Halloween 2010

He came back in 15 minutes with a HAUL of candy. Unreal.

Not his tribe

When September rolled around my son's friends all left the daycare. Most of his friends were a year older than he is; the one who wasn't left for another preschool. I was sad about it, but I knew a whole new crop of kids was coming in, and somewhere there, I thought for sure, he'd find new friends.

I started getting worried when they told me that out of 24 kids, there were six boys. There's a single boy his age. One of the boys doesn't speak any English. Another is not yet three. Another he knows from the year before, and they don't like each other that much, because that kid's older brother was also there, and was a mean kid who said mean things to my kid. (He was the one who, when they had "toy from home day" and my kid brought his Iron Man Mask that he was so proud of, took it from him, got the boys together to play a super hero game, and then told my kid he couldn't play because he had no costume. It's a good thing my kid said no, give me back my mask, please (and the other kid complied), because momma bear was there with fire in her eye and was about to march over, grab the damn mask, and smack that kid upside the head for being so freaking mean.)

But I digress.

The Boy is getting along pretty well despite all this. He has friends, the girls adore him, he tells me all the time he has fun. I keep him home when he asks, but he still prefers the daycare to shopping or groceries or errands. I arrange playdates with last year's friends.

But this morning, Halloween party day, he arrived in his now full Iron Man costume to the biggest bevy of Disney princesses I've ever seen. No other boy was in a costume; the one boy who had brought a costume came as a parrot.

I wrote yesterday that I didn't understand my son's fascination for superheroes, but dammit if this is his interest and his passion right now I do want him to have friends to share it with, and enjoy it. Oh, sure, the princesses surrounded him oooh-ing and aaah-ing and asking to try on the mask, and they all went happily off together, in costume, my son cajoling the other boy to put on his parrot costume. I know it doesn't matter that much to him -- they're all in costume and it's fun and it doesn't matter if the other boy is spiderman or a tropical bird.

But OH I wish it were different for him. I can't wait until he's done there.

Blogging with baby, take two

So the Halloween question has been resolved by my sister, who is loaning us an Iron Man costume as well as a spiderman costume -- we haven't the mask for the latter, but have it for the former, and since we found the Venom mask (of course we did! After I searched out other options!) The Boy now has three options for his choosing for Sunday. In return I loaned my sister a knight costume, but her boys are likely going as Optimus Prime and Batman. Never underestimate the attraction of archetypal heroes with little boys, is the lesson here.

It was a surprise to me, the superhero thing. The rough physicality of boy-ness. My son was a pretty calm baby who liked to read books and sit quietly playing with toys and when shortly after his third birthday superheroes hit us like a ton of bricks and haven't gone away I admit I was at first amused and then somewhat alarmed. The guns, the power struggles, the shooting of trees out the window of the car, the desire to roughhouse -- as a girl growing up with a single sister and no close neighborhood boys -- and even no close friends with brothers -- this was a complete surprise.

Eighteen months later, I still don't get it, don't understand it, and cringe when he wants to play good guy / bad guy games. But I'm trying my best to get it, at least. I read about this, about this development stage for boys, and I am at least convinced in theory that this is a.) normal b.) healthy and c.) won't lead to sociopathic / criminal behaviours later in life. The problem that I see now is one I've seen a lot of write-up about: female teachers at the primary levels that don't understand little boys.

We already have one teacher at daycare who tells me, in a concerned voice, when The Boy has been acting out some violent fantasy. And then she asks, in a concerned, lowered tone ... "He doesn't play ... video games ... does he?" Because they are the root of all evil. To be perfectly honest I think some video games are better for a child than TV, because my kid will interact with video games and even (gasp!) think when playing them, rather than turn into the slack-jawed vegetable state he gets into with TV shows. And it's not like I'm letting him play Doom or anything. He plays age-appropriate games.

