Flight delayed. Home late. Tired boy. Cranky girl. Exhausted parents.

Introspection can wait until next year.

Happy new year!

Reflections

I'd like to sit back and reflect on the year and ponder the next, but I am still visiting and do not want to take the time right now. Anyway it's hard for me to reflect in a crowd. But I sit here in front of the big window watching the sun rise and reflect and glint on the snow. It's pretty. But I cannot wait to be home.

Sent from my iPad

Winter wonderland

We are ensconced in Canada's prairies for a visit, where it's -15 and snowing. This is, for the record, colder than it ever got in my hometown growing up, so the very idea of it being this cold -- as the HIGH of the day -- is NUTS! I mean, it's down close to -30 at night. For those of you who don't know, this means several things, like cars don't start. Toilet seats -- indoors! -- are cold. Furnaces aren't quite enough heat. The air inside is cold. I have finally realized why people buy wipes warmers. My daughter is quite angry with her diaper changes of late.

But the worst for me is that I wake up each morning here feeling like I've been slowly dried over night. My nose and throat hurt from the lack of humidity and I have to drink all day to feel remotely ok.

The feeling of alienation is compounded by the fact that we're way out in a rural area -- the nearest neighbour is walkable, but cannot be seen. And all around as far as the eye can see? Trees. Snow. It's silent and dark at night. It's now been a dozen years that I've lived in cities of over a million people, and this remoteness is very foreign. They don't even have broadband, people! This post brought to you by the miracle of cell phones and Internet tethering.

It's good to see family. It's good to experience the true Canadian winter. Its good to get away. But I will not in the least be sad to get home to good old rainy Vancouver, where my nose can feel at home.

Sent from my iPad

Eve

The stockings are filled, the tree is lit and underneath is laden with packages. The children sleep. In the kitchen are all our favourite things to eat.

For me, a non-practicing Christian, this holiday is about family, friends, and taking the time to slow down and show them love. Which in a way I suppose rings true with what many Christians believe. All I mean to say is forgive me for saying so, but Merry Christmas. In the spirit in which I mean it, it's just about saying thanks for being a friend, and my best wishes to you and yours.

On the other hand ...

While snowfall warnings here can be laughable, I do heed the rainfall ones. We do know rain in Vancouver.

No this is not what it is like all the time.

The laundry, it never stops

Nor do the dishes. Nor the tidying. My heavens there's a lot of work in a home. I'm sitting down right now, I probably shouldn't. But my son is out with his dad and my daughter is content and I've scrubbed the kitchen, put away the laundry, thrown in some more, packed up the daycare laundry that I did yesterday, tidied the toys, booked my son's birthday party (yet again, Vancouver, you win for "you must plan ahead to get anything good". Yes his birthday is in March.), paid some bills, filled out his forms for school registration and so now I'm sitting.

I'll get up again in a second. The laundry will be done soon.

There's a lot of work.

But. There's always a but. My family gives me joy. And the entirety of the package is a good one.

Words that make a mother's hair stand on end especially right before Christmas and all those photos

"Mom, I just cut my hair a little before I washed my hands."

Dear Daughter's Upper Front Teeth,

Re: Cease and Desist Order

I realize that with the advent of Christmas, and the knowledge that there will be cookies! and chocolate! and turkey! and cupcakes! and candy canes! and goodness only knows what, you are eager -- all FOUR OF YOU -- to come through at once. But please don't. You may not have noticed, but it makes The Girl not sleep. And she is cranky. You hurt.

And if you hadn't noticed SHE DOESN'T EAT ANYTHING ANYWAY.

So: my Christmas gift? NOT THE TWO FRONT TEETH.

The first Christmas Concert

Yesterday evening was the annual holiday potluck at The Boy's daycare, so I prepared a green salad (God knows I'm no cook, so green salad was about my limit. Don't want to poison the populace at Christmas.) and took The Girl and off we went.

It was the usual mayhem. In a nice way, but a space that is usually crazy and overwhelming with 24 kids is CRAZY with 24 kids, their parents, and their siblings. There was plenty of food, much of it was good, and The Boy ate some which is even more of a miracle. I chatted with parents, watched my son, nursed my daughter and then ...

Then they pulled all the kids together. And they sang. And my little boy sat in the front row with one of his special friends glued to one side, and another glued to the other, and they sang beautiful Christmas carols that they had been rehearsing -- and the dreidel song, because they don't want to exclude anyone! -- and I held up my camera and thought I'm going to remember this moment. I'm at my little boy's first Christmas concert.

I must admit I got kind of teary.

And then Santa came and the kids were pretty much peeing themselves with awesomeness and the crazy was pretty incredible and I won't even describe how nutty it was to try and corral my own two children into the car on my own while all the other parents were trying to do the same thing but Oh! ... Oh it was so sweet to see his little self singing his heart out for Christmas.

Mischief

My son has a new friend at daycare.

Or perhaps in place of "friend" I should use the term "co-conspirator" or "accessory to insanity".

My first glimpse of this child was that he was a lovely boy, quiet and contemplative. And thus, I thought he was likely too quiet for my rakehell of a son.

Not so much, it seems. They are each other's favourite person now. It's hard to tear them apart at the daycare. They are thrilled to see each other and sad to say goodbye. And there is much madness between them.

A few days ago, the boy's mom, whom I don't know well, emailed and asked for a playdate. I eagerly said sure, that sounds fun -- always nice to have another play friend. And maybe a new mom friend as well, who knows? She seemed nice.

I should have been warned when she said, as we were arranging it, that she hadn't done playdates in a year or more because her son was "too wild."

This morning my kid decided he didn't want to go. It took much cajoling and discussion and more discussion after that to convince him it would be a good idea. I also had to stay. Which is fine, I wasn't planning on just dropping him off.

At first the boys were at loose ends. Kinda running about wildly. Kinda crazy. Kinda looking for something appropriate to do together.

And then they found it. It was quiet. It was TOO quiet. But given the craziness before, she and I were inclined to let them play. We chatted. Our daughters (only about a year apart) eyed each other.

We made lunch. We called the boys. They didn't want to come. We shrugged it off. Meh. They can eat or not eat, whatever.

And then they came downstairs. And I noticed a tell-tale small brown smudge around my kid's mouth. I asked what he had eaten. I wasn't mad. I just asked. He dodged eye contact. "I don't want to tell you." he said.

I looked at the other mom. She would likely know what was in her kid's room. She looked puzzled.

And then we noticed that the advent calendar, previously in the living room, was gone.

The chocolate-filled advent calendar.

For the first time in my life, I ended a playdate with an offer to monetarily recompense her for my son's damage.

Sigh.

Good Things

Think I need an attitude readjustment today, so instead of even saying why (and thus dwelling on negative things), let's recap the good stuff!

1. My family. My Man, my Boy and my Girl. All wonderful and adorable and lovely and the best part of my life.

2. The Christmas tree. And the fact that my son was SO excited to get it and decorate it this year. It was awesome. He's SO into Christmas this year, which is so fun. If a bit tiring!

