to most creative part of it (let's face it, making a drawing with stickers ain't exactly Picasso). Above is the result of our efforts. You can see that his naming creativity tends to find variations on a theme, but I think the most hilarious part of it is the number of times I had to scribble out the name because I hadn't written it correctly. Each time I wrote down the names he'd give me, he'd pause, look at it, and say "Yes, that's his name!" or "No, no no!" And then if the latter I had to try again, to discern what he was saying. 

For those who are interested, the fish who are on the sunshine are "cooking".

Like a tornado went through here

This morning I got up, made breakfast, emptied the dishwasher, filled it up, and cleaned the counters. I tidied the toys, cleared the coffee table, swept the house, and made banana bread. One of The Boy's friends from daycare -- his mom is on mat leave with her newest one, six months old now, and they were coming for a visit. 

A few hours later, after two two-almost-three-year-olds went through the place, it looks like a bomb went off. The kitchen is full of snack remnants, there are toys all over the floor and the coffee table and the kitchen. 

I do not know how the daycare people do it all day. Seriously. When two two year olds can make such a big mess, how do they cope with twelve??

Duly noted

This morning while driving to daycare, I noticed that my son was saying / singing something. It was a repetitive thing, in a kind of sing-song voice, over and over again. I listened carefully, and eventually discerned that he was saying ... 

"Sorry! Not in service! Sorry! Not in service!"

It says that on the busses that travel on our route. I have a strange kid. 

So as I was saying ...

AGH. This is the third time I've tried to post this. 

Anyway. I did the stripes differently from the pattern; I figure that's the beauty of handknits, you can customize them the way you want to. I'm planning to do the rest of the body in black, with maybe a single stripe of colour near the bottom. I'm a little concerned that the neck will buckle at the back, but it didn't in the pattern, so maybe there's something I don't know ... I haven't managed to try it on yet, since the prospect of putting ALL those body stitches on a holder and then getting them back on the needles is daunting. 

Although the prospect of knitting the entirety from scratch might also be pretty daunting, so ... well, we'll see. 

What I've been up to recently

This is the first sock from a ball of yarn I got for Christmas. It was Lang's Jawoll, the one with silk. I particularly liked the reinforcing yarn that comes with it, for the heel and toe -- I think this pair will really wear well. Alas they are actually too big for me, but I know just the person they will fit -- my mother. It's not a coincidence that she gave me the wool, that it's not my colours, and that she wears the two pairs I already knit her incessantly, particularly when I'm around. Subtle, she is not. But there's nothing better than someone who appreciates what you knit for them.

This pair has been on the needles for seriously like a year or more. It's Lorna's Laces, and they are LONG, and have tiny needles and I get easily discouraged when they take so damn long. Plus, you know, tiny pointy needles aren't that great when there are small children around. Anyway, as you see the ball of yarn is getting smaller and smaller, so I have high hopes that these will get done soon. They will be almost knee length when done, and I think that will be NICE. I have a pair of high boots they will be great underneath. Oh, don't worry, I'll wear shoes that show them off, too. You have to, after all that work. 

And the sweater, from Christmas. Partly knit, as you can see. I actually am enjoying this knit so much that I am knitting other things so it lasts longer. Although I admit it's also hard to wait, because I want to WEAR it so much. 

 ..... *@#*$#*$&#(*()# 

I hate blogger and it's picture loading. IT SO SUCKS. Wait. I'll get that photo for you.

Sad for the tuna

I haven't eaten tuna -- except for the very occasional piece of negitoro roll -- since I got pregnant. For those who are counting, that was almost four years ago. I woke up this morning craving tuna, and after I got up searched online for what tuna to buy. I recalled from some years ago that there were some kinds that were safe. I didn't buy them because I was either pregnant or nursing, but since we're pretty much done on the latter for now, I figure -- I'm free! Tuna me baby!

