This is the Moment

This morning, I was making my way through the milling rush-hour crowds that the Yonge & Bloor subway station - late as usual. I honestly don't know how working mothers get to work on time. It's a skill that I have yet to master, and it's been a year. Anyways, I was stuck behind this tall guy wearing a furry hooded jacket who was walking v e r y s l o w l y, feeling very much like Princess Leia behind the Wookie. (I know I'm showing my age with that reference, but that quote still cracks me up: "Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?". Hee, hee!). Turns out this guy was walking so sluggishly because he was busy checking his IPod. Not only is this a pet peeve of mine, but there are few better ways to set off my already fractious morning temperament. I think that people should focus on the task at hand. I'm all for "stopping to smell the flowers", but you're more likely to hear me say "walk like you have a purpose". You can stop and smell the flowers when you get there.

After my temper cooled a bit, I stopped to review. Why was I so angry? Why does it bother me when people put on makeup while driving, read books while walking, or talk on the phone when they're in the loo? I am a multi-tasker at heart, it's part of what makes me who I am. How can I criticize others when I'm not happy unless I'm doing seven things at once? In fact, much to my dismay, I've come to the realization that I'm guilty of multi-tasking when I'm with the Boy.

Last night, I was pretty much at the end of my rope. I had a bad day. I got through the Boy falling and hitting his face on the corner of the table, struggling through the snowstorm with the stroller, angry people yelling at me at work, and my boss interrupting a client call to tell me that I was wrong. I had had enough. The thought of picking up the Boy should have filled me with excitement, but instead I was dreading the energy I would have to spend entertaining a toddler for the next few hours. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and sleep. For a few days. The only way that I could get through that time was to do other tasks simultaneously. It calmed me to know that once the Boy was in bed, I could just crash, instead of doing the multitude of tasks that I do on a regular basis. He watched while I shovelled snow. He ate dinner while I did dishes, he stuck stickers on his shirt while I got things ready for bed. I was not being the best mother I could be. But what hurts the most is not what happened last night. I did what I had to do to get by. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed. What I am ashamed of is that I do things like this on a regular basis. It's so easy to make phone calls while the Boy is playing. To fold laundry. To check emails. To check blogger comments. To not be there for the Boy. To not be in his world. To not be in the moment.

Now, I don't think that you have to "be there" every moment of every day. Especially not if you're a SAHM who is there all day long. Kids need to learn to play independently. They also need to learn that while it might be fun to play all day, that there are chores to be done that are necessary to make home life run smoothly. But I'm not a SAHM and my time with the Boy is even more precious. Do I use that time to focus exclusively on the Boy, or do I continue on my day as if I was there with him all day long? Is there a happy medium? I'm not sure. For me, it's kind of a slippery slope. I'm either completely Boy-focused, or I do one little thing. And then another. And then another.

I think that I need to realize that this is the moment. Every moment that I let slip away is not going to come back. And these are the moments worth living for. The moments to be proud of when the day is done. I should listen to my lovely little Boy whose new sentences include "Mummy play a bit" and "No, sit awhile." Or, to quote Mr Earth's favourite composer, William Finn, "The living was the prize. The ending's not the story."

Acts of Lèse-majesté

One of the things that I like best about the blogosphere is the fact that I get to read other peoples blogs. These incredibly intelligent people help stave off the "mummy dummies" with their insightful posts. They also bring to my attention issues of which I might have been otherwise ignorant. The other day, Her Bad Mother posted about a rather, um, interesting article. If you haven't read it yet, have a look. The gist is that us naive and, well, stupid women "fall for the motherhood trend, hook, line and pacifier, and are bewildered when the experience does not live up to (our) expectations." I'll save you from the majority of my problems with this article. HBM said it much better than I ever could with my limited literary skills, and you can read her post here. Suffice it to say that, as John Cage would put it, this article troubles me.

I won't go into the fact that this article is written by not only a woman, but a mother. I won't delve into how deeply insulting this article is to women in general and mothers in particular. I certainly won't go into the fact that someone who writes such hateful material obviously has deep-seated issues of her own. I will mention briefly that while motherhood is the most rewarding, and the most challenging, venture I've ever undertaken, I don't love all aspects of it all the time. And I resent the fact that to be considered a good mother, I am required to love every minute of every day and never once complain. It's human nature to complain . It doesn't mean that I don't love motherhood, or that I regret my choice to become a mother. Keeping things bottled up inside you is when you get into trouble with a capital "T". And that rhymes with "P" and that stands for "Poop". If you want to know what I really think about this article, that word pretty much sums it up. Poop. Juvenile, admittedly, but strangely appropriate. Motherhood is too complex to say that it's good or bad, fun or boring, fulfilling or draining. It's all of these things. It's vital. It's alive. It's human. It's not perfect, it's human. That's what's so great about it.

But what I really wanted to talk about is the author's assertion that motherhood is not cool. And that we're stuck in hell because we can't put the baby "into the Goodwill bag with the 80s hypercolor T-shirts and the side ponytails" when we realize that it's not the trendy new accessory that we thought it would be. Granted, I'm not the best person to discuss what is cool and what is not, but I have to say that Stajic really missed the boat on this one. In no other aspects of my life am I allowed to get away with the things that I do while I'm being a mum. I can walk down Bloor Street pushing a stroller singing "Here comes Peter Cotton Tail" at the top of my voice. I can laugh like jolly old St Nick in a posh food store. I can scream at an imaginary lion. I can eat pretend cookies from a book. I can say goodbye to cereal boxes, and goodnight to the Great White Shark bank. Where else in adult life can you do these things without looking nutty? Some may consider these acts of lèse-majesté. I consider them acts of love. And that, my friends, is pretty cool.