3. My Girl, moving around the house. Not crawling, but getting around despite that.

4. My Girl, who bops to music if I do. It's SO CUTE.

5. My Boy, for forgiving me for an outburst of anger this morning when I said I was sorry and telling me I was a good mom.

6. My cozy home. It's way too small, but it's ours and it's warm and cozy and wonderful.

7. The fact that our Christmas pictures turned out ok and I don't look too bad for a 36 year old mom of two who is still carrying around baby weight.

8. My neighbour is having her baby girl! Today! And then she'll have two under two! Yes, she might be nuts.

9. Modern appliances. I don't have to wash all the dishes, I just have to unload and reload. Thank God.

10. The Man's "Christmas bonus": A new 3G iPad that's sitting in our bedroom right now. Whee! Man those things are fun. Of course once the four year old finds it we'll never see it again. Heh.

In previous years, I have lamented -- to myself -- that Vancouver radio stations don't play enough Christmas music. I am a sucker for Christmas music, and the date I listen to it gets earlier and earlier every year. It's kinda sad really.

But this year? TWO Vancouver radio stations have been playing ALL CHRISTMAS ALL THE TIME but alas this has failed to fill me with joy and has instead illustrated for me the sheer volume of REALLY CRAPPY CHRISTMAS MUSIC.

Also, it's very hard to explain to your four year old who listens to all the carols and can discern all the words why there's a breathy lady on the radio singing to "Santa Baby".

Family politics

So if one were, hypothetically, having a big bash for one's father's 70th birthday ... And one knew there were some estranged family members he would love to see, but whose presence would bring up some definite ugliness from the past for someone else (another guest) would one invite them?

Let's also say for the sake of argument that one thinks the family member this concerns and who is coming is being a total wanker about things and needs to grow the f up already, and that the estranged members have nothing to be ashamed of.

Yeah. Sigh.

Helllooooo December!!

Please excuse this morning. I am on day seven of less-sleep-than-optimal -- one night it's the cat, the next the preschooler, the next the baby, and so on, so much so that it's starting to get comical. You know you're tired when your lack of sleep makes you giggle. And then forget what you were laughing about.

A few days ago, celebrating the beginning of the month of Christmas, we started the extravaganza of presents and brought out this year's entirely over-the-top Advent Calendar. Some of you may remember last year's quirky gift. Which gave us Frank the Christmas Janitor and the Christmas chainsaw which later made a reappearance in a truly horrifying gift. So all in all -- quite the Christmas success!

This year we switched allegiances from the big Danish toy firm for Playmobil, toy whores that we are. I know, I know. Last year I said this was it, the only year we'd cater to excess in advent calendaring, insisting that I'd be more circumspect when we had two. I failed to recognize that 2010 me would justify another purchase based on not getting one for the seven month old baby. So I will accustom my son to glorious excess and then crush his little spirit next year when all he gets is a tiny and not terribly good candy cane.

So! Moving on!

This is what came as a calendar. They have several varieties, but we of course chose the one with the most possible mayhem in the spirit of the season. Swords! Dragons! Projectile weapons! Just like the Baby Jesus would have wanted.

It came with a cute little diorama.

And December 1st brought us our hero, the intrepid knight. On a quest to find out who gave him that terrible hairdo. Also, holding an imaginary newspaper.

On the second day of Christmas, our true love gave to us ...

some wings. Because of course every good knight needs a pair of ... wings.

(Wings! W.T.F.???!!)

This morning he was given some useful knightly things. A dagger in his belt. A sword! With rubies! And a helmet to cover the hair nastiness.

He's outfitted for adventure. What possible surprises could that terrible box hold that he need such weaponry? I suppose we'll soon see ...

Parenthood is full of magical moments. Like today, when I was sitting with my daughter in the living room, her on her mat, me beside her. We were discussing Nietzche's theories, of course, as we often do, and then moved quickly along to another favourite topic, the relationship of mother to monster in the Beowulf saga. And then she burped. And then she leaned forward and I juuuuusst managed to pick her up in time to prevent the poop from coming over the top of her diaper and onto her pants and shirt. Score! Less laundry for me!

Yep. Magical.

Oh, Vancouver!

What on earth are you doing?? What is THIS? It's NOVEMBER for God's sake!!! I've never known you to be this cold, this crazy.

But as an aside you have a great sense of humour. Two years ago you gave us a splendid white Christmas with feet of snow. This year, snow earlier and in greater quantities than I can remember as a long term west-coaster.

But last year? Year of the Winter Olympics?

Flowers in January.

Bravo Vancouver. I tip my hat to you.

Eating myself out of house and home

Yesterday I made chicken soup from almost-scratch (used a cooked rotisserie chicken), and then made an apple crisp / crumble (you know, the cooked apples with oats and stuff on top) and THEN made some chocolate chip banana cookie bars.

In keeping with this flurry of activity, I also ate two large bowls of the soup for dinner, along with ... several spoonfuls of crisp, several cookie bars, some gummy bears, some nutella, some cheese, and pretty much whatever else was on the counter in the kitchen that was remotely edible.

I don't know if it's the cold or the season or the constant nursing or all of the above but somebody stop me! I'm out of control! This is worse than being pregnant! Because, you know, unlike when there was a baby in there taking up space, now there's so much more room.

November in Vancouver 2

It's cold and snowy but clear and sunny ... Frankly I'm just completely puzzled by this November. Starts off sunny and warm, ends with sunny and snow? Where am I? Where are my cold rainy grey days? IS THIS A SIGN OF THE END TIMES???!

Just in case you were wondering

The correct kitchen implement for removing slices of apple from the small neck of a metal water bottle (yes, that exact one!) is a chopstick. You'd think that tweezers would be good, for gripping, but they are too small to effectively grasp the apple. You'd think that the cheese knife with the hook end would be good for grabbing. But no, a simple chopstick to poke away the slices you don't want and encourage the one slice you do want does the trick admirably.

Also, it gets easier when there are only three or so left in the bottle, as opposed to the original 10. This easy task will only use up 15 minutes of your day!

Just my public service announcement for the day.

Weirdnesses

So I'm shopping in the grocery store this morning. My daughter is in a sling, with a hat. I get comments on her a lot -- she's a baby, for one thing. And she has big blue eyes, and that draws people in. So I'm standing in line to pay and a stranger comes up -- an older lady. White hair, but not elderly, so maybe 60-ish? 70 maybe? And she coos at the baby. This in itself is not surprising.

But then ... then without even initiating another conversation with me ("how old?" "boy or girl?" You know. The usual.) she leans in and says conspiratorially, "Breastfed?"

And I stammer out yes because although I'm shocked and I think it's a little inappropriate, I'm trained to be nice and so I answer.

And she pats my shoulder (!!) and makes approving noises and then makes a few other comments and goes on her way.

But here's the thing: As I've already said here I'm still breastfeeding our daughter and I'm not exactly shy about it. I'm a vocal supporter of same for other mothers as well, so I can't quite understand why I thought her asking me was weird. I mean, if I'll tell the wider internet, why not some stranger in the grocery store? And it's not just the internet -- most friends and relations know I breastfeed too.

