Perspective

The boys and I went on a playdate to the home of the lovely Kgirl. And a wonderful hostess she is too - deftly doling out caffeine before I got the withdrawal shakes, and keeping a steady stream of snacks for my hoover-Boy, all with a baby on the hip.

In between sips of spider-free coffee and mouthfuls of delicious banana cake, Kittenpie and I got to talking about how we're not terribly keen on the whole newborn phase. The cuddles and coos are adorable, but they don't always compensate for the sleep deprivation or the screaming, be it mine or the baby's. I tend to view these early days, wrong or no, as banking hours against a future pay-off. With each passing day, I'm enjoying the Boy's quirks and foibles more and more. and I can see the little man he is becoming.

When I was pregnant with the Little Guy, I had many moments of omigodwhathaveIdonethings arefinallygoodandwhyhaveIjustgoneandruineditall? I was scared. I didn't want to go back to sleepless nights, and hours of breastfeeding and unsuccessful pumping. I didn't want to feel constantly inadequate because I didn't know why the baby was crying. I remembered the dark, dark days and was loathe to go back to them.

To my delight and surprise, it's just...easier...the second time around. I don't in any way mean that there aren't incredibly difficult moments, difficults days, difficult weeks. I don't mean that I don't want to pull my hair out sometimes, because I do (I don't need to though, because I lose clumps of it every time I shower. How glamourous is motherhood?). I certainly don't think things are all sunshine and puppy dogs.

BUT...I don't feel as lost. I don't feel as incompetent. I'm not shattered every time the baby cries, because sometimes babies just cry and it's not my fault. I don't second guess every little thing because I've come to accept that sometimes there just is no good answer, and I do what I have to do to get through the day. Eventhough I can't always see it, I know that there is a light at the end the tunnel.

I would have never (NEVER!) thought this before, but when it's just me and the baby - or just me and the Boy - it seems like a bit of holiday to only have to look out for one kid, and worry about one schedule. Turns out having a second child was the best thing I could do in terms of blurring the tears of the past. And I have a whole new appreciation for the sweetness and simplicity of the newborn phase.

Now, if I could only figure out how to manage the boys when I'm outnumbered two to one, I'd be all set...

Dirty, dirty girl...

Overheard at the breakfast table this morning:

"Mummy, don't eat from yer box!"

Ahem.

I believe the Boy meant to say "don't eat from THE box". (I was eating cereal directly out of the box...bad mummy).

*******

And for Mad - because there aren't enough photos of me - my six word autobiography:

Present, but not yet accounted for.

Welcome to Motherhood, Mrs Earth

Top ten reasons I am a Bad (not Michael Jackson Bad, just plain old not good) Mother:

1. I didn't throw a birthday party with lots of kids for the Boy when he turned 3 because I was too tired. We just had a small family gathering - and not even at our house.
2. The Boy is very happy if he sees that the sun is up when he awakens: "I didn't wake up too early, Mummy!"
3. The Boy thought the jelly beans in his Easter basket were to be saved for peeing in the potty. It never occurred to him that he could have them just because. (I didn't even think to get an actual basket for the Little Guy and had to scramble to find a vessel the night before)
4. In this neighbourhood of "roll over and dial", the Little Guy is not yet on any daycare waiting list.
5. I am very short-tempered with everyone. About everything.
6. I ask that the Boy be patient and helpful with the Little Guy, but am not consistently modelling that behaviour myself, and I am the ADULT.
7. The Boy said "I can't help you right now" the other day, and I know exactly from whom he got that particular phrase.
8. I try to talk the the Little Guy out of crying so much, as if he's capable of listening to reason.
9. When I can't take it any longer, sometimes I just let the Little Guy scream without even trying to comfort him.
10. I have yet to drop daycare days because I am overwhelmed at the thought of being alone with both boys all day long.

Dream Feed

I pad down the narrow hallway and enter the dark bedroom. In the blackness, I feel for the sound machine. The patter of rain abruptly stops and the room falls silent. I reach into the bassinette and my hands find the swaddled baby with ease. I take him out of the room. His head angles back and his lips purse, but he is still fast asleep.