Because he asked MeMe so nicely...

Mr. Earth was very upset when he found out that there was a meme going around the blogosphere about our better halves. I think his actual words were: "Why aren't you writing about how great I am? Where's the love? Love me!". So, to that end, I'd like to introduce Mr. Earth:

His age: 34

How tall is he: 6'1

How long have you been together (married): 5 years in May 2007

How long did you know each other before you got together?: Started dating about 2 months after we met and dated 4 years before getting married.

What physical features attracted you to him first?: He has sexy, long, lean legs. He should be a runner.

Eye color: Blue or Green depending on his mood, or his shirt.

Hair color: Somewhere between brown and blonde - what is that colour called?

Hair style: Short. But he would like to grow it long, Jesus-style.

Normal Outfit: Slacks, button-down shirt (tucked in), dress shoes. He would look nerdy if he wasn't so cool.

How did you meet: We met in a production of Godspell. He was the policeman and I was the prostitute. It was fate.

How serious is it: I'm hoping it's pretty frackin' serious, or someone's in big trouble.

Are you "in love": Duh, obviously! Although we are best friends, too, and sometimes that's even better.

Do your parents like him: Well, they took us on a trip to Italy with them, so yes. Actually, on that particular trip, they insinuated that they would rather have Mr Earth there than me. Long story.

Do his parents like you: Hard to tell. His mother is British and rather non-demonstrative. His father is mercurial, and it could go either way.

Do you trust him: With my life.

Would you share a toothbrush with him?: Yuck! No thank you.

Would he let you wear his pants?: Sure, but I doubt they'd fit. He's very tall and a lot thinner than I am.

Do you have a shirt of his that you sleep in?: No, but I have worn a shirt of his when I was preggo. That was nice.

Do you like the way he smells?: Usually. When he wears cologne, absolutely. Purrrrrr.

Can you picture having kids with him?: Too late to ask this, but yes. Actually, one of the nicest parts of his proposal was that he said he wanted me to be the mother of his children. Sounds hokey, but it really worked in the moment. Mr Earth is a master of phrasology.

What bothers you the most about him?: He has a nasty habit of repeating the question you just asked v e r y s l o w l y. And not actually answering the question. He thinks it's funny. It's
v e r y a n n o y i n g.

Does he have a temper?: He's pretty easygoing. I'm the hot potato in this duo.

Are you happy to be with him?: Yes.

Does he embarrass you in public?: Always, but it's very endearing and you can't help but laughing. We have a George and Gracie act going that kills at the local WalMart and Home Depot.

Does he smoke or do drugs?: No, and he wouldn't have married me if I did either. We're quite the "anti" couple, considering that many of our friends indulge.

Does he have any piercings?: No. Too George Michael for me

Any tattoos?: He would if I asked him to, but not my name. That is the Kiss of Death to all relationships.

Does he have any scars that you know of?: Gosh - you'd think I'd know the answer to this one. No??

Is he a Party dude or Stay at home?: Stay at home.

Is he Outgoing or Shy?: If you've met him once you would never ask this. Quite possibly one of the most outgoing people in existence today.

Does he love his mama?: He's a total mama's boy.

Would he hang out with you and YOUR friends?: He has on occasion, especially now that some of my friends have kids too.

Sing?: All the time. He's very good. The hard part is to get him to stop singing.

Dead Bunnies and Hot Monkey Lovin'

AKA: How We Celebrate Valentine's Day at Casa Earth

It's true. I've never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it's that I've spent too many February the 14th's sad and lonely, desperately wishing that I had a boyfriend. Maybe my brother's constant diatribes against the evils of capitalism has finally had an effect on me. Maybe my heart is just two sizes too small. The bottom line is, I don't like to feel pressured to do anything. I would prefer to say "I Love You" when I feel like saying it, not when the calendar dictates that I should. I would prefer to buy Mr Earth little presents throughout the year "just because" instead of having to come up with something wildly creative on the 14th. I'm obstinate.

All this being said, I do expect a present on Valentine's day. Or at least, some kind of acknowledgement. (Ahh, the ironies of life with NoMo...). It's pretty much a no-win situation for Mr Earth, and I appreciate fully the difficult position I put him in. He has risen to the occasion magnificently at times. Our first Valentine's Day in fact, he spent an afternoon sifting through M&M's so that he could put together a jar containing only the green ones. (Green M&M's being the only colour worth eating, in my opinion).

This year, I was worried that my anti-Valentine view would have a negative effect on the Boy, so I decided to embrace it to the best of my limited abilities. (Note: If you want to see Valentine's done right, go see Beck's post here - she the Queen of Holidays) I got the Boy some special Valentine's Day clothes, and sent him to daycare with presents for his friends:

Who doesn't want a little monkey love? I ask you.

Mr Earth had already decided that he was going pay for me to go to my beloved salon to get my hair coloured and cut. This man knows the way to my vain heart. Flowers? Peh. Chocolates?? I could buy them any day. And I do. A lot. But finally getting rid of my roots??? This man deserves some applause! Especially when he brought this home:

Yes that is a "hare" who has been "cut", "coloured", and then dyed.

I love you Mr Earth. You still rock my world.

Just Because..

Just because...my head is so full of coursework, that I feel I have nothing interesting to say (unless you want to discuss the future of theatre in Canada, or the merits of Lovecraft's writing style...Takers?? I thought not).

Just because...I want to remember how easy it was to get outdoors when all I had to put on the Boy was a light jacket, shoes and a sun hat.

Just because...I'm tired. So tired that I feel like I will never be fully rested again. So tired that I can fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or with a drop of alcohol. So tired that even when I do have time to sleep, it's a restless slumber, waiting for the shattering alarm clock. So very, very tired.