(And to be fair the woman who runs the place seems to think that he's delightful and has never once mentioned to me that she thinks The Boy's play is out of the range of normal. And she's been in ECE for over 20 years, and has a son of her own, so I trust her judgement more than the teacher who has been there two years, and hasn't any kids of her own.)

But I believe the stories about female teachers not understanding boys, because I'm the mother of one and *I* don't understand it. I want to let it go, I want to learn about it, because it's important to my son. I don't want to hinder this part of him, to squash his likes and dislikes and his exploration of the world. But I am afraid that someone else will.

It's ironic, isn't it, this motherhood thing? I might not like it, I might not understand it, but I will come out swinging and defend him should anyone else suggest it might be bad. He is who he is, and I will love and defend him forever and a day.

And drive all over town for Iron Man costumes.

Rain

To someone who grew up on the temperate west coast, some times a day of all-day rain when you get to stay inside is a lovely comfort.

Genesis, according to my son

"Long long ago, before their were people, there were dinosaurs. And before THAT, there were superheroes, and supervillains. And the supervillains wanted to destroy the WORLD, and the superheroes stopped them and THAT'S how the earth was made. The green blood made the trees and the brown blood made the dirt."

pause

"But humans made this house. A long time later."

Clearly I have some work to do on his edu-ma-cation.

Sunday morning picture

There's a hot cup of tea -- a big one -- nearby, my lifeline to waking up. The day is grey and rainy, but the inside is warm and light ... if only because in waking, my preschooler turned on every light in the house. He hasn't stopped talking since he woke up, just past seven -- it's now over an hour later. The baby, awake in the night a few times, woke later, but is now enjoying a romp in the neglect-o-saucer. Every morning it's the same -- the baby, the preschooler, and the cat all clamouring for attention, all needing THIS, and RIGHT NOW and it's a wonder that I stay sane with that amount of sensory stimulation so soon after waking up.

Hence the tea.

There's yogurt and mango and muffins for breakfast, a kitchen to clean, children to bathe, laundry to do, a freezer to tidy, toys all over the living room, and bookshelves to organize, but for the moment there's tea, and all the shrieks, yowls, and words float on by, swirling chaos around my head, while I am still.

One of my goals while on mat leave is to re-organize our very small abode so it's less cluttered and more manageable for when I go back to work. I have come to realize that I must have less stuff in order to feel more organized, and so much of the stuff is superfluous anyway.

In my case, the extra stuff -- well, a lot of it is books, and books .... it's hard for me to get rid of books. Very hard. They are old friends, these books, they speak to who I am and where I have come from and I love them, so many of them. I like the fact that I own five English dictionaries, because I remember the getting of each of them -- inherited from a friend, found in university when I couldn't afford one, etc. etc.

But with children come many sacrifices, and one of those sacrifices is to go through the books, at the very least, and get rid of the ones that aren't friends so as to free up more space for the kids' things. And so I have. I have about $100 in credit at the nearby used bookstore (couldn't take cash. Now I can get more books! Don't tell me this is illogical, I don't want to know.) And today I spent some time re-organizing the bookshelves, placing them in alphabetical order, lovingly repositioning and placing and remembering each one.

It's extraordinary how much pleasure I get from the books -- even beyond reading them, just having them and holding them and looking at them and organizing them. Sigh. It might just be a sickness.

But I wouldn't be writing this out unless I suspected that at least one or two people who might read this might feel exactly the same way.

;)

Now that my daughter is sitting -- almost -- I figure how hard can it be to post more often? I'll just sit her in my lap and it will all be fine!

One minute in: we're doing ok.

But I suspect there will be casualties.

I emailed a childless friend today, asked how they were. Tired came the answer. And I refrained from saying, which I almost did, I remember being tired before I had kids too and HOOOO-BOY does it not compare to now. You know, because I'd sound like a total ass. Who's to say why this person is tired? There are many more reasons than kids to be tired. Don't be sanctimonious! But for me, I do have to say -- I used to feel tired a lot before kids. Now I feel TIRED. Tired like I-could-fall-asleep-mid-driving tired. Which I don't, thanks to coffee. But stimulants are my fast friends these days.