Was it that we weren't chatting? That that was all she asked? I am perplexed.

* * * * * * * *

Speaking of weirdness, turns out my daughter's quirky love of broccoli wasn't a one time thing. We had some for dinner on the weekend and she went nuts over a stalk again. And the next morning, we put some on her high chair tray with some other toys. Guess what she went for, with shrieks of delight? The broccoli.

Today however, I'm encouraging her fickleness, and managed to get dinner prepared while she was absorbed for 20 minutes with a slice of apple.

Now if she'd just eat something.

Hungry

When my son was nine months old, I took him to the doctor. I was panicked. Worried. Confused. "He won't eat!!" I exclaimed. "nothing! Just breastmilk!"

The doctor paused, as if waiting for me to state the actual problem.

"He won't eat! He spits everything out! Or gags! He's nine months old! Shouldn't he be eating by now? I've been trying for three months!"

The doctor said ... "is he healthy? Is he growing?" When the answer was yes, she merely shrugged. "Some babies don't eat at six months. Some take longer. He's fine."

And indeed he was fine. And still is, and in fact is a good eater by preschooler standards. But he didn't willingly ingest solid food until he was 10 months old, and didn't get significant calories from solid food until a year old. He was over 20 pounds by that point. Heck he was 19 pounds at 4 months. Nine months in I would eat brownies every day and still lose weight which sounds like bliss until you are faced with the reality of trying desperately to nourish yourself as your body struggles to satisfy the relentless hunger of a growing baby. The constant constant hunger. The tiredness. The inability to do anything without the baby because he / she will not eat anything and I cannot pump.

My daughter is now staring down seven months old. Despite a promising start -- showing interest in food as I ate, wanting to touch it, making chewing motions -- she too has rejected all attempts to introduce other foods. This weekend after a molecule of avocado went in her mouth without her grimacing, I attempted less than half a babyspoonful and she then gagged so much I had to seize her from her highchair ... And then the gagging made her vomit all over the floor. Spectacularly.

Unsurprisingly, despite the fact that my daughter is far smaller than my son, I found myself this weekend in the kitchen eating cookies / yogurt / crackers mounded with hummus / apples by the fistful. I've even (gross!!) been eating Nutella by the spoonful which is not only gross but puzzling given normally I hate Nutella (yes I realize that's weird).

It seems altogether likely that March will roll around before she deigns to let the tempting morsels I lovingly prepare for her cross her lips, and the next three months may well be a fury of gobbling on my part. It's fine. I knew this was possible, even likely. And being able to eat ANYTHING is a delight I admit. And how else will I get my work wardrobe to fit again?

But man. It sucks to lie in bed two hours after dinner with a growling stomach, thinking only of what I get to eat next. I'm SO HUNGRY!!!

Yep, yep, too cold for us Vancouverites

So we did wake up to snow this morning -- a beautiful white covering on everything which quickly turned into frigid and unpleasant slush. There's nothing like going out in the morning to grab something quickly from the downstairs locker, and have a great hunk of slush from a nearby tree drip down your neck. God I love winter.

It was obvious from the look of things -- the iciness and heaviness of the snow, mostly -- that the whiteness was not going to last. So we encouraged The Boy to go out before breakfast. He thought we were nuts, but at last acquiesced, put on his coat and boots and went out to the patio. He walked around, made some footprints, and picked up a few globs of snow here and there.

We had been given -- no idea why -- a pink snowsuit for our daughter way back in the summer. Perhaps it's a ritual in other parts of Canada? Welcome a new baby with the necessary snow gear? It's been hanging in the closet since then, but we hauled it out and placed our daughter therein and suffered her to sit on the patio in the snow while we snapped a photo. We had to use it once, after being given it! She did not look thrilled. She was unimpressed with the snowsuit. We came inside.

Shortly thereafter The Boy declared it "too cold" and also came indoors.

I'm not-so-secretly thrilled to be raising hardy west-coasters.

Only in Vancouver ...

Would "5 to 10 cm" of snow be considered a "SNOWFALL WARNING!!!"

True enough though that the city will PANIC over it.

PTA Mom

The other night I went off to a meeting of the daycare parent council. I'm a member now. One of the officers, I suppose, if you want to get technical. It's not a big job or an important one -- a few hours of my time, putting in an effort to help out here and there. It's not a big deal at all.

But.

I'm totally happy with my life. I'm almost 37. I'm a mother to two. I'm the school volunteer. My career is fine. It's all good.

But 21 year old me wonders how the hell I got here. The PTA Mom? Really? I can handle the house and the career and the parenthood but now I'm starting to feel like a caricature.

And yet at the same time? 37 year old me wonders when she'll start feeling like a grown up.

How did my mom always look so together when I feel like I'm faking it?!

Broccoli!!

This morning my daughter stole the raw broccoli from my lunch and was so delighted with it OMG MOM THIS IS SO AWESOME I SHALL SHRIEK IN DELIGHT AND THEN CRY WHEN I DROP IT WHY HAVE I NEVER HAD THIS TO PLAY WITH BEFORE OMG OMG.

Really the blog post title should be OMFG BROCCOLI!!!1!

* * * * * * * * *

I started Christmas shopping today. I planned to start early given I'm on leave this year and, well, for me, November 16 IS early. I simply cannot get into the mindset in October. There is nothing that my daughter needs -- last of four grandkids, she has more clothes and toys than she needs. But I got it into my head that she needs a dolly. A doll for a girl, we don't have any. A doll of her own and it has somehow become vitally important that *I*, as her mother, buy her this doll that she will love forever and ever.

She will probably ignore the doll. Especially in favour of the pretty crinkly paper!

Or the broccoli, which apparently I should wrap up under the tree.

So like any other completely obsessed and crazy mother, I searched for this doll. The internet, I mean, not the real world (drrr! Too much work!) And I found the dolls I wanted. Oh, I found them. Adorable! Dressable! Cuddly! Pink! Imported! A baby for my baby! I located the website and found a nearby store that carries the line (Corelle, if you are interested.). And this morning when I could resist temptation no longer, I went to find the Perfect Doll.

(She is STILL playing with the broccoli, BTW.)

And I found the dolls, and they are oh so pretty but ...

OH dear God they are scented.

To smell like babies, I suppose, but LORD Oh, LORD no.

Any of you old enough to remember Cabbage Patch Kids may remember the first line of them were scented like baby powder. And I remember that at first whiff it was kind of cute but holding them close for anything longer than 15 minutes was nauseating. And holding and smelling that doll today ... Yeah, no matter how adorable and wonderful this doll is, if I have to smell it for the next two years I will probably DIE.

My love for the idea of the perfect doll was so great that I almost bought it, until I happened upon the cheap section at the back for babies and found an adorable soft Gund doll dressed in purple corduroy with yarn pigtails and realized in fact that the doll I had wasn't perfect, but this one was. It was not quite $20, and probably was made in China.

But it's the doll I can see my daughter carrying with her as she starts to toddle around the house. So it's ours now.