Just because...I want to feel what it's like to be able to joyously run down a forest path with nary a worry other than whether or not there will be a snack at the end, and if there's someone to carry me when I get tired.

Just because...this picture makes me happy.

Wall of Weird

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to bring you this update. NotSoSage tagged me to let you in on you six weird things that you don't already know about me. My greatest trouble was how to choose only six items. Apparently, I'm a freak...

1. I AM RIDICULOUSLY AFRAID OF SNAKES.
This may not be all that weird, but I include it here because of the immensity of my aversion. Not only do I not like to be around snakes, but I can't even look at a picture of a snake. Snakes and Ladders? No thank you. Snakes on a Plane? Fuggedaboudit. I don't care how good that movie was supposed to be. The Boy's cousin, Golden Girl, had an animal handler at her 4th birthday party a few weeks ago. I had to sit in a room a few feet from an actual snake. Then he took it out of the box. I think I threw up in my mouth just a little. He asked me if I wanted to put it around my neck. My answer was a bit snappish.

2. I'M PRETTY SURE I'VE SEEN A GHOST.
One summer during university, I had a sleepover with a couple of my classmates at my parents house in Hamilton. My parents were at the cottage and I was afraid to sleep alone. In fact, I spent most of that summer being a cranky half-drugged insomniac. Despite this, I am not imagining what happened. I went to sleep and about an hour later, I woke up in a start because I was certain that a man was standing at the end of my bed looking at me. I sat up and immediately turned on the light to see who was in my room. My friend asked me what was wrong, and I apologized for waking her. She said she had been awake for a few minutes before I turned on the light, because she thought that someone was in the room.

3. I'VE DONE A COMMERCIAL FOR MENOPAUSE RELIEF.
Yes, I am in my early mid-thirties, and I have already been in a commercial for a natural hormonal supplement for menopause relief, Estroven. What's more, I did this commercial when I was in my mid-twenties. Granted, I was the daughter in a mother/daughter combo, I had no lines, and most of our footage was cut because the woman playing my mother was ridiculously bad at taking direction, but still! As if it's not embarassing enough that I am a "non-practising" actor, but I have to explain to former classmates that one of my few professional gigs had to do with hot flashes? My only consolation is that I got paid VERY well for essentially no work. Gotta love them US commercials...!

4. I GO TO SLEEP PREPARING FOR ATTACK.
No matter what happens, no matter where Mr Earth and I lay our heads for the night, I must be on the side of the bed that is farthest from the door. Without exception. My theory is that if some intruder comes into our bedroom, he's going to get Mr Earth before he gets me, and at least I'll have time to wake up and face the intruder before I'm attacked. (I'm a good wife, no...?). The first four months after giving birth, I slept on the opposite side of the bed so that I would be closer to the bassinette. I swear that I did not sleep easily one night in those four months and it had nothing to do with the fact that we had a baby. My body audibly sighed in relief when we switched back to our normal positions. I don't know who I think is going to attack me. Most people either ignore me, or don't know I exist. I'm just plain crazy.

5. I AM A CAT'S WORST NIGHTMARE.
I love cats. Cats suit my disposition perfectly -- I am a bit of a loner who accepts affection only when I'm good and ready for it. I also like playing with furry balls. (But I digress...) However, cats I have loved have all met an untimely end. Shadow had some rare bowel disease and died a few weeks after birth. Blancmange ran away. Smudge visited the farm that she came from while the family was on vacation, and was never heard from again. Peekay and I had irreconcilable differences, and he found that he liked living with my parents better than me. Rocky had an undetected heart condition which caused his untimely death. Willow, our current cat, is safe and healthy only because I can't stand her. She skulks around the house, runs away from anyone other than Mr Earth, constantly leaves us "presents" to show her displeasure, and has not accepted the Boy's presence in the house eventhough he has been living there for over two years. In short, my love kills and my hate is life-giving. Yay! Don't you want to invite me over for tea now??

6. I HAVE WORD VERIFICATION ISSUES.
For some unknown reason, I am unable to type the word verfication correctly when commenting on blogs. I. Can. Not. Do. It. Period. I have spent a disproportionate amount of time resolutely trying to type in the correct letter. Am I slow-witted? Am I finally going blind?? Suffice to say, if I haven't commented on your blog lately, it's probably because I gave up on the word verification in exasperation.


I'd like to share the weird with NoodleMonkey and Metro Mama. Show me what you've got! Please..? I'm feeling very "weird" out here on this ledge all by myself.

Arrivals and Departures

I picked the Boy up at 4:30 the other day - almost an hour earlier than usual. My class ends at 4pm, and there's no way I was going to go back to the office just so that I could pretend to work. Apparently, an early departure was not in the Boy's plan. Everyone was having their snack, and they looked at me like I was an alien. I had to sit there while the Boy ate multiple crackers, and kept asking for more. The new kid deposited his half-masticated banana in my hand and proceeded to climb on my new coat with his unwashed banana-hands. (Yum! Who are you again, kid??). Then the Boy would simply NOT put on his winter gear. He kept standing, sitting, walking, sleeping and performing the "dead fish" move on me. It took half an hour (!!!) to get out of the damn daycare. Bad times.


This morning, I had to walk to daycare in the minus-gazillion-with-the windchill weather. Mr Earth was conducting interviews in Waterloo, so the Boy and I had to make do with the stroller for transportation. The Boy helped put on his "po-pants" (snowpants, for those unused to toddler-speak) by lying back. He actually allowed me dress him in full winter regalia, hat, scarf, mittens (!!!), and boots. The only whisper of complaint was that he wanted to put on the boots before the snowpants. I got him into the stroller and out the door in record time. I was even allowed to use the heretofore forbidden windshield and plush Winnie blanket. Have I mentioned how ridiculously cold it was today? By the time we arrived at the daycare, the windshield was frozen in place. The Boy's little voice, buried under many layers, piped up "I stuck!". I couldn't remove the windshield, so I tried to get him to duck under it. That didn't work, but he spontaneously pulled the "dead fish" move, and slid out from under it. I had never appreciated the versatility of that move until today. Good times.