The site I found said that tuna is a moderate risk, and should only be eaten once a month. And while some people would think -- well, today is that day! I think ... uh, if something is so dangerous that I can only eat it once a month, then I'm just not going to eat it at all. They never say that about carrots, you know. Oh, carrots are dangerous, you can only eat one a month! I'm sorry. I think I can only eat something that you get to eat several times a week with no ill result. The once a month thing freaks me out.

The Man and I live in a tiny house that has a tiny footprint given we share the space on the earth with the two townhouses above us. We buy fluorescent bulbs and we recycle and we used cloth diapers. We only use one car, and we walk as often as possible. We live close to work to avoid long polluting commutes. We shower instead of bathe. We try and buy locally, organically, and seasonally. We don't buy more than we need. We are doing everything we reasonably can to protect the environment short of wearing only flax clothes that we made ourselves from plants we grew organically in our backyard ... and it's still not enough. My kid is never going to have the joy of a tuna salad sandwich. And I don't want to sit back and blame other people, the people who must buy a large house in the suburbs and drive long distances to work and don't recycle and own six cars and who buy strawberries in winter from Chile just because they can ... but if we all don't start doing something, what will come next?

The fog comes in on little pig feet*

We've been having an excessive amount of fog recently**. You'd think that we might be used to this, being a city on the sea and all, but the truth is that we don't actually get that much fog. 

The fog is impressive where we live, but it's been truly amazing where I work, which is right next to the ocean on top of a bluff so that the fog is thicker than ... well, pea soup, to use the old cliche. I find the fog kind of creepy -- the range of vision is so low that it feels like things loom up at you suddenly. Which means that driving around daycare centres and schools is especially fun -- which I do everyday, after all, dropping off my kiddo.

On the other hand, the dampening of the noise with the fog and the way the fog dissipates the light, especially at dusk, is really lovely. It makes the everyday things you see seem just a little different, and sometimes a second look is all you need to appreciate the little beauties that are all around you all the time, that you just don't take the time to notice. 

The other day at dusk I was driving along, and from behind a street light pole came an arresting red glow. It was only the glow of a traffic light from beyond it, and it only lasted a second, but I've never before thought that traffic lights could be pretty. And I kind of like having my perspective changed by something as simple as fog.

* Did you know that this is a title of a book by the same author who writes the Max and Ruby series? Only it's a book for young adults and addresses some pretty serious issues, such as mental health and suicide. A long way from Max and  Ruby and their adventures.

**Yes, I pretty much AM obsessed with weather, thanks for asking. I blame my father, who can recite weather statistics from the past fifty years off the top of his head. There's only so many conversations you can have about weather before actually becoming interested, or at least convinced that this is a topic worthy of discussion. I blame his profession as an astronomer for that, because he only gets to do what he loves when the weather is nice. Plus, you know, he's a man of science and statistics are just fun.

What ARE the neighbours up to?

Some many years ago, soon after I moved to Vancouver, I was hot on the dating scene. (ha ha, that's a slight exaggeration) One of the gentlemen I conversed with regularly once emailed me at work complaining of extreme tiredness. Upon further conversation it came out that the house behind him had blown up in the middle of the night and the ensuing chaos had been bad for sleep. He lived in ... shall we say a less desirable area of Vancouver ... and the house behind had been a meth lab, he figured, and there had been a small explosion and a fire and a whole lotta cops. 

I was pretty pleased and relieved to realize that I lived in a nicer area and there was little chance of the house behind me exploding in a drug-fuelled haze.

I have since figured out that the only real difference between his area of town and mine is that people in this area are more careful with their drug habits. I live in what is a pretty nice area -- not a rich area, I admit, but a nice area, and I have lost track of the number of times I have walked down the street and smelled pot from someone's apartment or backyard. It happened just today. A few months ago our street was temporarily blocked off as the police emptied out an unexploded drug lab over the next block. It's still a nice area of town; people don't sell drugs openly on the street like they do in some areas. But I'm not naive enough to figure that we couldn't find them if we wanted them. Which we don't, I hasten to add. 