She's now mouthing the broccoli. Clearly this is the start of a passionate and unrequited love. Good thing she has the doll. Showing up to daycare with a child and a head of broccoli as a comfort toy would be very hard to explain.

Remembering

We aren't at a remembrance ceremony today. We aren't planning to go. I don't even have a poppy given I carry my baby everywhere and I deemed the close proximity of her eyes and a sharp pin too dangerous.

But I write this as an exercise, as a statement that I too remember. I remember and acknowledge the many sacrifices those who went before us made to make a place where today my children are safe and healthy. I recognize and honour the people today who continue to fight that fight for us.

I tell my son about his great-grandfather who was in the navy. He's four. That's exciting. Someday I'll tell him that his other great-grandfather who worked for MI6 in London during the Second World War. When he's 14, that will be exciting.

And I hope by telling him, keeping their stories alive, that when he's 21 he'll remember, and think, and advocate for peace.

Six months

She is six months old now, growing taller by the minute, smiling and giggling and wanting to touch everything. And she sits. Oh, she sits. On her mat in the living room, alone and unassisted, looking about at her world, grasping toys and playing.

I am a big fan of the 6-24 month set. I think it was my favourite stage, and the sitting is a big part of that ... They can play and interact and get around and aren't totally dependent but are still small enough to tote around. The learning! The joy! The fun! Oh how I love small toddlers!

But oh. When I see her, sitting there? I know my baby is gone. My son will be five in less than four months. FIVE. I know how fast it goes. And here she is, taking on the world already. How come it goes so fast?

Sick

November, you have been unkind.

It started on the second, when I had a scratchy throat and thought ... hmmmm. This maybe isn't so great.

And then on the third, I felt really low. But I hadn't slept well and thought ... maybe it's just lack of sleep.

Thursday I had a fever. I couldn't breathe through my nose no matter what I tried (save hard drugs since hey surprise! Can't take those when you're nursing!) and felt like absolute hell. Friday felt like more of the same. Saturday ... Saturday afternoon I felt like I was feeling better. A little. A tiny bit. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel.

And that's when I noticed the little line of snot coming from the baby's nose.

Since Saturday I have slept about ... ten hours? I think? All broken up. I feel remarkably good considering that AND considering I still have the darn cold, and I can only assume that it's mother hormones kicking in and carrying me through and that once the menace has left the house I will collapse completely and we will be overrun with dirty laundry.

The baby, she seems perkier today. I hope. I may be grasping at hope where there is none, though, because HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND PURE, I WANT TO SLEEP TONIGHT.

And sleep? Only will come if the baby lets me.

Pray for us.

Oh and did I mention at the doctor's today the doctor poked into her mouth and was all "hey lookit that! She's teething on the top! Her gums look really sore!" Can I get a thumbs up and an awesome for that? Wasn't she teething through the LAST cold?

November in Vancouver

I have to admit that most Novembers in this town are rainy cold and grey, but today I went out for a walk in only a light cotton jacket, and went down by the water, as you can see from the photo.

Shortly after I took this, I sat on one of those benches and nursed my daughter for twenty minutes, the weather felt merely pleasantly warm without a breeze. Glorious. And very good for the soul.

It almost makes the house prices worth it.

No. Wait. It doesn't.

Sh*t

Life seems so .... Agh sometimes, you know? These days we have financial concerns .... Nothing insurmountable but a worry nonetheless. News of budget cuts at work. And layoffs, but not in my department ... Yet.
An email from me to someone I thought was an old friend about a new job opportunity who hasn't replied. A neighbour's complaints about our now outdoor cat.

But we are healthy and loved and the kids are happy ... Maybe I'll concentrate on my blessings and put love out into the universe instead of being morose. If nothing else it will get my mind off things I cannot change.

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.

The state of things

There are probably half a dozen posts half-written in the drafts pile that I will never finish. I miss sitting down for a spell to think about things and write, but there's always something that needs fixing / paying attention to -- right now the dishwasher needs emptying, dinner needs preparing, and my daughter will want out of the circle of neglect in about two minutes, let alone the load of wash that needs to go in the dryer and the son that will need a ride home soon enough. If it's not one thing, it's another. But the fact is that many days I'm sleep deprived and it's hard enough to put sentences together, to come up with something I want to post, and it's probably better that I don't.

I'm not complaining. I'm not. I love my son and my daughter with all my being, and I have a sense of contentment with them (not all the time, mind you ... ) that I value beyond most things in my life. It's the feeling that gives life meaning, a knowledge that I'm not just going through the motions of life, that I'm doing something worthwhile, that there's purpose and meaning and above all personal happiness involved.

The fact is that small children mean that personal time -- not to mention personal space -- is merely a memory. And I don't think people really get what that really means until they have kids. I know I didn't. I pictured days spent with my children but evenings relaxing with my husband as normal. I didn't picture long drawn out evenings of soothing children to sleep, and then collapsing into bed as soon as that was done because the day of child rearing had been so exhausting. I have heard that the pure physicality of child rearing gets easier by five, and I can imagine it is true. I am praying it is, anyway. But in the meantime I have a son who never stops and a baby which means I don't get to stop, and a 36 year old body that should have done this at 25, even if my maturity wouldn't have been capable of it.

The delight on her face when she sees me walk into a room, his murmured "I love you mommy, you're a good mommy." before he goes to sleep. These are the things that keep me going.

And the knowledge that I'll get to sleep when I'm 40.

Sad

There's not much sadder, can I just say, than a baby with a cold. My oldest didn't get sick in his first year. I was home with him and when we did go out he was on me; he was a late crawler and an extended breast feeder so in total that meant his exposure to germs was minimal.

(don't ask me about the KIDNEY INFECTION or the SIX MONTH LONG COLD he had during his first winter at daycare which included a bout of pneumonia. His SECOND year was awful.)

But The Girl has a brother who goes, on occasion, to group care, aka the BIG PIT OF GERMS. And he loves to kiss his little sister. A lot. On the nose.

And so when he was snuffly last night, I should have expected that she would soon follow suit. Which she did. At midnight. And one am. And 5. And 7. (skipping 3am to convince me it was just a fluke before ha ha! Gotcha!)

Poor thing has no idea what's going on, only that between teething and eating and the snot in her nose there's ENTIRELY TOO MUCH LIQUID IN MY HEAD and this means much hysterical sobbing at the confusion and discomfort. Why can't I breathe mommy??!!!! WHY??!! WHHHYYYYY???!!!!!!!!!!!

Poor kid.

Thank God for mat leave is all I can say. I can't imagine working through this sleep deprivation haze.

SAHM-ness

It was at the playground of course. We rarely go to this one, so The Boy was excited and ran off to play, and since the play area is fenced in I just sat on a bench. The Girl was hungry. I nursed.

The woman sitting beside me was of a similar age to me, wearing yoga pants and a baseball cap but somehow managing to look glamourous and put together. She had straight white teeth and large sunglasses and was carrying a child's snack case and a child's drawing.