Two minutes in: Harder to type with baby AND favourite bunny on lap.

My daughter has a strange crown. As in, she doesn't have a swirl on the top of her head, she has a very strange, off-centre, cowlicky thing that goes up and across her head. It's very strange. And I wondered what the heck had happened for months until I caught myself futzing with my hair in the mirror and trying to get my hair to lie flat over this part in the back? Which is off-centre? And kind of has my hair grow up, and you know, kind of to the side?

Oh.

It's the sleep deprivation, I think.

Three minutes in: uhhhhhhh ....

Halloween is coming and we are still not sorted on a costume. Ugh. My son of course is opting for only archetypal heroes and villains and we could use the Venom costume from last year only there's no mask and he can't wear it without the mask, mom. Except that he did. Last year. All the time. The mask is a pain in the butt.

Sigh. So I'm trying to talk him into wearing the Venom costume with the Iron Man mask he has. That'll be cool, right? Right?

Annnnnnddd ... four minutes in? We're done.

Well argued, son. Very compelling.

Me: "Do you want pineapple on your pizza?"

Him: "Yes."

.... pause ....

"But don't put on cantaloup, ok? Because one, we don't have any, and two, because I don't like it."

Duly noted.

There are days like today when I feel like someone who should have been screened and prevented from having children, were such a thing possible, which it probably should be if that didn't violate every human right known to man. I am clinging to the idea that tomorrow is another day and that even if we don't get a reset button, we do get to keep trying to do our best, and someday in the end I hope very much that the fact I got up every day and kept going and trying to do my best even if I fall short will be enough to keep my children out of therapy.

Superman here

Today I went to the park as Spiderman with my sidekick -- or leader, really -- Buzz Lightyear. We vanquished 40 bad guys on the way there and back, me with my webs and him with his laser.

A great time was had by all.

Appley Dappley

"It's a cult phenomenon!!" -- overheard this morning

We went today to the Apple Festival. Apples are a big thing in BC, we grow a lot here, and the local botanical garden has held a festival every year for close to 20 years now. They bring in close to 70 varieties of apples to taste and sell, and then alongside sell apple pie and dried apples and caramel apples and apple cider and any number of other things. There's face painting for children and crafts and it's a very family-type outing.

And here's the thing: it's immensely popular. So popular that we arrived at the tasting tent one hour after official opening only to be told, rather sorrowfully, that four varieties were already sold out. And truth be told many more than that were. People arrive first thing bright and early to snag their favourite varieties long before official opening. It's madness! Complete madness! A run on apples! Rare breeds, sought after, a status symbol to have purchased some of the few Maigold that they had! The crowds, there are intense and serious and true apple connoisseurs.

We had a good time. We didn't get to purchase the Senshus that we coveted, but we managed to get some Mutsus and some plain old Honeycrisp so I reckon we made out ok. Together with the Arlets, Gravensteins, and Kings in my kitchen I figure we've got our apples covered.

I almost sound like I belong, now, talking like that!

Snippets

Today I dressed my daughter in a fire-engine red onesie and jean overalls. At the deli counter, the woman commented on how alert my "little guy" was, and I said, no, it's a girl. It amazes me that people get contrite over it -- I'm never offended. I'm not even offended when I dress her in head to toe pink and they think she's a boy (I'm puzzled. But not offended.) It's a baby! They have no defining gender-specific features except those in their diapers! How can you possibly know?

* * * * * * * * *

The Boy is ahead of the class in reading and math comprehension, but heretofore has shown absolutely no interest in either writing or drawing or anything at all that involves holding a colouring implement near paper. For the mother's day / christmas / halloween / thanksgiving / children's art day projects I am to receive it looks very much like someone coerced him into drawing a single line or six on paper before he ran off to do something fun. As a result, the only art I see is still scribbles which makes me look vaguely enviously at the drawings of stick people and houses and carefully scrawled names of the other kids, wishing I had something to put on my fridge which doesn't look like someone was trying to make a pen work over a large sheet of paper.