Earlier today, sitting on the sofa with The Man, we heard a loud engine. And a loud speaker. And there were sirens in the distance. And it was awfully close, and we were a little concerned that someone in OUR block had let their drug problem get out of hand. It's ok if it's the next block over, of course, but not OUR block. So we poked our noses out of our window to find ...

the recycling truck has a loudspeaker. 

Guess the houses are saved for another day.

Christmas is over, kid

This morning I had an appointment, and while out I picked up a new box to hold all our Christmas stuff. When I came home, I pulled all the lights down and packed it all away. Yeah, I'm a little late, I suppose. But better than some years. 

Anyway, when we came home tonight -- with no mention of Christmas or lights or tinsel or stockings -- and I offered my child a show post-dinner, what did he ask for? No, not Backyardigans or a Pixar show or Pocoyo or even Sesame Street, which we tracked down ... he wanted "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer".

Back in the days when I was a child, we only watched Christmas shows at Christmas time, because of course that's the only time they were on. And heck, I even remember the times before VHS and recording devices. So I considered telling him no, he couldn't watch it. Christmas is over, after all.

And then I thought ... meh. What the heck. This is the age of new media technology. He can watch what he wants.

But ... call me crazy ... aren't we kind of losing just a little something here? I mean, I love being able to pull up whatever I want to watch, on DVD or through iTunes or something. I mean, you can pretty much find any movie or any episode of any TV show you want. But there was something special about those old Christmas specials, because they were so rare. There was an excitement in the air when they came on, it was an occasion. It was something I remember looking forward to as part of the season. 

What's my point? I don't know if I have one. This isn't unusual. Just ... while I think that there are some great things about moving forward, I guess I'm old enough to have some nostalgia for the way things were. 

Pool etiquette

So today we headed off to one of the city's pools -- it's a popular one, because it has a pretty good size children's pool as well as a larger one, and a water slide. 

The few times we've been before the shallow side of the kiddie pool has been mostly populated by other toddlers -- makes sense, it's only 18 inches / 2 ft deep or so. This has been great for us, and has done wonders for The Boy's confidence in the water -- he was happy to go and do his thing and go down the little slide with us catching him at the bottom. And since all the parents are parents of toddlers, there are lots of eyes for watching and people who are considerate of little kids. 

But today the pool was very crowded, and there were a bunch of 8-12 year olds who were running rampant through the place, and so there was lots of splashing and we had to keep The Boy close to avoid him getting run over.

And I feel like a terrible curmudgeon for saying this but ... I kind of feel like those kids' parents really should talk to them about being a little more considerate of the smaller kids in the pool. Of course I'm a parent of a small child, but I'd like to think that were The Boy 13 years old and having fun at the pool, I'd be inclined to let him know if his behaviour was negatively impacting someone else's experience. 

On the other hand, as The Man noted, and I agree, it's hard for us to complain about being splashed when we're at a pool. I mean honestly. 

Perhaps I'd feel differently if we hadn't spent the last year trying to rid our son of a fear of water, since he gets freaked out by being splashed in the face, and this trip to the pool really didn't help our case. 

Sigh. Anyway. Am I out of order, or am I right in my "Kids were never badly behaved like this when I was a child!" irritation?

Holing up

Today we are under yet another rainfall warning; we were out this morning for food and saw that snow was trying to sneak in with the rain as it fell. We're now home, and we have lots of food, and we're going to light a fire and watch a movie or something. Just us three together in our cozy living room. Sounds like a pretty perfect Saturday.

It may be that we are a little too hermit-like. But at least we enjoy being hermits together. 

It's 8:40, and my child is still awake. They gave him a nap at daycare. We hate naps now. Last night he was out at 7:50; most nights without naps he's done by 8. At the moment, he's still going strong. Can't say the same for his father, alas.

Sigh. What I wouldn't give for a child who sleeps easily.