I walk down the hall to the nursery and place him on the carpet using the animal footprints as a marker so I know exactly where to put him when I'm finished. I unswaddle, careful to keep the fabric in the correct position for his return. There isn't enough room between the crib and the dresser for all the fabric. There is a lot of fabric. This baby, not yet five months old, is the size of a nine month baby. Two legs shoot up in the air, and he rolls to his left side. They shoot up again, and he rolls to his right. Over and over the baby gymnastics. I fire up the computer and watch him roll. This is my favourite part.

I heft the boy onto my left shoulder and grab the breastfeeding pillow. I sit down on the computer chair, unhook my bra and put the baby to the breast. I read blogs and try to comment. I can type with two hands if he's feeding well, one if he's not. He's usually not. I question the need to stay up late doing this if he going to barely eat. He shoves his hand in my shirt. He is one of two men who can get away with such a bold move. It's a lovely hand.

I burp him and a trickle of milk rolls down his chin. I switch sides and he starts to rub his left ear obsessively. Is it itchy? I sit him up to burp him again and he rubs his face against the receiving blanket, settling in. He is sleeping sitting up. A toe twitches. An eyebrow raises. A soft smile passes his lips.

I put him back on the swaddling fabric and his eyes fly open. Now he is awake. He squawks and struggles, but I swaddle on. No sleep for the unbound. I try to make sure it's tight enough to give Houdini pause. I shift him deftly to football position and sit back down at the computer. I read some more, the baby's head jiggling on my leg. If I want to comment on a post now, I must hunt and peck. I hate long verification codes.

Eyes are closing slowly and I hear a wail from the Boy's room. I pause, heart in throat. Silence. Was that the end, or the beginning?

I continue jiggling. I'm falling asleep myself. Soft, rhythmic breaths. I get up and walk down the hall. I turn the sound machine on. I fumble around till I find the rain setting. I tiptoe out. As I leave, I hope the lazy feed is enough to nourish.

And I hope the swaddle is tight, or it's going to be a long night.

New Mom on the Block

I met her in theatre school, and immediately wanted to be her friend. Unfortunately, the first year class was big, and she ran with the cool kids. I was a nerdy McNerdster, and very shy. In second year, the class was smaller, we got more of a chance to interact and found out that we had a lot in common. By third year, we were fast friends. I remember thinking to myself that she could be one of those people - a friend for life. You don't meet them often, and when you do, it's rarely in high school or university. She let me stay at her place when I couldn't stand to go back to my apartment. She was there for me when my hair turned green (yes, like Anne of Green Gables). She taught me how to be a queen in Hamlet. We even played husband and wife in The Crucible (long story).

After university, we lost track of each other for a while and I was very sad. Life happens, though, and things get in the way. Somehow when I couldn't take it any longer, we found a way to reconnect, and I'm so very glad we did. She stood up for me at my wedding, and we found out that we were pregnant at the same time too. Tai King was born four months after the Boy, and he and the Boy are good friends too. Oi Ying was born four months before the Little Guy, and they are just getting to know each other. We're talking of an arranged marriage (ha, ha!).

She is a wonderful mom, a beautiful spirit, and my favourite person in the whole world who is not (yet) related to me. She tries each and every day to make life magical for her two children, and this is reflected in her writing. And now she has started a blog. I always thought she should. She is ten times the writer that I will ever be. Won't you please stop by and say hello to the new mom on the block: Blocks Of Stone? She is person worth getting to know. I know from experience.

Parenting or Personality?

We were out at the No Frills not too long ago, shopping for some last minute dinner (PC Butter Chicken, if you're interested...no?...anyways..). The Boy, eschewing the stroller, was running around ankle-biter style, endlessly commenting on the things in the store and asking repeatedly for chocolate. The lady behind us in line smiled and remarked on how happy and well-behaved the Boy seemed to be. I didn't hear the comment exactly because I was off somewhere wrangling one of the kids - I can't remember which but does it really matter? My current occupation is Kid Wrangler Extraordinaire, and if I'm not with one kid, then I'm with the other. Let's move on to my point. Mr Earth replied that "Yes, we're very lucky". To which, the lady answered:

"Oh no, it's not luck, it's the parenting."