The Boy's First Report Card

I used to think that giving report cards to toddlers was a little bit silly, but I have since been grudgingly won over to the idea. It only makes sense that the teachers who spend five days a week with the Boy have an opinion with regards to his development. I still jealously guard the idea that I know him better than anyone else, though, and I defy people to convince me otherwise.

However, we all know that kids behave differently at school than they do at home --Stephanie from Degrassi, does this ring a bell to anyone? So, let's see what they have to say (and because I can't just say nothing, I'll add my comments too):

LANGUAGE DEVELOPMENT
The Boy is able to communicate with short sentences by using one to two words to get his point across. He enjoys circle time and expresses himself with body language or sing-a-longs. (He is actually using up to six words in a sentence, but averages about three or four. I'm not surprised that he uses one to two words normally. He's learnt how to get what he wants with the minimal effort. He got that from us. Smart Boy!)

COGNITIVE DEVELOPMENT
The Boy is very interested when viewing pictures or books and focuses during story time. The Boy likes to respond to questions that are asked by his teachers. He can remember all the names of the other children. He can also recognize all animals and identify what sound each one makes. (I've said before that the Boy is freakishly good at remembering people's names. He met a girl in the park once, and spent the rest of the week screaming "Lila" at the top of his lungs whenever I said we were going to the park. He can also remember the names of each of his grandparents' pets - five names all counted. Freakish!)

MOTOR DEVELOPMENT (Fine/Gross)
The Boy uses a lot of fine motor skills. He loves to play with playdough, cars and building blocks. Outside he is able to climb alone on the toys with some assistance of the teachers. In the playground he rides the tricycle and kicks or catches ball. (Hmm. Now this is helpful. I agree that the Boy is especially good in the area of fine motor skills. I thought that his gross motor skills weren't as advanced. Maybe we just don't do enough of these activities at home? Something to ponder...)

FOOD CONSUMPTION/SLEEPING BEHAVIOURS
The Boy tries new foods during lunch and snack time and eats very well. At nap time he will fall asleep with no assistance. He will sleep for approximately one and a half hours per day. (Who? What?? Tries new foods??? Clearly, this is a comment meant for someone else's kid. Either that, or he is really susceptible to peer pressure.)

SOCIAL INTERACTION (Peers/adults)
The Boy is a very friendly child and interacts with his peers and teachers. He understands the teachers and follows the routine of the classroom. He is also very comfortable with Rob Joy, the music teacher, and engages himself during his music class with sing-a-longs. (Yes, yes, yes! This is the Boy that I know. He loves the days that Rob comes in, and can't stop talking about him. I love when he tries to sing the songs to himself on the way home. I have no idea what he is saying, and he generally sticks to one note, but he always makes me smile.)

INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOURS TO MONITOR (if appl.)
N/A. (Not sure which "inappropriate behaviours" we're talking about here. The Boy is practically perfect in every way, but like any two-year-old, he has interesting ideas of what is appropriate behaviour. Right now, he thinks the words "OW!" and "Stop, please!" are funny, and they are no deterrent whatsoever.)

ADDITIONAL COMMENTS
The Boy is comfortable with the staff in the room and his friends as well as other parents. He is always involved in trying new activities in the room. Keep up the good work! (That's my Boy!)


Good job, kid, you're fantastic! We'd love you no matter what they said, naturally. We still know you best. Love, Mum XO

Party Animals

Not to be outdone by the elegant soirées thrown over at Miss M's abode, the Boy has taken lately to giving wild parties for the animal folk. "Issa Animal Pahty!", he exclaims joyously.

Who's invited? Well, the animals. (Duh!). If you can fit on the seat of our green Ikea chair, you're invited. If you come late, though, please be aware that you may have to wait until space becomes available. As you can see, it's a pretty popular event. You will be relegated to the top of the chair back (a precarious position, at best), or, in the case of the gorilla, to hanging on to the seat for dear life.

Once the party is assembled, victuals of the highest order are served. To tempt your tastebuds, our seasonal menu includes vegetables from Noah's Ark, apples from the Castle and fish from the Zoo. The lions and giraffes have fairly large appetites, so be sure to get yourself a plate before it's too late. To accompany your meal, our musician will serenade you with the dulcet tones of Sesame Street's rock & roll saxophone. Please don't be put off by the lack of volume control. Our artists' enthusiasm will more than make up for the hearing loss.

So, if you're looking for a good time, or if you feel the need for a little electric mayhem, come join us here at Casa Earth. The more the merrier...!

Don't mess with the Animals, they eat glass, man.

Baby, it's COLD outside...

I had a long talk with yesterday with one of the teachers at the Boy's daycare. Apparently, the Boy doesn't like the cold. This wasn't altogether revelatory news to me. I mean, who really likes the cold? After all, we live in Toronto, a place where they call in the army to deal with a snowstorm...I digress.

The Boy REALLY doesn't like the cold. The toddlers go outside for two one-hour blocks each day, weather permitting. The teacher said that the Boy won't play, he just sits down and cries, asks to be held for the whole hour, or asks to go back inside. Aside from my heart breaking at the rather pathetic scene playing out in my head, I recognized that I really don't know what to do about this situation.