Rules

So one of the things we've been working on lately with The Boy is The Rules. You know, once a kid hits two they can understand right from wrong, and when a kid hits 2.00001, they start testing those constraints. Ad nauseum, until they are, I don't know, twenty five or so? Anyway things around these parts have come to such a head that we are instituting the Time Out. This isn't a parenting scheme we were terribly keen on, but the parent-ignoring and rule-breaking was getting to the point that something had to be done, and so far we are anti-spanking. So far.

Anyway, so time outs in this house happen in the bedroom, which is fine. Ours, which has no toys in it, for the most part, and are greeted with howls of outrage. In fact lately we have had so much outrage against the timeout that merely threatening it prevents some of the more egregious behaviour. So, you know, problem solved. 

However.

The one thing that I've read about only children -- even children who are just only for a short while, until a smaller sibling arrives on the scene -- is that they don't realize at first that they are children. They are merely short adults, and so the rules and the edicts within the house apply to everyone, equally.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

This evening as we sat playing while waiting for dinner to cook, The Boy and I were making train tracks, and there was a cat brush lying on the floor in the way. I casually picked it up and tossed it a few feet into the cat basket. And there was a sudden silence. 

"Mommy! No throwing! You need a time out!"

And he very seriously and sternly led me to the bedroom so we could have this. He even shut the door behind me.

Me? Well, you know. My book's in the bedroom. I could have stayed there all night. But shhhhh! Don't tell HIM that. 

Growth Spurt

God, can barely keep eyes open these days. After some many weeks of great sleeping on behalf of the child, he's now been up every night for at least an hour or so. Yerrrgh. Three nights in a row -- on one of the nights he sat up in bed and stripped off his pajama pants and diaper, resulting in many angry words and tears (both of us) at 3am. FUN.

Plus he's been SUPER clingy to mommy the last few days. No idea why. We think it must be some kind of growth spurt -- at least that's what we think NOW, because yesterday he ate more than his father did at breakfast, and more than his mother did at dinner. We do believe that they feed him at the daycare, but who can tell??

Anyway. That's why posting is light. BLerrrghhh. Am tired. 

In good news it finally started raining here and despite dire predictions it hasn't resulted in mass flooding given how much ice was yesterday still blocking drains. Today the roads are actually pretty damn good, all things considered. 

But the huge amount of cold precip that melted and froze and melted and froze has resulted in some of the most enormous potholes on roads that I HAVE EVER SEEN. We bottomed out the car on one of them the other day. Seriously. Well, lots of construction work will keep people employed. Nothing like stimulating the economy through extreme weather conditions.

Broken record, broken promises

They lied to me. LIED. The weather people! It was supposed to be WARM and MELTY today. And it was fine until tonight, when it was supposed to start raining, and lo! it. IS. SNOWING.

I am flabbergasted. Also, out of things to write. Sorry about that. But my mind cannot compute, and therefore cannot come up with anything other than ... blah blah blah blah snow blah blah. But just for the record? THERE'S ANOTHER SIX INCHES and a reasonably good chance WE WILL ALL BE STUCK INSIDE AGAIN TOMORROW AIIIIEEEEEE!!!!

The Past

Every time I go home to my parents' home, I try and clean out a little more of my stuff. I come from a long and celebrated line of packrats, and so in my old room, squirrelled away, are some pretty crazy things. A lot of old books, some old musical instruments, a bunch of notes from friends and old boyfriends that I kept, a bunch of old notes from school, a few stuffed animals. The books I'm paring down bit by bit, into "things I will never read again" (a very tiny category, admittedly) and "things that I want to bring home for my child". Most of the old toys have already made their way into my house, and most of the stuffed animals would have too had my child shown any interest whatsoever in playing with them. He won't even play with his own, the few that he has, so I cannot imagine bringing my old ones here, into this tiny space, to crowd the toys he does deign to touch. 