At first I thought that it was a lovely compliment, and I was quite flattered. Ever since then, though, I've been mulling it over in my head and wondering if it really is our parenting that has created the Boy, or whether the Boy is simply a good-natured, (mostly) easygoing kid.

Before you start thinking that this is a braggy bragamondo post, I've had people describe the Boy as a "handful" (yeah, that waiter didn't get a tip, nosiree..) and I've had my fair share of disdainful looks while the Boy is full out tantruming (is that a word?) in his stroller. Screaming. At. The. Top. Of. His. Lungs. Usually because I turned left when he wanted to go right, or brought fishy crackers when he wanted bunny ones.

You see, I don't think we've done anything especially wonderful and ground-breaking as parents. Just tried to be there for him, play with him, talk to him and treat him like a person. And try not to scream too much, even when we're tired. And we're tired too much. I'd like to believe that all the Parenting books I've read have shaped me into SuperMom, but the reality is that I read those books and think "What a great idea!", try to incorporate the idea into our lives, but my mind is a sieve, and great ideas go out the window when I'm tired and someone is screaming. Or I'm tired. Wait, I think I said that already..

Whatever we did right with the Boy, is something I'd like to repeat with the Little Guy. I'd like him to fool people into thinking he's well behaved too. Heh, heh. But how can we do that when we didn't "do" anything? Or worse, how can we do anything at all if personality is the the key, and not parenting?

Mostly I'm an average parent. A lot of times, I'm rather poor. Sometimes, I have moments of brilliance. Those moments, though, are few and far between.

Gigantibaby!

At his four month appointment yesterday...SURVEY SAYS... a whopping 18.2 lbs! At 25.4 inches long, that is one dense little mound of baby. No wonder my back hurts. But seriously, how can I refuse a face like this:

**Seriously cool shirt stylings by Sin.

Perchance to Dream

For the love of all that is holy, will someone please tell me how to get an infant to sleep - and stay asleep - without the aid of swaddling?

Last night, Mr Earth and I took advantage of the Boy's weekend visit to Nana's house to try out a "sleep bag" with the Little Guy instead of the usual swaddling blanket. We are firm believers in the Swaddle at Casa Earth. We used it with the Boy until - dare I say it? - six months of age. Because of the Swaddle, we had a kid that slept through the night from about four months of age, if my memory serves me correctly. We actually only stopped doing it at six months, because we went to my parents cottage for the weekend, and I thought he would be too hot without air conditioning. The first night, there were one or two wakings that were easily resolved and the next night, he slept through with no problems. We never swaddled again. I credit the Swaddle for a three-year-old who is a pretty solid sleeper. We've had some bad nights of course, but they are few and far between.

The Little Guy, though, is a bit of a sticky situation. I am more than willing to keep swaddling as he's still young. However, as I've mentioned before, we are raising the GigantiBaby. THE SWADDLING BLANKET DOESN'T FIT. Ack. This is the piece of material that I got when I went to a fabric store, and asked for the largest square of material they could produce. Because as seasoned Swaddlers know, swaddling doesn't work unless the blanket is a true square. Swaddling is fussy business enough as it is without bringing Mr Rectangle into the picture. No way, hosé.

So last night we tried the sleep bag. It did not go well. Wait, that isn't quite what I mean. It SUCKED. We got about two stretches where he slept for an hour, but otherwise he woke up every ten or fifteen minutes. All. Night. Long. Hello Sleep Deprivation! I wish I could say that it's nice to see you, but I hate to lie. The Little Guy didn't want to eat. He would take a soother, and go back to sleep. As the night wore on, I had to hold down his arms and legs to keep him from waking himself up. That got old pretty quickly, I tell you. A couple of times upon getting up from bed, I swayed like a drunken sailor from sheer exhaustion. Releasing one arm at a time isn't going to work yet, because it's precisely that - the wild jerking of his arms - that is keeping him awake. My gut feeling is that he still needs the comfort, warmth and restraint of the Swaddle to keep him asleep.

