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.

Open House

As Beck is my inspiration for all things Christmas-y, I thought it would be nice to share a little bit of Christmas at Casa Earth. Please remember that, as I "ain't no mother earth", I also "ain't no photographer". So, if these pictures seem blurry and out of focus, don't reach for the specs. It's not you, it's me. (Ahh, if I only had a dollar for every time I heard that one...)

Ye old Christmas tree. This photo does not do it justice. It looks very purty all lit up. Sadly, the lights are on in this picture, you just can't see them because I suck.

Again with the photo suckage. I decided that I wanted to make The Boy's stocking, but as I decided this just a couple of days ago, I could pretty much guarantee that I wouldn't get it done on time, even if I could get the pattern. So, we're stuck with the Shopper's Drug Mart special until I can get my act together. You can see the pattern of the "stocking that will be" here. The Snowman (or "po-man", as the Boy says) stocking hanger was the result of a two year search for a hanger that wasn't a ginormous Christmas scene. I just want to hang a stocking, not create an interactive Christmas display. Yeesh!

Ahh, the infamous Christmas balls. Again, a Shoppers special that I bought to use on our Christmas card shoot. The Boy loved them so much that I hung them up in the window. Every day, he makes some sort of reference to "my balls". Good times.

So wrong, but sooo right. I love my Buddha, and I didn't want him to feel left out. (DISCLAIMER: I mean no offence to any Buddhists that may be reading my blog. I have every respect for your faith, as I do for all religions.)

**And, in answer to Beck's request that I post the five Christmas songs that I hate the most, I am coming up blank. I can only think of one song that should be obliterated from this planet. I hate, loathe, despise and abominate it. The Christmas Shoes. This. Must. Go.

Stolen by MeMe!

This blog is in serious need of some Christmas spirit! Me too, for that matter. As excited as I am each year, I forget how much WORK is involved. I'm so exhausted that I don't even have enough brain power to come up with my own meme, so I stole Kittenpie's:

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?
If it were any other year, I would say that Hot Chocolate would win, hands down. With the requisite cup of Egg Nog on Christmas day, of course. Drink too much of that and you get Nog Belly. Bad times. However, this year, I've been quaffing Steamed Cider like it's going out of style. I'm sure the folks down at Starbucks appreciate the business.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Typically, there is one major gift from Santa sitting unwrapped under the tree when the kid(s) wake up in the morning. The other gifts are wrapped and under the tree for the season.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
Red lights only on the tree. I put my foot down on this one, and it actually took! No outside lights at all. We're too cheap.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?
Yuck! NO.

5. When do you put your decorations up?
No decorations are allowed until at least December 1st, although they don't usually go up until the 15th or later. Whenever my mom can find some time to come and help me. I seriously don't know what I'd do without her. Moms rock!

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
Is there anything else to eat at Christmas besides dessert?? Hmm. I guess I'd have to say Pillsbury crescent rolls, in that case.

7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child:
It would have to be the Open House parties that my parents threw every year. It was a lot of work, and my mom was grouchy for days, but it was all worth it in the end. I got to see my parents as adults instead of 'mom and dad', and in turn, I got to feel a little adult myself. It was magical.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
I don't recall, so it can't be all that traumatic. A non-event, for me.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
We used to. We were allowed to open one present, and my mom chose it. It was always new pyjamas to wear that night, so that when she took pictures in the morning, we wouldn't look scruffy.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree?
As quickly as possible, yet with great care. It's not something that I really enjoy doing, but I love how it looks when it's done, and done well. So I make the effort.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? I
I love it! As long as it doesn't get in my way. If I can't run, or can't use the stroller, or (ye gods!) can't drive somewhere, then I hate it.

12. Can you ice skate?
Only forwards. If I had to skate backwards, god help us.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?
I remember getting a dollhouse one year, and it was, to my young heart, the best gift ever! I felt like I was living in a picture book. You know the ones? Where everyone has the most beautiful gifts under the tree.

14. What's the most important thing about the Holidays for you?
I would have to say, spending time with family. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. I love travelling around and spending time with people that I don't get to see often. I always take the week off work between Christmas and New Year's for that reason.

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert?
My mom makes these "strawberries" out of red jellow power and coconut (etc), with green icing for leaves. It sounds disgusting, but once you start, you can't stop.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Christmas stockings. I think that these are way more fun than actual presents. Also, you don't have the pressure about getting the "perfect" thing or spending whackloads of cash.