This time I delved deep into the back of the closet and found an old box that was elaborately taped shut. Over and over. In layers. It was clear that NO ONE WAS TO TOUCH THIS BOX. It was almost as though I had written DANGER: EXPLOSIVES on the side. I knew what it was instantly: my diaries.

But despite knowing that one thing, I was actually surprised to find what I did inside the box. One diary I had absolutely no recollection of writing, for one thing. And then when I did read them? A whole lot of surprises. 

At some point I should quote some of them here, because my eighth grade angst is as funny as everyone else's (there's actually something about "desirable man meat" from a time in my life when it was quite clear that I had never even been close to such a thing. Oh, and ew for referring to it that way.) but that wasn't the surprising thing I wanted to note. The thing that surprised me most was realizing that what I remember now, at almost-35, and what I wrote then ARE NOT THE SAME. 

Now I understand it when two people have completely different memories of the same event; two different points of view and experiences lead to different memories, even of small things. What I can't quite fathom is how I managed to write about a situation -- actually write it down -- at 15 or 18 or 20, and then remember it, 15 years later, completely differently. 

Now I hasten to add here that I'm not talking about a single incident here. I'm talking about my memories of people. As an example, there's one person from my past that I remember extremely fondly, someone I've held up in my memories as a pretty upstanding person; the diaries recount some pretty negative emotions about that same person that I don't remember having. It's not like I remember events of the night of November 12, 1995 in two different ways; more that there are many subtle nuances of my memories that I have lost. 

I suppose in the end it's merely a matter of time and distance and forgetting of some things. We focus on the things we want to focus on; therefore the relationship from high school which was once beloved but ended in a fiery crash (figuratively) is only recalled with the bitter memories of the end; the next relationship which felt so ideal at the end is remembered with a sweetness that doesn't reflect the exasperation I sometimes felt. 

I haven't read through the diaries in full; I'm not sure that I want to have all those memories downloaded again, and I'm not sure I need to. But even the small tidbits I have read are a good reminder: nothing is ever as bad as you fear, or as bad as you remember. Those events from your past that haunt you? They aren't as bad as you remember. Conversely, nothing is perhaps ever as good as you remember either, but savouring the memories does make for sweet reminiscing later on. 

It's like you can't go wrong with it, really -- so what if you remember the good times as better than they were? Where's the harm in that? And it's always a comfort to try and remember that that boy from 12th grade? Yeah, he might have been an *ss once. But before that? He brought roses. 

IT IS STILL SNOWING

It's like my own personal hell. 

Although a happy child, a train track, a yummy dinner and a nice roaring fire don't tend to figure prominently in such places. 

Well, maybe the fire. 

P.S.

Can you tell we're snowbound and bored?? Four posts before 2pm. This is a very bad sign. I think I've now posted more in three days of January than I did THE ENTIRE MONTH OF NOVEMBER. Kinda ironic given that the previous two Novembers I did that National Blog Posting Month insanity and posted every day. Huh. 

And Dear LORD, there's more snow falling!!!

Good karma?

We live in a townhouse building here -- six townhouses only. We have really low maintenance fees, which is accomplished by not hiring anyone to do such things as maintain the front garden and shovel snow or such. The garden is one of those almost maintenance-free types -- a few trees and bushes that need occasional trimming -- and the snow around here really isn't usually a problem. 

You know, until this year. 

I was only here for two or three days of snow before Christmas, and the one day I was home I was alone with a toddler, making shovelling impossible. So today I thought I'd better get my heinie outside with a shovel so as to do my part and avoid getting sued (by someone who slipped on the sidewalk, not by the neighbors.) So I did so, and felt terribly virtuous. I went outside at the same time as the man next door, and together we did all the stoops, the sidewalk round the building and the driveway into the garage. I admit he did the hard part -- scraping off the ice -- while I got the easy part of moving the snow, but that was with the World's Worst Snow Shovel (TM). Apparently in Vancouver there's no need to buy a good snow shovel because it just never snows here. (ahem)

And I came back inside, rosy cheeked and glowing, exercised and feeling good about myself and my contribution to society ... and then I made cookies. 