So tell me, oh wise internet mothers, how on earth do you non-swaddlers get your babies to stay asleep? Cause I have no trouble getting the Little Guy to fall asleep, but I certainly don't consider sleeping in fifteen minute segments to be sufficient for my sanity. Is there some trick that I'm missing here? Did I skip this class at Parenting School? Or, does anyone know where I can get swaddling blankets for the full-figured baby?

And hey - while I'm asking - do they make swaddling blankets for young adults? I want to plan ahead. I'm just sayin'.

Mis-Monikered?

Has anyone seen my Little Guy?


Perhaps you remember this face:



Apparently someone fed the open mouth:

I used to hold this little bundle of swaddling clothes in one arm easily:

Now, it's a two-handed heft:

I do remember thinking how scrawny he looked in this photo:

And now the only scrawny thing is Mr Corbeau on his sleeper:

Four months old today, and the only thing these photos have in common is that he is still scratching the bejeezus out of his face. My filing and trimming attempts have been total failures. All I know is, this kid needs to learn how to walk, and fast. My back is shot from carrying him around all day. Lord knows he could live for a couple of days off the rolls on his legs. A mother at daycare peered into the carseat and remarked:

"He doesn't miss a meal, heh! heh!"

Like I'm feeding him candy bars or something.

I'm not, by the way. I don't share my chocolate with anyone.

But let's just say that the Little Guy has...blossomed...into a Very Big Guy. At our two month appointment, he was just shy of 15 pounds. I'm frightened of what he's going to be at our next check up. More importantly, my back is frightened.

I'm not one to make name changes willy-nilly, but it feels somehow misleading to write about my youngest son under the label of The Little Guy these days. Technically, it still fits because he is the youngest. And anyways what would I - could I - change it to without it sounding vaguely insulting?

Mr Earth thinks he looks rather like Kingpin, but I have issues with naming my child after a supervillain.

If we got him the right outfit, he would make a dandy Humpty Dumpty - but as I recall that story didn't end all that well. Better keep brainstorming.

If it was summertime, and his legs were bared, I would have no doubt that someone would reference the Michelin Man.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't called him a little cutie potato. But how would I explain that to him when he's older and finds the blog? Sorry kiddo, we called you're brother "The Boy", but the best we could come up with for you was a random tuber reference..but we looove potatoes...

Can anyone out there think of a good name? I'm stumped. He's scratching the hell out of his face right now as I type and feed -- perhaps I should call him Baby Scissorhands?

Walk Like a Man

Friday morning, 6:15am. I hear a small hand knocking at the door. Snug in my bed but not yet asleep after an early morning feeding, I don't immediately register the sound. Once I do, I think it must be coming from the residents next door (they keep early hours and other people's kids). I close my eyes again. Next I hear a small voice calling my name:

"Mamma? ...Mamma? ...Mamma!"

I sigh and throw off the covers, sleep denied. I open the bedroom door. No one is there. The knocking starts again. It's coming from inside the Boy's room. I open the door. The Boy is standing just inside. I turn on the light.

"I had a wonderful sleep!" the Boy volunteers.

"Did you now?" I sigh again, required to start my day long before my wishes.

So much has happened in the last four months. We've come so far without really going anywhere that I forget, sometimes, that it has been a relatively short time since we've become a family of four. I forget, too, that while it has been a big adjustment for us all, the biggest strides have had to be made by the Boy. He was aware of the changes to come but completely unprepared for what they entailed. He has been, for many months now, very excited that he is a Big Boy. But it wasn't until the baby arrived that he really had to prove it. Test his mettle.

All at once, he's being asked to use the potty, learn to dress himself, stop sucking his thumb, walk instead of be carried, help with the baby, and on and on and on till I'm surprised that he doesn't retreat into his pre-brother world and hide away, a little fly stuck in amber. There he would be showcased in crystalline perfection, with no room for salty tears and banging fists. No one would see his disappointment when no pee comes out. Or hear his quiet query in the stroller: "Can I suck my thumb?" Or see him trip on a completely level floor.