We started chatting, as moms do at the park. How old is your son? Your baby? Do you live nearby? Etc. Her son goes to preschool, she says. Heading to kindergarten in the fall. She'd like another baby but she's close to 40 and (unspoken) it may not happen.

Are you at home with him? I ask.

And then she said it: "yes. My husband wants me home, and I don't mind."

I cringed.

I know it's possible she was being polite. It's mom-speak for "I don't want to insult your decision to work and if I pretend it isn't my choice you won't think I'm judging". But I cringed anyway.

Not because she's at home. Because it isn't, in her portrayal of it, her choice.

Once, a long time ago, I was married. To a man I am no longer with. We were young when we wed and our discussions about kids were limited to "do you want them?" and "yeah, someday." It wasn't until years into our marriage that he told me he expected I'd stay home with our kids "at least until the youngest is five". HIS mother had stayed home until he was 12 (which was frankly part of his problem ...) I stared at him, open-mouthed. I had never -- ever -- considered being a full-time SAHM. The idea at 27 was abhorrent.

The idea is less abhorrent now that I have children. But it still seems unlikely to be something I would choose long term. There are SO many reasons for this. Because I like my job. Because I have access to excellent daycare. Because we need my income. Because i get a year's leave and neither of my children had to go to daycare as infants but instead as toddlers, more ready to explore their world. Because I can work part time hours and have a short commute so my time with my kids is still a fair amount. Because I need something for me. Because the benefits package I get and my pension plan i get benefit my family. Because my workplace is flexible enough that i can work from home some days and be late and leave early and accommodate family stuff. Because I think it's good for kids to see their parents doing what they want in their lives. Because a working mom role model is good for my daughter AND my son.

Yesterday we took a day off daycare and I was home with two kids. This was something I was kind of dreading with a second: could I handle two kids on my own, without putting one of them in front of a screen? Well ... Yes. We had a nice day together. There was no screen time and there were meals and art and books and naps.

We enjoyed it. Mostly because it was my *choice*.

I feel very strongly that had I been talked into being a SAHM I would have been miserable. I have nothing against being a SAHM. I know it works for some people. I don't think it would work for me but it makes many women very happy. And I'm glad for them.

But I still think that no matter what, it has to be her choice.

Why I never get anything done

A day in the life:

10pm last night: Girl Child consents to sleep

3am: Boy decides "I need to be close to you mommy!"

5am: The Battle of the Pillow is lost. I concede defeat. He sleeps on.*

7am: The Girl wakes.

7:01am: The Boy wakes.

7-8am: I lie practically comatose in bed, praying that letting my daughter have "tummy time" on the bed is considered good parenting.

8:15 ish: Get up. Grab robe. Go to kitchen to think about what to eat. Girl child decides she should eat first.

8:45am: finish nursing. Make breakfast.

9am: Beg The Man to escort The Boy to daycare. He already got up, made his breakfast and made his lunch and consents to one more thing, thankfully.

9:05: Girl decides it's time for a nap.

9-10am: Lie in bed with Girl who is growth spurting and teething and cannot (so she thinks) nap alone right now.

10am: Get up. Clean kitchen, still dirty from last night's dinner (see above: Girl Child sleeping hour.)

10:30: dress. Change child. Dress child.

10:45: decide I can in fact make hummus. Five minutes! Tops! Already have roasted garlic even!

10:47: notice Girl child is pooping.

10:50: change Girl Child. Clothes included. Notice she is rashy.

11:00: back in kitchen, Girl child in new clothes. Bum naked to get rid of rash. Where is that tin of chick peas?

11:10: Girl Child pees all over mat to keep chair dry. Get new mat, throw old in wash.

11:15: I know that tin of chick peas is in here somewhere.

11:20: Girl child is starving.

11:45: Finish nursing. Realize that can of chick peas will not suddenly materialize. Diaper child. Head to store.

12 noon: remember I need milk. And apples. And some more chocolate won't help. Oh, and an extra lemon ...

12:30: arrive home. Prepare to make hummus.

12:35: Girl child is tired. Wishes for nap.

--1:00pm: Lie again with Girl Child.

1:10pm: Get up. Hummus! Realize that roasted garlic smells a little funny. Decide to roast new garlic. Pop new garlic in toaster oven.

1:15: Girl poops. Again.

1:20: still rashy, so try naked bum time again.

1:21: Girl pees everywhere. Change mat again.

1:25: Hurriedly throw chick peas, lemon, tahini and olive oil into blender. Garlic is not done but if I don't seize the second, this will never happen.

1:30: Girl is hungry again.

2pm: Finish nursing. Lay child on couch. Type frantically into blog screen

2:01: Girl has lost patience. And is probably peeing on something. And garlic is done.

... and while I'd like to show you an actual day, that's all the time we have today for blogging! After this I'll likely empty the dishwasher. Finish the hummus. Pick up my son. Play with my son. Make / heat dinner. Feed and nap the baby once or even twice more. Do bedtime routine with my son. Attempt to persuade the baby the sleep. And then ... well, by then I'll probably be out like a light about five minutes later.

I hope.

* Yes, I co-sleep with my child(ren). Yes it's likely the cause of my tiredness. But yes I am happy with my decision. Thank you for any concern.

Rainfall

Today, September 19, holds Vancouver's first official rainfall warning of the fall and winter season.

Wheee!

Ages

Right now I have a 4.5 year old son and a 4.5 month old daughter.

This amuses me more than it should.

Complete insanity

Today I registered my son for after school care.

No, he's not in school. He's not due to start until September 2011. But I had to register him now to get a good spot. On the waitlist. At a school which is frankly my third choice. (Nothing wrong with the school. Just that one is closer to home, and another is closer to work, so this one is the most inconveniently located.)

The Man expressed wonder about my doing this so early, but I am totally blase about it now, having actually already signed him up for a program at our preferred school (the one close to home), and having registered my babies for daycare before my mother knew I was pregnant. (Eight weeks along with The Boy; four weeks with The Girl.) And with a year long mat leave, that's signing up your kid almost TWO YEARS before you will need care.

TWO.

YEARS.

Such is the insanity of daycare / after school care in this city.

But wait! It gets better! The reason I have to sign him up for after care in so many schools? Because the Vancouver schools are SO oversubscribed that even if you live in the catchement area, you are not guaranteed a spot. It's by lottery. So I have to juggle three schools and keep our options open and hope for the best and pray that some time next spring we get in at one school and get after care at the SAME school. The stars will have to align perfectly and etc. etc.

But do you know what the worst thing is? The worst thing is that none of this sounded completely batshit insane until I wrote it all down and explained it.

That's how brainwashed I am. This is not -- should not be -- normal.

But regardless, I will spend this year playing the waiting game and hoping and praying and all those things.

I guess now might be a good time to invest in a lucky rabbit's foot.

Wherin I mock myself

I've been a tad low on sleep recently --- Three nocturnal beings (cat, infant, four year old) are conspiring together to ensure the bags under my eyes continue to grow and I slowly become batshit crazy. Witness: Sunday, 3:30 am: baby awakens. Baby writhes, cries, starts shrieking requiring eventual move to living room rocking chair. 5am baby consents to sleep. Mother now wide awake slowly relaxes and starts sleeping. 5:30 am cat begins meowing. What? The sun is up, why aren't you? Cat meows intermittently until 6:30 when four year old gets up for the day. Sunday morning 10am, mother spends 30 minutes weeping on living room floor for no reason anyone including self can fathom.