Mr Earth and I are no toboggan-lovin', snowshoein' winterbabies, but we certainly don't hate the cold. In fact, as long as I'm properly dressed, I like to run in the winter more than any other time of year. We take the Boy outside at least once a day, regardless of the weather - usually for a walk in the stroller. Bub and Pie wrote recently about the ordeals and rewards of going outside and admittedly, we haven't really taken the Boy outside to actually play. This is in part due to our aversion to snow play, but mainly it's because I don't think the Boy would have a good time. I think he would:

A) Not play, and ask to be held the whole time.

B) Not play, cry and ask to go inside.

C) Not wear his mittens, and end up with frostbite.

Sound familiar? So, the question is: How do you get a two year old who doesn't like the cold, to enjoy playing outside? You can't reason with him, because he doesn't understand. I can't dress him any warmer than I already do (if his snowsuit was white, he would actually be the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Baby). I can't take off layers, thereby giving him the mobility that I know he craves, because he would be too cold. I don't want to force him to spend time outside, because he would more likely see it as a punishment than an attempt at fun.

If it were left to me, I would probably let it go, wait for summer, and hope that he likes winter more next year. However, it becomes an issue when he is the only kid at daycare who doesn't want to go outside. That's a problem that must be dealt with. So tell me...do all your kids like the cold? Have they always liked it, or did you have to convince them? What's your secret?? I am at a loss.

TV My Friend

What I have to say may shock you. It sure as heck shocked me. I don't think TV is all that bad for kids. Now before everyone gets up on their soapboxes and pulls out the virtual tomatoes, please let me assure you that I have done my homework. I have read all the studies that children under two should not watch television at all and children over two should only watch very limited amounts. I agree with the studies, and I certainly don't dismiss their findings. Still, for some reason that I can't figure out, I don't feel that TV is the enemy. The Boy just turned two last weekend, and he certainly falls into the age category of children who should not be watching TV. I would be lying if I said that he didn't.

We haven't gone whole hog, here. The Boy is in fulltime daycare, so he doesn't watch it then. But every morning when I wake him up, we take a sippy cup of milk into the computer room, sit down on the bed, say hi to Patty from Kids CBC and watch about twenty minutes of Arthur, Pinky Dinky-Doo, or Go, Diego, Go. It's a nice, relaxing way to greet the day. Sometimes The Boy watches the whole time. Sometimes we read a couple of books from the ever-present pile on the bed. Sometimes The Boy just explores the piles of "storage" in the room.

Often, after dinner, The Boy will ask to go downstairs and watch Treehouse. I don't like to make a habit out of it, but the reality is that from 6:30pm till bathtime at 7pm, Treehouse is often a part of our evenings. I know that the time could be better spent playing, but after a full day of work, a half hour trek from the daycare where we're singing songs and pointing out signs, after making dinner together and sitting down to eat and talk, sometimes, I'm just plain tired. And sometimes, I think the Boy is just plain "played out". Wouldn't you be after a manic day of play at daycare? That's hard work! I think that it's okay to just chill out. Maybe veg a little. And when I feel that it's getting to be too much of a pattern, I just tell the Boy that Treehouse is sleeping because it is very tired, and we should find something else to do. The Boy seems to accept this as natural. It won't work forever, I realize, but it does for now.

The Boy is not glued to the TV by any means. He'll watch a bit, then go play, then come back and watch whenever he hears a song. I don't use TV as a babysitter, but rather as another activity. When we watch TV, we watch it together. We learn Spanish with Diego, and answer his many loud questions. We parrot motions with Four Square. We sing along with Hi-Five. We learn to jump with Grover. We talk about what's happening. I try to make our TV watching as active and interactive as possible.

Our TV watching does have limits. We don't watch TV with commercials. We try not to watch between 8am and 6:30pm on the weekends, although I have broken that rule on occasion. (That rule goes to pot when the Boy is sick..) Once the Boy is aware of the concept of time, he will be limited to one hour of approved TV per day (with special exception for "Mommy Movie Days" when we go out to movies just the two of us..I can't wait for that!). There will never be a TV in his room, no matter how much he begs and pleads. To show my commitment to that, there is not even a TV in our bedroom, and never will be.

I also try counter this habit with a print and imagination rich environment. In Casa Earth, books abound. In fact, they run rampant. They are literally falling out of bookshelves. I think the Boy has almost as many as his parents, and we are avid readers. Magnetic letters crowd the fridge door. We point out city signs on walks. We visit the library. For toys, we eschew the battery-operated for the imaginative. The Boy's current faves are a drawer full of spoons for "digging snow", the vintage Little People castle with the trapdoor and secret rooms, and the Little People garage with the slide and elevator. (I tried to get the vintage one, that doesn't make gas and phone sounds, but got outbid on Ebay). But I digress, and now I sound like I'm justifying my actions. Maybe I am.

My point is, I realize that many people have very strong opinions about this subject. I do too, but right now, I'm just trying to go with the flow, and do what works for us. I really hope that I haven't "ruined his future" and "destroyed his brain", because, well...that's gonna suck. I guess I'm gonna have to deal with that later. I don't purport to be an expert on anything, especially motherhood. Mostly, I'm just trying to make it through the day with my love for The Boy (and my sanity!) intact. Is that so wrong?

To Pee or Not to Pee

The Boy and I were walking home after a short coffee/shopping trip down to the Village, and that vague thought in the back of my head, the one that went ...at some point I may have to pee... turned suddenly and violently into I have to pee NOW. I'm about seven minutes from home. I can make it. Sure. What's seven minutes?

Think dry thoughts. Sand. Sahara Desert. Grand Canyon. Actuarial Textbooks. Hmm, not working. I start to chant quietly under my breath "ihavetopee, ihavetopee, ihavetopee..." Hot damn this is the longest seven minutes of my life. The stroller collides with a chunk of frozen snow, and the handlebar hits my stomach. Oof, not good.