What would they see? A Boy who has a sunny disposition and a heart of gold. A Boy who is envelopped in a four kid bear-hug before he can get his coat off at daycare. A Boy whose perceived faults only make him more perfect. If love were enough, he would know that he can only be wonderful in our eyes. He would know that exasperation and nagging, and yes, even involuntarily harsh words are simply a result of the circumstances, and no reflection on how we feel about him.

Because there is plenty of time to grow up. And if he can't figure out how to open his bedroom door, that only means we will get to love him that much closer, that much longer.

Because I'm a lusty wench..

The List. We all have one (don't we?) - of people that we would be allowed to sleep with should they ever come a-knockin' at our door. I think it's a sign of a healthy marriage. The Husband knows that if Christina Ricci started wooing him, I would quickly and quietly bow out of the way. And if he brought Ashley Judd home, I just might join in the fun. In fact, the Husband simply loves to tell me about all the gorgeous stars he would leave me for. And hey, if they want to sleep with him - all the power to him. I would be disappointed in him if he said no.

What the Husband doesn't particularly like, is hearing about all the guys that I would leave HIM for. Suddenly, the conversation is not so fun...

Join me over at MBT to read about my not-so-secret TV crushes

Can you recycle a Sitz bath?

So what, exactly, is the statute of limitations on getting your shit together after having a baby? Because although it seems like all I do is sit around on my ever-lovin' butt all day long, alternately playing with or holding one kid or the other, I still don't seem to have any time to do anything of consequence.

My house is a mess and it's not getting any cleaner. I actually avoid inviting people over because it would entail an hour-long mad dash to make the place only mildly less embarrassing than it is now. I feel like a heel for not returning invites, and yet the prospect of cleaning is just too daunting to consider. There are piles of gifts from Christmas and birthdays with no place to put them. There are even larger piles of mail that I don't seem to have the time or the energy to open, much less do anything with them. Except the bills, of course. I open those, and invariably end up paying them late. And why does my hair, which I am losing at an alarmingly rapid rate, have the sentience to avoid every single attempt I make to wipe it up from the bathroom walls and floors? I swear, if anyone comes to our house, they would think that a woolly mammoth lives here, not a family of four average Canadians. Oh, and that Sitz bath? Still in the bathroom from November. You know, just in case I want to use it again, or something. I'm not entirely sure what to do with that.

Don't get me started on the garbage and recycling that has to live in our house because we keep getting so much snow that it takes a fully-outfitted winter trek to make it to the garbage bins...Or the neverending piles of laundry either, for that matter. Out damn laundry! Out I say!! Good day to you.

On top of all this, or perhaps at the root of it, all is my barely concealed guilt every time that I send the Boy off to daycare. I know he loves it there, so that is not the problem, but I feel somehow like I've failed as a parent because I can't handle the two of them on my own. I've had them both home on the many (many!) snow days that we've had lately, and I swear that by the end of the day, I am literally swaying on my feet from exhaustion. I think if I had them both home all day every day, I would be a mere shell of the person that I once was. You would be able to talk to me if you like, but I would just stare blankly at all the pretty shapes and colours. Seriously, how do all you full-time moms handle it? Can you really do it all on your own without help?? Kudos to you if you can. Please enlighten me on how to be a better mother. Because right now? I feel like a big fat failure. I'm going to have to take "multi-tasking" off my resume, that's for sure.

Study In Green Crayon

for Wordless Wednesday

Beautiful

The snowstorms started January 1st, and have placed a heavy weight on my heart. More and more each day, I just want to pick up stakes and move somewhere with blue sky, green grass and leaves gently swaying in the balmy air. I'm tired, so tired. Tired of cancelled plans, delays, shovelling. Tired of people bustling by without saying hello. Tired of feeling trapped in a house I love, but can't stand to look at anymore. Tired. And sad. And tired of feeling tired and sad. Because I know I am blessed. I have two beautiful children that make my heart smile, a husband who is the person you can't wait to grow old with, lovely friends and loving family. So here is my Friday resolution:

To find amazement in the weather, not disappointment.
To find challenge in the snowbanks, not despair.
To find generosity on the roads, not anger.
To find playfulness in the attempt to get two children out the door in winter, not automaton precision.
To find health in the exploding diapers, not mountains of laundry.
To find growth in the tantrums, not annoyance.
To find music in the screams, not dischord.
To find peace and solitude in the day, not loneliness and isolation.
To find joy in the everyday, not tedium.
To find a happy family in the mess, not more to clean.
To find togetherness in the demands of parenting, not separation.
To find a mother in the haggard looks, not ugliness.
Because I am as beautiful as I feel.