Yeah.

Anyway it should come as no surprise that said awake baby cut her first tooth yesterday -- 4.5 months must be some kind of record!!!! (well. For us anyway ...) last night was also the first night in five months or so that my son fell asleep with his dad instead of needing his mommy. Of course this is a GOOD thing but you can imagine that my reaction was OF COURSE "noooooo!!!!' my BABIES!!!! They are growing up TOO FAST!!! SOB!!! WAIL!!!"

(Husband ducks down on couch scared of crazy wife)

I know every mother feels this way but isn't it a little crazy? We had children to RAISE them. And it's clear from every person on the planet that children GROW UP. This should not be a surprise nor a time for mourning. This is a celebration! A "we're doing it right all according to plan children developing normally!" celebration! Hooray! Wouldn't it be worse if my four year old was fully dependent on me for years to come, worse if my daughter didn't get teeth or hit other milestones??

Yes. Of course.

But the wide world is out there, and the wide world is both amazing and horrible. And when they are tiny and dependent you can shield them from the facts: that people aren't always nice. That people get hurt. That you don't always get what you want, and sometimes that's more serious than no ice cream after dinner.

And that in those cases all you can do is sit back and love them because you can't fix it. When my daughter is in pain and my son needs comfort I can fix that. Right now I can fix it. Kiss owies, soothe hurts, cuddle bad fears away. They are my babies and I want so much to protect them this way forever. And every step they take towards growing up is ever closer to my not being able to do that.

And sometimes I'm ok with that. I know that if I do my job properly as a parent eventually my kids will leave and go into the wide world and navigate all of it, good and bad. And I will be proud that my kids are functioning adults, and self-reliance (and teeth!) are an important part of that.

But.

Oh. But I will miss them so much when they are gone.

I rock, therefore I am

My son, once upon a time, took his vaccinations like a pro. I mean, his little infantness screamed blue murder but then would nurse, pass out, and wake as though nothing had ever happened. No fever or extreme fussiness or anything else.

When The Girl got her two month shots she one-upped her brother by sleeping it off. Almost all day she slept. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Whee!

So very smugly yesterday I went for her four month appointment thinking "heh, this'll be EASY" and even daring to think "hey maybe I'll catch up on some sleep tonight or tomorrow."

Ha. Ha ha. Hahahahahaha.

Oh don't get me wrong. I am still in the "aren't you lucky" camp. But she is running an oh-so-slight fever and has become very particular about things and lying THIS way and not THAT way is HORRIBLE, MOTHER HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME? And was up last night ... I don't know how much. A lot, for her.

So once again I give thanks for the rocking chair and I rock and rock and rock and hold her and remind myself it won't always be like this. Like this, sleep deprived, headachy, cranky. Like this, just sit back and hold me mommy,cuddle me and kiss my tiny head, you're the only one who makes this better.

Summing up

I haven't posted much in the past few weeks and I have a lot to say, or so I think at 3am when up for a feeding. I should write this! or tell that story! and it probably isn't nearly so funny as I think it is at 3am, and in any case I've forgotten all about it by morning.

Three weeks ago my darling beloved husband left on a business trip. To India. For Two Weeks. And by God when he returned some of my first words to him were wow, you are NEVER doing THAT again. At least, not with a 4.5 year old and a 4 month old. Which is of course not a threat at all given next time he'll be away I'll have a 4.5+ year old and a five month old which is a world of difference.

Apparently this morning someone has found the italics key.

Anyway. So it was two weeks of combo solo parenting (six days, only two partial daycare days in there) parenting with my mom (five days) and parenting with The Man's parents (five days). I'd say parenting with my parents but my father was dealing with some stuff and doing his very best grumpy old man impression that he was hardly there and frankly we were better off for it since the few times he was around he a.) yelled at my four year old for putting his fingers through an already broken screen door b.) yelled at my four year old for closing a door, and c.) once told him to "stop whining! Be a man!" which pretty much made me crazy. I mean, I realize that my four year old whines more than is necessary and was going through an especially whiney phase then but he's also FOUR and I think the "be a man!" epithet really isn't going to bear much weight for another, I don't know, DECADE or so.

So. Not the best week for Dad.

The week with my in-laws went ok as well, but this time I started feeling crowded in my space rather than relieved by their presence, which I know is a sign that next business trip I am going to mostly go it alone and not ask them to drive from the neighboring province. I like them a lot, and I value the time to get to know them and for my children to spend time with them, but the week had enough moments of crazy that I think the getting-to-know time is best reserved for holidays. However I must admit that I love the fact that my windows were all washed (inside and out!) and my sink was repaired and toilet plumbed and my floors washed by hand (twice!) and my holes in the wall covered and the wall paper removed from my bathroom and my crown molding filled in. My father-in-law, he of the constant-head-pain-bad-heart-bad-knees-bad-ankles, he hates to be bored. And then tells me how bad he feels that he can't work as hard as he used to. I get tired just watching him. He is all kinds of awesome.

Let's see, what else is new?

I am both relieved and sad to see the beginning of fall -- relieved because my chubby baby didn't handle heat well (and neither would you if you were covered in insulation like she is. We don't call it fat around here!) and sad because wow -- where did the summer go? We had a nice one, good for Vancouver, but ... short. Very short. And in a very sunrise-sunset type of dealio I am very aware of the passage of time and mah baybee she is so old! And I will never have another! kind of thing. Which is true, she is so big and my leave is 1/3 gone already and I am still just so damn tired and shouldn't I be at the very least catching up on sleep by now?!

Apparently scratch that whole "my baby is so old stuff", as my biggest concern is "WHY AM I NOT MORE RESTED?"

At the doctor's yesterday she asked how I was doing and I think I said "I'm tired" about three times at which she barely batted an eye and merely said "it's a good thing this one is easier, make sure you sit down more" and waved away my "shouldn't I be stimulating her cerebral growth?" concern. Sit down and rest. Which is advice I can get behind and all, if only my daughter can. When I complain about the tiredness and tell the doctor I think I should be less tired she looks at me like I am crazy and tells me again that I have two children, one of which is still up in the night. Why I think I should be running marathons is rather beyond me.

The only other thing of barely important note is that I yet again went out today and bought socks for my four year old. Where on earth to little boy socks disappear to? I have hardly ever had to buy clothes for him with all the hand-me-downs but we have spent a fortune in SOCKS.

Bragging

My daughter is four months old. She babbles, she coos, she blows raspberries and on occasion will open her mouth wide at a request for a "baby kiss" and will plant slobber on your cheek. I always exclaim in delight at this and she laughs. She also laughs when I tickle her or chant nonsense at her.

