Friday muck

I keep working on a post about my wonderful five year old but I have a nasty sinus cold and headache, it's pouring rain, Japan is collapsing, my cat is loud and obnoxious, the baby has a gooseegg, the dishwasher has been broken a week meaning lots of loads of dishes and is now fixed but we spent a bunch of money that just isn't really there at the end of a maternity leave, and I'm trying to prepare for a party tomorrow and my trip to the dollar store this morning got plates, cups, napkins, party favours, balloons, and even party bags but forgot UTENSILS. And it's not like they can just pick up the cake to eat it, it's ICE CREAM CAKE.

My head is a fog. My body hurts. I'd like to go to bed.

But the dishes call.

Child magnet

I haven't knit since before my daughter was born. Not for lack of desire: it's just not an activity (pointy sticks and knottable yarn) that goes well with baby care.

You'd think it would get better now she's older, but now I have a different problem: the mommy magnet. Meaning that if I ever find myself sitting comfortably on the couch, ready to knit or -- for example -- write a blog post, I am within mere minutes covered with children. I can sneakily sit down when my son is reading in the other room and my daughter is engaged with a toy and still, somehow, moments later, I am covered in children.

Incidentally this also works if I'm in the kitchen cleaning, or in the bathroom showering. My daughter, the mommy-seeker, has discovered the many advantages of mobility.

I do regret the loss of personal autonomy. I miss knitting. But this stage only lasts so long, and they will be grown before I know it.

And meanwhile I knit while standing at the dining room sideboard. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Accomplished

The week's grocery shopping is done, three loads of dishes washed (since the dishwasher is broken), the toilet plumbed (and $150 spent for the privilege of a burly and rather handsome man to come into my ensuite and flush my toilet), and four dozen mini cupcakes baked in preparation for the big event tomorrow: The Fifth Birthday.

Five. My little boy will be five. I can't believe it.

Spring

A month later than last year but still awesome.

Away

My father is a university professor. Or was, I guess, although he still maintains an office and goes in everyday despite being forcibly retired five years ago. Anyway. One year many moons back he took a sabbatical, and for many many reasons (many more than I want to / can go in to now), he went away for part of it alone.

Six weeks, as I recall. I was eleven, my sister would have been 14. We stayed home with my mom. It was a fine time, I don't remember one way or another it being either bad or good. I don't remember it being any different from any other time my dad went away, which wasn't much.

What I do recall is that he came home one evening, around dinnertime, in the car (he'd driven down south for the trip). And my mother, my normally very reserved and calm mother, RAN out of the house to meet the car before he'd even finished pulling in. My normally calm and logical mother, almost in tears. I remember being kind of surprised at that. She hadn't seemed to miss him overly, not moreso than I'd have expected.

It's only now that I realize that no matter how well it had gone, no matter how much help we were and how easy it was, it's HARD being a solo parent. You miss your co-parent a lot, and not just for the stuff they do, but for the feeling that you're in things together.

Which is to say: I'm very pleased that The Man is home today after two weeks away. My co-parent is back. And Thank God.

Aw, who cares about a title? It's just a bunch of stuff.

So this week has been epic in terms of daycare and kindergarten stuff -- I got offered a daycare spot for my daughter, turned it down, because I am insane, in the hopes that a different one will come up at the right time at the exact right centre ... all I can think is that I've become delusional because the idea of turning down a good spot at a good centre is insane in this city. So here's hoping that the spot I am thinking will come open, will do so, AND that we will be offered it. I am perhaps too optimistic for Vancouver.

However, I DID get the kindergarten call I had been waiting for, and I have my orientation (not his. Mine.) set up for later this month. I asked the lady on the phone if I should have a one-on-one meeting with the teacher as well, and she kinda paused. "It's not that he's got special needs," I hedged. "I just want to know if I should chat with him about my kid now or if he prefers to meet the kids first." She opted for the latter, which is fine with me. Maybe setting up my kid for expectations isn't the best way to go.

* * * * * *

I spent the better part of this week with my mother, first at her house and then at mine. I find having her in my space is stressful, mostly because every suggestion she makes feels like a criticism of the way I do things. Oh, I get that that is MY problem, not hers, I'm merely explaining my stress. Plus similar to my in-laws she cannot just sit and play with my kids, for instance, she always has to be DOING something. In that light, I did learn something that illuminated our differing philosophies in child rearing. This year, despite my many complaints about it on this blog, I have been trying to make sure I get time home with my son as well as my daughter. I work full time, this is my one chance, really, to spend more time with him. And so lots of other things don't get done. The house cleaning, for all I bitch about it, for one thing. So yeah, I complain about my kids driving me crazy, and I complain about the messy house, but I also realize that my kids are only little once. The messy house is a messy house, I can clean it now or I can clean it in five years, it'll still be here. My son wanting to spend his time with me is fleeting.

But my mom, in coming over to my place, was all "We need to get things done! Let's take The Boy to daycare! You take him most days, right?" And I said no, he stays home some weeks several days, as many as three. "But you need to get things done!" she gasped. "And you're already paying for it!"

Well, yes. I do have things to do. I am paying for it. But my kid's childhood is more important than money and a clean house.

* * * * * *

The house, incidentally, is a mess. Hope his childhood memories aren't entirely of living in squalor.

Thinking...

That it's kinda ironic that I learned from my ex's parents about the kind of parent -- especially to adult children -- that I *didn't* want to be, and I'm learning now from my spouse's parents about the kind of in-laws -- and grandparents -- I *do* want to be.

It's nice to know that when I traded up for a partner I was trading up for the rest of the extended family too.