Then something occurs to me. I can make it home in seven minutes. By myself. I am with The Boy. Not only do I have to get home, I have to lift the stroller up on the porch and get The Boy inside. The Boy, who insists that all the lights in the house be turned on before anything else happens (oh the energy bill..!). The Boy, who must be released from his winter raiments unless you want to listen to a non-stop chorus of "Hat off! Jackey off! Boots off! Mummy's jackey off!" Over and over. I really hate winter sometimes.

Well 'seven minutes' might as well be a lifetime. I start pushing the stroller faster. I start dancing a crude little jig. The closer we are to the house, the more I have to pee. By the time I get the stroller on to the porch, I might as well be holding Niagara Falls at bay. Shit, where's the damn key? Shit, who makes these damn stroller seatbelts so hard to undo? Shit, did I say that out loud? Damn. Don't swear in front of The Boy. I start leaping up and down. I grab The Boy rather more forcibly than I am wont to and barrel indoors.

There is no bathroom on the main floor, so here's my quandry, do I:

a) ...turn on the lights, undress the Boy and myself, take the Boy to the playroom then go pee? This risks possible overflow. Not pretty.
b) ...take us both, hats, coats and all, upstairs? We have a rather narrow staircase and an even smaller bathroom. Awkward.
c) ...cut bait and run?

Well, I'm not good at making decisions in the best of circumstances. When the urine is approaching eye-level, I have no rational thought whatsoever. I'm afraid I chose Option C. I said "Stay right there, please. Mummy's gotta go potty." And I ran. I was back downstairs in under a minute, and the Boy hadn't moved, but it was not a shining moment in motherhood at Casa Earth. I was faced with a choice between The Call of Motherhood and The Call of Nature, and I chose the latter. Sigh. Is is possible to legitimize my actions by saying it was a pre-potty lesson for the Boy?

Do I have the smallest bladder on the face of the planet? What would you do in my place??

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

To The Boy on his 2nd Birthday:


We had a rocky start, you and I. With jaundice, low milk supply, poor latch, it seemed like the Powers That Be didn't want us to breastfeed, but we persevered. I thought my heart would break when you had double hernia surgery at 2.5 months. I pretty much had to pretend that it wasn't happening. I went through the hours of separation, and the disturbing post-op in a dream-like state. We got through the "witching hours" at 4 months, when you would scream non-stop from 5pm to 8pm like clockwork. At 6 months, things noticeably changed. We got our first real taste of The Boy Who Would Be. Or, maybe your parents just chilled out for a change. Whatever happened, we both had a lot to learn. Any knowledge worth having is worth working for, right?


Today, you're officially not a "baby" anymore (although we reserve the right to use this term of affection whenever we choose). Today you have suddenly grown into our Little Man, with thoughts and opinions of your own. You like pasta, Goldfish crackers and muffins, and despite all our gender-unspecific conditioning, you play with trucks, trains, boats and adore the Mighty Machines and the "subbie" (subway).


The moments of greatest joy are fleeting, but so achingly sweet, that we replay them over and over again. You brought your new Little People toy to daddy to open, and when he said it would take a while to open (because they package them so confoundingly it takes people far smarter than us to open them), you sat down on the floor and said "I wait". You are prone to taking flying leaps at mummy, shouting "Mummy tak!" (Mummy attack). You always share your food, even when we're not hungry, and insist that we eat. Often, when you awaken with a stinky diaper, we are greeted with bleats of "P-U!". You are very specific about where people should sit when they play with you, and when people (i.e. Mummy) should stop singing.


Best of all, though, is the little hand that rests on my leg when I read you a story, or the little head that rests on my shoulder as I carry you to bed. These are the moments when I stop being a proud parent, and I'm just Mummy.


Happy Birthday, bubbie! I love you much more than this letter can say.

It's S'Wonderful!

So...the word on the street is that it's International Delurking Week. I don't know how I missed the memo. Somebody should really fire my secretary. It was probably mentioned when I fell asleep in the meeting last week. Damn. I should have guessed that something was up when everyone else was laughing and patting themselves on the back. (I assumed that they were laughing at the drool running down my chin. Seriously, they don't make coffee strong enough to keep up a mother who has only had four hours sleep thanks to a Baby-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless.)

So, c'mon! What's up with the lurking, people? Why not just leave a comment to let a girl know that you stopped by? Don't you know that I'm up to all hours of the night making sure my posts are perfect? (Disclaimer: "Perfect" is used in a relative way here. My posts are as perfect as a vapid-brained, non-writer can make them.) Mr Earth would attest to the hours I spend blogging. He ain't gettin' enough, and he ain't happy about it...

So, if you're feeling kinda neighbourly, please say "Howdy". My vanity would love you for it...

Oh, the Guilt!

So...Mr Earth gets home in time to give The Boy a bath and put him to bed, so I can scoot out for a short run. As I say goodnight to The Boy and hand him over, he starts bawling and reaching for me. I put on my brave face, say "Night-night, I'll see you in the morning!" in my cheeriest voice and run upstairs to change. For the ten minutes that it takes me to change into my running clothes and actually get out the door, all I hear from the bathroom is continuous screams of "I want my mummy!" over and over again. Poor Mr Earth tried to work his usual calming magic, but The Boy was having none of it. So I was faced with a choice. I could:

A) Go downstairs, calm the Boy, and put him to bed. However, this would imply that I felt Mr Earth couldn't handle the situation himself. I know that Mr Earth can handle it. Actually, Mr Earth is better in these situations than I am because I have a rather quick fuse and I tend to lose my temper easily. (I'm working on it, dammit!)

B) I could sneak quietly and guiltily out the door and hope that The Boy settled down.