She scoots along the floor backwards, she loves to stand so much that we bought her an exersaucer before my arms broke from helping her, and she has already figured out how to play with some of the toys. She loves to roll over and is a total champ at it. She likes to watch her hands and feet and will lie there for some time gazing at one or the other.

She nurses a lot but loves to watch me eat. She has grown another two inches putting her above the 97th percentile for height, but isn't gaining nearly as much weight and has dropped from above 90 for weight to only about 80 in two months.

The doctor is impressed.

She is easier than her brother but in different ways -- she's often easier to get to sleep, but I think fusses more during the day (he was easy to keep happy: carry him and never stop walking.) She is more selective and changes her mind over what soothes her more often.

My son ... ah, my son. My son who can do positive and negative number addition and subtraction in his head. My son who read a book about the body with his grandmother who told me later that the only word he couldn't read was "osteo-arthritis", which I figure is fine since most 4.5 year old kids can't read C-A-T and so missing O-S-T-E-O-A-R-T-H-R-I-T-I-S is ok by me. My son who is getting better at controlling and labelling his emotions and coping with them, who weathered the long trip of his father's with aplomb, who hugs and kisses his sister and tells her he loves her, who comforts her when she cries in the back of the car ... my son who is so excited about his books and getting new books and reading them at night and asking "what happens if we read ALL of these mommy? What happens when we are ALL FINISHED ALL OF THEM?" and is relieved to know there are more books on earth than we could ever read.

My son who loves to play with me and hug me and we play a game where we kiss each other all over and I'm just so damn proud of how he has weathered all of it, the past four months. She's growing and changing and becoming a little person, but he's becoming a better person and I can't tell who I'm proudest of because I just don't know. I only know I love them both so much.

Is it wrong

That I think my daughter's pouty lower lip trembling right before she starts to cry is The Cutest Thing EVAR??

No, I haven't made her cry just to see it. But it is OH SO TEMPTING.

Oh and did I mention ...

The drool? The teething? If there's anything worse than a baby who is constantly frustrated by not crawling, it's a baby who's constantly frustrated AND teething. Whee!

Desperation

I hold her and she arches backwards, making impatient noises. I lay her down, she rolls over on her tummy. And writhes. Knees under, bum up, faceplant. Elbows under, tummy down. Hands pushing, belly off the ground. She slides slowly backward. She is grunting at the effort. Every once in a while she can coordinate it, hands planted, knees bent, and her chubby belly lifts for a fraction of a second. And down.

She keeps at it. She watches her brother intently as he crawls around the floor to encourage her. She makes noises of frustration; once they start to escalate I pick her up and distract her, but soon enough, it starts all over again. Practice, practice, practice. It's all she wants to do.

She wants to crawl So. Badly.

And all I want to say is slow down baby. There's lots of time. Don't try to grow up so fast.

More irony

The last baby I had would not sleep on his own. For months. I recall he was five months old before he would sleep longer than 10 minutes alone, for all my quiet wiggling and easing myself away from him. Five months!

However, once he did sleep on his own, he would sleep properly on his back, like a good baby, arms and legs akimbo.

My daughter, on the other hand, slept 2.5 hours this morning, most of it totally on her own. But on her stomach. She will not sleep on her back. She will kind of sleep on her side. But lay the girl on her tummy and she's out cold for hours.

So I can leave her, but I sure shouldn't.

Anyway I am doing nothing to interrupt the status quo. For the next year I can stay near her while she sleeps on her stomach, and once she's a year old it's safe to let her do it on her own. After The Boy Who Wouldn't Sleep, I'm taking The Girl Who Will, even if it does come with Limitations.

(Kind of like those ads you see for medication that promise all these wonderful things but have fine print. You can have a daughter! She will sleep! She won't cry very much! (But you'll have to stay on the bed with her for the duration because she'll only do it on her stomach.)

In other news, The Girl has been rolling well and this morning while hanging out on her tummy, she drooled so much and burbled through it so much that it looked like she had a little beard. Classy. Even more classy? Telling the intarwebs. yeah.

Ah the irony

When we moved in to this place, there was a security lock on our patio door. There's also a handle lock, so we never really bothered with the security lock -- no idea why, guess we're just trusting. Also, if you look into our living room there's nothing good to steal, and neighbours can see you if you try to jimmy the door for a load of books which won't get you any money, so you'd have to be pretty dumb to try it.

To be truthful the real reason we don't use it is that for some reason when we moved in the door shifted and the bolt no longer hit the hole quite right, and despite it being an easy fix we just weren't motivated to fix it.

But this last Friday, we decided we would do some fixin' up around these parts, and that was one thing we decided might be a good idea to have fixed.

Let me back up a moment here and add that we have, against our preference, been letting out one of the cats. We live in a high-traffic area, with raccoons and skunks, and a cat outside just seemed a very poor idea. But this one cat is EXTREMELY noisy, and he hasn't taken well to the newest member of the family, and has been making his displeasure known at 3am, sometimes for HOURS, and if you add that to a new baby and a preschooler who will wake if the cat howls and then not sleep and be a weepy mess all day ... well, you have a recipe for disaster, don't you? So we've opted to put the cat out at night. It's my hope that he'll soon realize, especially in the fall, that nighttime howling = being put outside = SUCKS and the behaviour will stop.

Anyway. So out goes the cat last night.

And this morning? the lock has seized up. We cannot get it open for love nor money nor WD-40. And the weather is definitely darkening. Oh, sure, I can go around and get him, but he's used to coming in that back door, so when I go round to get him, he often runs for the bushes (at least, that's what happened this morning when I went to give him food ... poor cat was starving!)

SO. I guess it's good that we have secure doors. We can't get out but NO ONE ELSE CAN GET IN. So hey! Success!! Not so much for the cat, but you can't have everything.

The Difference between boys and girls

This party today was, as I said, that of a four year old girl, and The Boy was the only boy present at it. I didn't think it would be much of a problem, given that he plays with these same girls at daycare a lot ...

But OH, how wrong I was.

When we first got there, he just wanted to go home. He even cried a little. It was in a huge gym with a very noisy bouncy castle and it was just Too. Much. The little girls were running about shrieking (maybe it was the shrieking that was the problem, come to think of it!) and having a great time together.

I finally convinced him to go to the party room instead, where there would be food (sushi!) and cake later. There were large Disney princess colouring sheets for everyone ... but he was mostly interested in squishing out as much sparkle paint as he could from the pens.

One of the girls chose to stay with him (I like her a lot!) and play / colour ... soon joined by another girl who instigated a game called "keep the balloons away from The Boy", which was heavily weighted in their favour ... man, can girls ever be mean! He got engaged though and didn't seem to mind too much.

And then the rest of the girls came in, and he ate some food and some cake and played for a bit ... but all in all it was not a great success. Six girls and a single boy ... they just didn't want to do anything boyish at all, and he was left out a lot.

I'm kind of considering that next year's daycare, when there will be only six boys, might not be that great for him. Sigh.

Ah well. At least it might teach him something about having a little sister. Hopefully it won't be just "how to torment small girls."

Although considering the tormenting was all on their side this time, I suppose it might just be fair game.