17. What tops your tree?
A star. I'm very particular about this. I have issues about sticking a tree branch up an angel's butt. Does that sound comfortable to you?

18. Which do you prefer giving or receiving?
If I can find the perfect gift for someone, then giving is the best. I get so excited to give it to them that I can barely breathe.

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song?
Save the hardest for last, huh? It depends on my mood. If I'm feeling traditional, then it's The Christmas Song, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas or White Christmas. Although, I can't go a year without gettin' down to Boney M's Mary's Boy Child and Feliz Navidad. This year, I'm getting the "alternative winter" vibe, and am loving River (Joni Mitchell), Song for a Winter's Night and In the Bleak Midwinter. Awfully depressing, and I'm loving every minute of it!

Late to the Party

In amidst all the excesses of the holiday season, the frenzy of trying to get everything done on time, I think it's important to stop and take some time out for what this season is truly all about: LOVE. Showing love for your family. That's what the presents are supposed to be all about - not who has the most or the coolest stuff. Showing love for the tiny little baby born in a manger. You don't have to believe in Him, but you should believe in what he represents - hope and new life. And last, but certainly not least, showing love for your community.

I hope that I'm not the only one who feels a little lost at this time of year. There are so many worthy causes out there, that I am terrified that I can never do enough, never have enough to give. I want to give, but I don't want to give so much that I end up in poverty myself. After all, the coffers at Casa Earth are not bottomless. So what's a girl to do? I've never been good with grand gestures, like sending money to a village in Africa, or something. It's too abstract for me. On the other hand, I'm not always comfortable giving money to the people I see on the street. I don't have enough money to give something to everyone I see. So, how do you decide who gets money and who doesn't?

So this year, I've decided that the best way to solve this dilemma is to do something that is halfway between the grand and the small gestures. A couple of my work friends and I got together and sponsored a family from Children's Aid for Christmas. We got a list of who was in the family and what they wanted for Christmas. We bought toys, and clothes and Christmas decorations, as well as a gift certificate for groceries. It felt good. In fact, I think I had more fun buying for them, than I did my own family.

My second gesture is to get in on the action at Her Bad Auction. Have you heard of this? If you haven't already, you should check it out. A bunch of fabulous blogger ladies put this raffle together to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy and show support for a wonderful kid, Tanner. So please visit, shop, and spend, spend, spend for a good cause. Just click on the button below:



And while I have your attention, I'm gonna mark my territory. Back away from the Fadiddle stocking. I know who you are and I know where you blog...

Snowman Art

Hello! And welcome to my new blog - Beta style! Frankly, I don't notice a difference, so I hope I didn't mess things up. I'm such a luddite...

I was getting ready for work this morning, and having the most uncharitable thoughts. Honestly, sometimes I think that if there were people who could read my thoughts like on Heroes, I wouldn't have very many friends. Anyways, I digress... I was musing about all the Christmas specials on TV, and how they have always been a part of my Christmas "traditions". Personally, I don't know anyone who doesn't like the classic 1966 cartoon How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and the claymation Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I was also thinking that I would have to seriously re-consider a friendship with someone who hates these shows. It's alright if they're not your FAVOURITE SHOWS EVER, but can you really hate the Grinch and Rudolph ("I'm cude! I'm CUDE!")?? Ok, maybe I'm the only shallow person out there who puts that much value on a silly TV show.

Then it occurred to me - I don't like Frosty the Snowman! What if people judge me the same way I'm judging them?? Yikes. So, in the interest of bygones and to celebrate the festive season with joy instead of judgement, I would like to share with you some snowman humour that is right up my alley...Enjoy!

A Sunday in the Puke

The day started innocuously enough, with one of our newfound loves -- going for breakfast at a local diner. We've found it difficult, of late, to do things as a complete family. Someone is always busy or sick. The Boy ate marvelously well: eggs, toast, ham, potatoes, strawberries, yoghurt. It isn't often that he partakes of all four food groups in one sitting.

Later on, we had plans to meet Granny at the Eaton's Centre for some Christmas shopping. "Subbie!" the Boy exclaimed. The Boy loves the subway and it generally ends up being the highlight of any excursion. To our delight, Sistah Inlaw and her daughter, Golden Girl came along for the trip. The Boy and Golden Girl love each other tremendously, and can be counted on to entertain themselves.