I did the latter. I've haven't run that route as quickly since before I was pregnant.

I don't know if it makes me a Bad Mother, but in the crunch, I chose not to interfere. It's what I would want were the situation reversed. It, theoretically, should only take one person to put a two-year old to bed! But, I also know that when you're in that situation, sometimes all you can think of is: "Doesn't he/she hear the screaming? Why isn't she/he coming to help??" It seems that it is a no-win situation. Either you're a hovering control-freak, or an insensitive Bad Mother. I hope no one finds out that I have no idea what I'm doing...

A Poetic Birthday Weekend

Yesterday, I used the gift Mr Earth got me for Christmas. I spent three hours (!) getting a facial, manicure and pedicure. Then I went downtown and spent an obscene amount of money on Mr Earth's credit card at my favourite lingerie shop on a single bra. It is ridiculous what these things cost nowadays when you want quality underpinnings. However, since I only buy a new bra about once every four years, maybe it's not so ridiculous...And it's a VERY nice bra. When I got home, Mr Earth took me out to one of my favourite restaurants, Scaramouche. I had red wine, three different kinds of goat cheese, scallops and flourless chocolate cake. It was heaven! Did I mention that the Boy stayed at Nana Earth's for the night?? You can guess what happened after dinner...

Unfortunately, the Boy's mysterious low-grade fever (which we thought was improving in the day) got worse in the evening. Thankfully, Nana Earth is very good with sick babies. She insisted we continue to enjoy our evening out when we called to check in. We left early in the morning to make the trek to Hamilton to see if we could get the Boy in to see a doctor. So, today, my actual birthday, I spent in a cramped, overcrowded walk-in clinic, cuddling a hot little body, and squeezed in between a horribly hacking large woman and a continuously burping little girl. It would be humourous if the Boy didn't look so sad. Thankfully, it seems to just be a fever (so far), not the ear infection that we feared. We have to go back to our doctor if it gets worse.

Mr Earth wrote me his usual birthday poem, and against his wishes*, I will post it for you all to read:

Now you have reached the age of thirty-four
Parties and late nights don't exist anymore

It's up and down with the Boy, and work in-between
With Happy Healthy Monsters and Mighty Machines

But at least you're learning things like how garbage moves along
Or the oh-so-catchy "street sweeping song"

One thing I'm sure, makes this year the best
As there's no more feeding to be done from the breast
(wow, that rhyme sucked, I'm getting worse in my old age)

So, it's boozing all day and boozing all night
As you're up to all hours making sure your blog is just right

Where you discuss important issues, from death to birth
Using your guise as NoMotherEarth

To continue the tradition we started at thirty-two
It's time for HAIKU!

34 - that's old
It is your mid-thirties now
Bad times, not good times

The Boy is older
No more little baby here
Only - "Don't Want To!!"

Grandparents save us
Gotta drop the Boy off soon
That's good parenting!

Family is great
And ours is a special one
You, me and the Boy

So have a great birthday, and know that I care
And maybe for my birthday, you won't wear any underwear??
Happy Birthday! All my love.

*Mr Earth would like to protest the publishing of this birthday poem. He has been very busy at work, and claims that this poem is not as well written as in other years.
**I love it because he wrote it. End of protest.

Details

My dad is a good, nay, a great person. Over the years, he has been a community organizer, a welfare rights advocate, a social agency director and a non-profit housing developer. He has refocused his career many times, but throughout he has remained a United Church minister. A minister without a church or a congregation. Early on, he sermonized about human rights, and was deemed too 'radical' by the church board. He left the church where he presided, and chose to see his work in non-profit housing as his own form of Christian ministry. He has been described as "a visionary", a man with "lots of ideas, very innovative, very go ahead, always struggling on behalf of people who are disadvantaged". No one who has met him could deny his charm. He is loved.

He is also a phenomenal dad. He would do anything for his children, and has. He has gone the distance and walked several miles beyond. Little did he know that this particular contract would require him to be a baby sleep aid, a homework project manager, a bank, a chauffeur, a chef, an audience, and a 4am insomniac movie-watching partner. He added this to an already crushing workload, and still managed to answer each question or whine with a smile and a hug.

Like many heros, my dad has an Achilles' Heel. He is not very good with details. In fact, he's pretty lousy at them. He's got big dreams, but doesn't realize that the big picture is made up of small details This fact has dogged him his entire professional life, and has affected his personal one as well. He has been criticized, slandered and dismissed due to inattention to the details of business. He is considered "morally beyond reproach" by his colleagues, but lacks the organization to make his dreams a stable reality. I couldn't love him more for it. I have become the details-oriented person that I am today because of it. As a child, I sensed the gap, and quietly worked towards a mutual symbiosis.

Throughout life, he has been plagued by health problems, exacerbated by overwork and sleepless nights. On New Year's day, my mom told me that he would be starting radiation for prostate cancer. He can't have the surgery that would fix it faster, due to a heart condition. My dad doesn't want anyone to know, because he wants people to see the person, and not the cancer. My mom wanted to keep me "in the loop", so that I would understand why he didn't seem his usual energetic and boisterous self. My dad did not tell me. I'm not even sure if he knows that I know. Apparently, it's "minor cancer" and has a 95% success rate. Strangely, I'm more worried that he can survive the cure, than the cancer. He is not a well man, and I fear that the radiation may take too great a toll.

Dear God, I know that it's your job to see the big picture, and make decisions for the good of the whole, but strength is found in the "details". Please don't overlook this one...

Holiday Wrap-Up

I thought it was appropriate on this, my last official day of holidays before going back to work in the morning, to take stock of the holidays. Also, I left the camera at Nana's house on Christmas day, so this was the first chance I got to post gratuitous photos. The Boy obliged me be almost never looking directly at the camera, so I don't have to break my rule. Here's the post mortem, as I see it...