And in the hour and a bit since I returned inside, it started deluging again and now everywhere I scraped is white again. 

So I'm wondering: does it count that I did a good deed if Mother Nature obliterated it within an hour??

And: Dear God, the state of the streets is now truly laughable. We are grateful we live within driving distance of anything we need, because we sure as h*ll are not driving anywhere. And we live within a block of a main road. 

Do I even need to say it?

There's more snow this morning. What. The. HELL.

An essay in feet

So The Boy has discovered the joys of the camera, and we as parents have discovered the joys of digital photographs (read: erasable) and the small amounts of peace we get when the child is engaged in photography. Of course this will inevitably result in a broken camera and several hundred dollars for a new camera, but aren't we supposed to be living in the moment and not worrying about the future? Yeah, I thought so.

In any case, I discovered upon downloading the photos that my child has ... well, a fascination? something to say? issues? Who knows. But there's a theme, I tell you. A THEME to these photos, so I present them here for your artistic dissection.

He started out with legs -- dad's:

Moved on to a single foot (his own):

Moved back to dad's:

Decided that BOTH his feet were worth documenting:

Artistically, he sees them in shoes as well:

Sees only his knees:

The artistic "feet-in-pajamas" shot:

A daring whole legs expose:

Exposing his mother's terrible post-yoga fashion sense. White socks with black pants! SAVE HIM FROM THIS TRAVESTY!

Snow

We've had snow on the ground here in Vancouver since December 17 or so which I swear must be some kind of record. This is a city where usually the snow comes and melts within a day or so. This is made clear by the lack of city resources to clear any side streets, no matter how long the snow continues to lie around; in response to numerous complaints, the city has said it just can't do it and is planning to wait until the warm weather takes care of the problem for us. Which normally, of course, works just fine. Not so much this year. 

Here's the backyard after The Snow That Started It All:

That's our bbq in the foreground, and the big mound at the back? the sandbox.

Here's the street yesterday. What you're looking at is the single track down the centre, surrounded on either side by a wall of icy, hard snow, and cars that were parked on the street two weeks ago still sitting there, unable to move through that impenetrable mess.

Our sidewalks have thankfully been cleared, but we have the neighbors to thank for that, not the city. 

And tonight? THERE WILL BE MORE OF IT.

Yeah, those cars will be out of there soon. Really.

Happy New Year

New years was rung in last night at 11pm, which was the hour that neither I nor The Man could stay awake past. Good thing too; last night at 5am, the heat went off in the bedroom and our little man woke up cold and unsettled, and we had an uneasy hour before we all fell back to sleep. We awoke at 8, somewhat muddle headed. 

My first thought this morning at 5 was this is not a good way to start the new year.

But awaking at 8, I had regained some equilibrium. I am very lucky to be awoken at 5am by my son. I am lucky to have a son. I am lucky that I share the burden of the 5am wakings with a kind and gentle husband, who gently soothes my son and me back to sleep. I am grateful that the two of them are now making use of one of the most favourite of the Christmas toys and making an enormous train track in our living room, in front of the fire. I am grateful for an enormous number of things; I am very lucky. And while I am tired, because my child still does not regularly sleep through the night, it does not change any of those things.

Last night's post was sour and sad, tired and worn. It sounds resigned. But I am far from it. It's still true that I don't have much control, that there will be good and bad things this coming year, but it's also true that I will always and forever try to make things happy and peaceful for myself, for my family, for those people I care about. I cannot control the events, but I can control how I react to them, how I let them shape me and my family's fortunes. 

And in the end that is my new year's resolution, and I think it will continue to be for the next many years: do the best I can with the hand I am dealt. Be a source of happiness and calm for myself and those around me. See the good. 

And with that in mind, it will be a good year, no matter what happens.