We immediately sat down to lunch at the Baton Rouge before the kids' hunger peaked. The Boy had chicken tenders and fries. He ate nothing and asked for milk. "The Boy is refusing fries?" I puzzled. He half-heartedly asked for ketchup. He dipped the fries and ate the ketchup off without consuming any potato. My radar flashed. "Do you want to sit with mummy?" He did, of course.

Two seconds after landing on my lap, out came the puke. Not just a little vomit. This was puke of Exorcist proportions, with multiple expulsions. Puke with a consistency and colour that will ensure that I won't eat ham for a very, very long time. If ever. It was all down his shirt, all down his pants, all over my pants, on the table and on the floor. It even managed to hit my suede coat.

We took him to the bathroom and managed to clean him off. We asked if he felt better, and he said yes. But he was wet through and through, and of course, this was the one day that I decided not to bring a change of clothes. Off to Baby Gap. Not cheap, but it was close and sometimes they have fantastic sales. The only thing on the sale rack that fit, and that we didn't already have at home, was a turtleneck and white sweatpants. (White! I know. Who makes white sweatpants for toddlers? Dumb. But desperate times call for desperate measures.) I wasn't so lucky though. I got to walk around in the mall in smelly, itchy pants all day. YUM! Don't deny that you're turned on right now...

It has occurred to me that any one who is a "good mother" would have probably taken their kid home at this point. I didn't, so I guess we all know where I fall on the good-bad mother spectrum. Truth is, he didn't seem remotely sick. UM, other than the puke, that is. He was having a fabulous time laughing with Golden Girl. They ran hand in hand around the Disney store, leaping on stuffed animals. They played a rather rambunctious version of peek-a-boo in H&M. And, they saw Santa! It was a delight to behold. Who am I to let a little puke stand in the way of that? Ok, a LOT of puke.

They were having so much fun, in fact, that neither of them slept at any point. Which, would explain the meltdown that happened when I wouldn't let him smear DQ soft-serve all over his new shirt. But Granny let him hold her ice cream cone, and all was well again. He ate quite a bit.

On the way home, The PUKE made it's second visit of the day. All over his scarf and jacket, in the crevasses of his stroller, inside his jacket and all down his new shirt, and of course, all over the white pants. Sistah Inlaw and I had joked that the pants wouldn't make it through the day, and it comforting to know that I can be right about something. Hope that comfort is enough to last me through the extra load of laundry that I'm doing tonight for the pukey clothes. A whole, entire, load.

The Boy is now fast asleep after a very long day. Seeing the Boy have so much fun with Golden Girl must have turned my head, I think. I feel all gooey. Although it may sound odd, it was an extraordinarly good day. If only I could forget about the puke...

Joyful We Adore Thee

After days of lethargy, abnormal amounts of sleep and the saddest, most painful face in history, The Boy is slowly making his way back to health. For now, at least. (Knock on wood.) It goes without saying that we love The Boy no matter what mood he is in, but for the past week, when I looked at him, it was like looking at a stranger. Unresponsive, unwell and downright miserable. It hurt my heart to see him that way. And, it was such a relief when we finally began to see his "joie de vivre" return.

It's funny, isn't it, how someone can be right there in front of you, sitting on your lap, laying his head on your shoulder, and you can still miss him terribly? Now, instead of the horrible, disquieting silence, interrupted only by wheezing, coughing and the music from his favourite video, we hear the joyous sounds of an almost-two-year-old:

• Running after a ball and squealing like a stuck pig when he catches it.
• Hiding behind the curtains and popping out to say "Peekyboo".
• Hiding in various rooms and coming out with his favourite new catch-phrase "Shut de door!"
• Yelling "Hi Charley" at his new book, Clifford's Christmas Presents.
• Responding to our question "Do you want dinner?" with a most enthusiastic "YEAH!"

Wherein The Boy attempts to make up for lost time by doing some chin-ups.

And as for me? Well, Ye Gods of the Sickies have a rotten sense of humour. I have spent the last few days battling an unbearable headache, coughing up phlegm and blowing my nose every few minutes. Who knew that my head could have so much snot? Seriously, though, where is it kept?? Because if I knew that I had so much space in my head, I would use it to store much more important stuff. Like memorizing Pi to a thousand decimal places. Or learning Mandarin. Now that would be useful.