SCHEDULE: Far too hectic. We did the usual Christmas Eve at Granny and Grandpa's, Christmas Day at Nana and Papa's and Boxing Day at Nanny and Zaida's. It works for me because I never have to cook, clean or stress about entertaining. For an actor, I can be a terrible wallflower. The Boy was overwhelmed by the hullabaloo and had some difficulty coping. We had a couple days with nothing planned, and it was really nice to putter around aimlessly. Good times.

MELTDOWNS: More than I can count on one hand. As above, the craziness of Christmas and New Year's was more than The Boy could handle and we had some terrible screaming fits due mostly to overtired, overstimulated toddlermania. The Boy has also taken to whining lately, probably because he wasn't feeling well. Bad times.

SICKNESS: Surprisingly, we all made it through the major days as a well unit. I was starting to feel something coming on Christmas morning, but I downed some Cold FX and it went away. I love me the Cold FX! The Boy, unfortunately got sick on the 28th, and we had to cancel some post-Xmas celebrations and lay low. Okay times.

GIFTS: Far too many, as we are blessed with generous relatives. The Boy seemed to like all of his presents. The expensive trike, not so much, but I think that he will grow into it by summer. The 99 cent stickers, the $2.99 crayons, and the $6.99 hockey stick and ball - they were big hits. Oh well, lesson learned. And I love the trike! Good times.

NEW YEAR'S: Adult time. Good movie (Dream Girls), great wine (Brunello), and even better sex. VERY Good times. Thank you Mr Earth!

RESOLUTIONS: None. I don't do New Year's resolutions, I generally prefer to do them in September. On that front, things are progressing nicely. Good times to be...

Here's to 2007!

They said "don't touch", but surely they don't mean me...?

Crayons, Shmayons! These things stack!

Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. WOW! (Actual quote from The Boy upon receiving firetruck.)

I don't know what this is supposed to be, but it sure makes a good noise!

Hard: Variations on a Theme

Just when I thought I had nothing to say, I came across a post that made me think. Bub and Pie wrote recently about Irreducible Complexity. Now, B&P's posts always tend to open my eyes and mind, which is one of the reasons that her blog is one of the first ones that I check each day. As I was about to post a comment, I read Beck's and saw that I wasn't the only one who was inspired. I followed to her blog, where she continued the theme, writing about when things are hard. And then I realized that I, too, had something to say.

I've done many things in my life simply because there were hard. In Grade 13 (yes, I'm so old that they still had a Grade 13), I took Calculus as one of my six OAC's. I've always been good at school, but I've never been especially good at math, and this has always burned my bum. When I was picking my classes, I automatically ruled out Calculus, because I knew I would do badly. When I realized this, I added it to my course load, because I was damned if I wouldn't take a class simply because I thought I wouldn't do well. Guess what? I didn't. I went into the final exam with a just barely there D, and only through the help of a week-long crash course from my tutor/angel, did I finally bring that up to a respectable C. It pulled my average down, but I don't regret it, no siree. I passed!

When it came time to pick what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, I chose Acting. Because I loved it? Yes, of course. But also because I knew that if I went to university majoring in English (my other choice), I would do well. No question. I had no idea what would happen if I chose Acting. I didn't even know if I would graduate. I did graduate, but I wasn't successful at it out in the real world. Part of me thinks that it's because I never truly believed I could make it as an actor. The truth is, I'm probably just not all that good. Do I regret it? I regret the time that I lost and the fact that I have to play catch-up now, but otherwise, no. It was hard, but it was a path I had to take. It brought me to where I am today.

Motherhood. Quite possibly the hardest thing I've ever done, and it's not getting any easier. I could spend the better part of week, perhaps a month, describing all the things that are hard about motherhood: sleep deprivation; breastfeeding a child who doesn't ever seem hungry; hours and days of non-stop screaming for no reason; surgery at two months; tantrums; I-wants; Don't-want-tos; I-want-outs...the list goes on and on. Do I regret it? At some 4am feedings I came close, but otherwise - not on your life. The hardest thing of all has been the most rewarding. For every hard moment, the has been an equivalent moment of pure joy. The purest joy. Joy that I didn't think I was allowed to feel. Joy that most days I don't even feel I deserve.

I repeated to Beck one of my favourite quotes from a movie that, however average, is still one of my favourite ones to watch when I'm feeling low, "A League of Their Own": "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great."

O Holy Night

I don't know what it is about the holidays, but I always get nostalgic for the way that things were when I was growing up. Traditions, moments, I want to feel them all over again as if they were happening for the first time. This feeling has only multiplied since having The Boy. I find myself going out of my way to get things "perfect", so that he doesn't miss out on one iota of the magic that I remember. Funny thing is, nothing was "perfect" when I was growing up either, it just was what it was. Some things just got in my head, and stuck.

One of those things was the Nativity scene. Growing up with a minister for a father, this was not an unfamiliar image. In fact, one of my fondest memories was sitting in Sunday school with my brother, creating a nativity out of felt, styrofoam and glue. Since we were little, we only got as far as Mary and Joseph, but oh how I loved them. I kept them for years, and my mom dutifully trucked them out each Christmas, even though they were pretty hideous. Finally, after much use, they fell to pieces.

I've wanted a Nativity set of my own for awhile. I've had my eye on this one for a long time, but it's pretty expensive. So this year, having finished my wrapping early (I know!), I got it into my head that I wanted to make a Mary and Joseph in the old school tradition. The Boy is too young to help me just yet, but I'm hoping he will be able to help me make the wise men next year. Strangely enough, they do look like a child made them. A child at heart, I suppose:

Peace on earth. Goodwill to all.