(Oh, I don't fault him for this. I never say anything, except to be gently encouraging about drawing in general. He has his interests, I'm not going to change them, and I love who he is as he is. But still. I like little kid drawings. They are so cute.)

Imagine my surprise when, some days ago, we were in a local drugstore and he spied a package of crayola pens and begged for them. As noted, I am trying to encourage his drawing / writing skills, so I half-heartedly said no and let him negotiate for them. And lo! He LOVES his little pipsqueaks and has been drawing with them ever since. Still scribbles over paper, but you have to start somewhere, right?

I was starting to think he had a real aversion to writing, as does the friend of a child of ours, who is so averse to have been diagnosed with a learning disability. (Yes, yes, I can worry about anything, why do you ask?) Logically I realize he's four and a half, and many children don't even begin writing for a year, or even two, after 4.5, but with so many kids in his daycare scrawling their name over anything and everything I was starting to think he might be quite opposed.

And then the other day he came into the bedroom whilst I was nursing the baby to sleep and presented me with another scribbled drawing he'd done alone in the living room, and I turned it over to read his name messily but legibly scrawled across the back. This is all the more interesting given he had no interest and seemingly no ability to do this mere months ago. When I exclaimed my delight over it rhapsodically he could only point out that it was messy and the letters were not perfect ... poor child. He's finally found something that doesn't come easily and he hates it that it doesn't. Think he'll have to get over this soon enough. Bright he might be, but there's sure to be many other things in life that don't come easily to him.

* * * * * * *

My cat seems to like to sleep in the bottom of the exersaucer. It has taken him a month to realize that when I push the seat down, the baby is coming next -- along with little baby feet to step on him. Oh, it's no use trying to get him to move -- I would say things, encourage him to go, push him gently. No, he wouldn't budge until the baby feet were upon him. But at least now, finally, he has figured it out. Guess the bruising wasn't pretty. I simply can't imagine that it's remotely comfortable to sleep there, but what do I know of cats.

* * * * * * *

We are having Thanksgiving this weekend at my sister's, as per now a seven year tradition. When she mentioned perhaps heading to my parents for the weekend I was aghast. Strangely enough it seems that Canadian Thanksgiving, like its American counterpart, is the one where we see family; Christmas last we spent a home alone. I guess with kids Christmas becomes that much more cumbersome, what with presents to cart about and all that. Thanksgiving is and only is a nice meal. Much easier to carry about potatoes than gifts for all and sundry.

Anyway I am looking forward to it -- it will be nice to see everyone and have a nice meal and some pie and to dress up my daughter in a dress for once. I think I even have some tights with a frilly bum on them. Weekadays she's a jean overall girl. Thanksgiving she can put on her party clothes.

* * * * * * *

A mom friend and I exchanged some meal ideas over email this past week. SHe complained that she felt like she fed her kids pasta all the time, and needed some new ideas. Me, I just hate meal planning and so was excited to hear what she had in mind. Turns out I can easily get away from pasta, but getting away from CHEESE is impossible ... apparently I must bribe my child to eat veggies with cheese!

Which makes it all the more ironic that the doctor suggested I give up dairy to see if I can get my daughter to be less gassy. Sure! No problem! I've given up gluten, let's give up dairy too! The only saving grace in my life will now be dark chocolate. Ah well. I went out and bought some chai tea and some hemp milk and will just hope for the best. Given that I've been trying to eat more plant protein lately instead of any animal products during the day, I'm about THISCLOSE to becoming vegan, which I suppose isn't a bad idea. Healthier, I suppose, to get more calories from fruit, veggies, and legumes than from dairy and meat.

ANnnnnnnddd ... time's up in the exersaucer it seems.