It's true, we do live in Vancouver

The Boy is off to a birthday party tomorrow -- one of his favourite girls is turning 4. I saw her mom at daycare this morning and asked if she was all ready for tomorrow. She laughed and said no. But that she had done all the ordering that needed doing.

"the cake," she said. "And the sushi."

And what's weirder was that my response wasn't "ew! Sushi for a preschooler party!" It was relief that there would be food there my kid would eat.

Ooooo-Kay then ...

The Boy, back of the car: whisper whisper whisper

Me: what's that, kiddo?

The Boy: nothing, I'm just talking to my hand.

Things I could submit to Learn From My Fail

1 rocking a baby is not the best time to discover that you do not understand the physics of liquids ... Hot liquids ... And what they do while you are rocking and trying to drink at the same time.

(no babies were harmed during this fail)

2 do not leave an eight year old, six year old, and four year old unsupervised. Ever. You will end up with a flooded deck, a pool filled with dirt, sand tracked through the house and toys EVERYWHERE. Seriously, you will wake in the night with a gecko stuck to your back. A plastic one, thankfully.

From the mouths of babes

Last night The Man and I both went with The Girl to go and fetch The Boy (I'd tried another hooky day with him -- at the beach! not even a boring day at home with mom! and he'd lasted an hour before deciding the beach was "too cold" and he'd rather be at daycare. Am failure as mother.)

Anyway, on our way home, we thought we'd stop for dinner (it was Friday night after all) and The Boy declared he wanted sushi. We didn't want sushi. Mostly because he ALWAYS wants sushi but also because we're having the family round for a few days, family from out of town, and figured we'd be getting sushi with them. So we tried to sell him on pizza instead. And that's when it happened. The beginning of his career in advertising.

"Pizza! Yeah!" he said. "Because there's no such thing as cheese sushi!"

Uh. Yeah.

It's all good, all around

One of the things I was looking forward to on maternity leave was spending more time with my son. He still has his daycare spot -- we have to keep it, or he won't have one next year when I go back to work, and more importantly, his sister won't have a spot either (there's sibling preference with the daycare system blah blah blah doesn't matter). And until now he's been going every single day, because I just haven't felt up to being a mama to both kids all day.

I try not to beat myself up over this, despite the fact that I promised myself, early in pregnancy, that nothing was going to change for four months. Why four? Because my employer pays me for four months of the leave, so nothing financially had to change -- I could keep my four-year-old's full time daycare spot for at least that long, because I still had the money for it. And I figured four months was long enough to get my two-child-mama feet underneath me, get some sleep caught up, get a schedule kinda going, and be a full time mama to two.

This morning went well, we were enjoying ourselves and I felt on top of the housework. I don't, despite both kids being up in the night, feel too tired. So when 10:30 rolled around and my son showed no interest in heading to daycare, I took a deep breath, and posited this to him: we can go now. Or we can go in half an hour or so so we make it in time for lunch. Or (deeeeeep breath), we don't have to go today.

It took some courage, I admit. I know there are people out there who would be scornful -- why have two if you can't handle it? -- but ... well, they can bite me. I'm sure I could do it if I had to, but why not take a break when I have it offered and then be a better mama when he is around (so goes the theory, anyway!). I wondered if I'd be a screaming harpy by 4:00, knowing it was another two hours until The Man came home.

But I know that this is something I want to do this year, so I offered.

And was promptly shut down. By a four year old, channelling his inner teen, in a God, you are so dumb, mother, eye rolling sarcasm,

"NO! Mama, I want to go! I want to have some fun!"

I laughed. I'd feel bad about it, but in truth my heart feels lighter knowing that he wants to go. I project a lot. I hated preschool, what I remember. And I wonder some days if he does too. But when he chooses on his own to go, I feel good. It's a good place, it's a good centre, and if he likes going ... then I'm going to sit back and enjoy it.

West Coast baby

Despite my prior predictions of a rainy and cool summer, July was a lovely month -- it may not have been hot, per se, but it certainly was warm and sunny.

However, on Saturday the weather changed, and it was cool and rainy all weekend. This morning it was cloudy and the forecast suggested it would warm up and clear up, so we went off to daycare (mostly) appropriately dressed for sunny weather later on.

I came home at 10am and decided I needed the exercise so hopped out of the car and did my errands on foot. I loaded The Girl into the sling, pulled on a hoodie, gave her a hat and off we went.

I walked four blocks, went into a store for a while.

And when I came out, it was pouring.

I pondered, for a moment. It was four blocks home, and I wanted to go into a store that was just over two blocks between where I was and home. I am someone who cannot really justify taking a bus two blocks, even if it's raining. But I did have the baby to consider ...

But I then figured -- this child is growing up in Vancouver. If she can't cope with a little rain, she's completely doomed.

So we hoofed it. There were lots of awnings, she had a hat on (a wool one, so the rain didn't penetrate), and if all else failed I pulled up the sling tail to cover her (thanks again SH, for that multi-purpose item ... favourite. Baby. Item. EVER.)

And she made it just fine. She started to fuss just as we got to our home block, and I suspect that might have been just as much from the length of time being carried as anything else.

Me, on the other hand -- well, turns out that hoodie can't really cope with being zipped up over the baby AND covering my head ... too small. So I got wet. But after a month of hot, sweaty weather, walking a short distance in the rain -- even if my feet got wet in sandals -- was strangely refreshing. Like being wiped clean. It's going to get hot again this weekend, and there will be more bbq's and days we need a/c (but we don't have it). Nights of no covers and sweaty-headed children. So the rain today was a welcome and refreshing break.

Although I'm willing to bet that everyone who's working thought that this weekend's rain SUCKED.

Ay-Freaking-Men

Love this article. And love especially how it ties working women to the health of the overall community and how families ought to be given more support by government etc.

Yes, yes, and dear God, yes some more.

Torn

Every single day it happens: mommy play with me!

And simultaneously: fuss!

Between an infant and a four year old, the four year old waits. Because he can. He doesn't, always, but he can. And lately he's been doing a lot of waiting. And a lot of doing without.

And his behavior shows it.

The guilt I feel is powerful -- particularly the guilt I feel when I lose my patience with him, knowing he's acting out only because he is not getting enough of me.

I'm the younger of two siblings, and I was determined that my younger child wouldn't get so much less of me than her brother did at the same age. This is partly why he's still in daycare -- I can't give her 24/7 mommy alone time, but I can give her a few hours a day.

But the fact of the matter is this: no matter what I do, it'll never be *fair*. Her life is going to be different because she came second no matter what. I can't give her what I gave him: four years of dedicated me. I simply can't. To try and replicate it, to compare, it's not possible.

And I'm just going to drive myself crazy if I try.

So the second child within me that feels ever slighted by my own parents' attention to my sister will have to be silenced. By trying to make it all fair, all I do is call to attention the fact that it isn't. And as an adult I know there's no way it can be.

She is second, she will ever have to share me.

Until, of course, she's 14 and her brother leaves for college. Right at that age when she'd gratefully shove me over to her brother if I would just go away mom!!!