Thanks, Carole.

I Heart Motherbumper!

Have you seen the new widget on my sidebar?? It's wicked awesome. Motherbumper made it for me to have a cool way to update readers on any new post of mine over at MBT. It's also pretty frakin' amazing that she made in the midst of sleep deprivation. She rocks. I wish I had half her talent.

Yes, in case you're wondering, it is February 14th and I'm posting about my lovin' for a fellow bloggy friend. Valentine's Day has been kind of sucky so far. After making 20 pretty neat (even if I do say so myself) Valentine's presents for the Boy's daycare friends, I got to the daycare Monday morning, only to find a note in his cubby stating that I need 36 presents, not 20 (due to the part-timers). Half the crafty stuff for the presents had been bought weeks ago, and were now sold out. So I spent the better part of this winter-forsaken-wonderland running around town trying to find substitutes.

As I was making these 16 extra Valentines last night, Mr Earth turns to me and asks "Do you want me to buy you something for Valentine's Day?" Ah, can you feel the love? Ten years in and we still have the spark.

Have I mentioned how much I hate winter yet? The car got stuck this morning - half in traffic and half out. Thank god my neighbour was there to help dig me out. It also got stuck as I was trying to park it again. More digging. More fun! Between that, being trapped in the house more days than I would like due to the snowy snow and the windy wind, almost having a car accident eventhough I was driving 20km per hour, and people who don't shovel their sidewalks, I'm pretty much done with winter. It can go now, thank you.

But just to prove that I do still believe in happy endings, check out the Boy's love story below:

What kind of mom are you?

So, you're alone in the house with two kids. Your three-year-old is, thank god, asleep. Your three-month-old just had the largest poo on the face of the planet and is leaking everywhere. You're downstairs in the playroom with a cream-coloured carpet. Your leftover pizza is reheating under the grill, and is going to start burning in about a minute. You decide to change the smelly bum, so you put a change pad down on the carpet and take off the diaper quickly, knowing the baby will undoubtedly poo again in short order. You smell something charred coming from the kitchen, and as you do, you notice a ginormous centipede making it's way across the carpet towards you and the baby. What do you do first? Do you:

A) Kill the bug.

B) Rescue the pizza from the oven.

C) Change the diaper.

If you answered...

a) You're The INSECTOPHOBE: After all, poo can be cleaned up and you can always find something else to eat. Disgusting, vomitous, overly large bugs in the house, on the other hand, are not acceptable. No, not in the least. Die, bug, die!

b) You're The GOURMANDE: Healthy, edible meals are your priority. Poo isn't the end of the world, and the bug may get mired in the feces, thereby killing two birds with one stone. You need to feed the machine, if you're going to get through the rest of the evening alone.

c) You're The LAZOID: This baby is a poo machine, and your carpets are cream! Did I mention the carpets are CREAM? That may not have been your best idea, but cream they are, though, and unchangeable. You scoff at people who say that carpets can be cleaned, and claim they are leading a chimerical existence. Burnt pizza is a charming foible of yours, and bugs are God's creatures too. Besides, the bug is gone now. Out of sight, out of mind. Almost. And the burnt pizza? Yummy... Not.

***If you haven't guessed, I chose option C.

Report Card #3

It's always fun to see your kid from the viewpoint of others, so I love these little "Child Development Reviews" that they give from our daycare. I pretty much think the sun shines out of the Boy's arse (when he's not being a maniac), so I need some perspective. My comments are in italics:

Language Development

[The Boy] is a very verbal child and is not afraid to ask for help. He always has wonderful stories to tell and is an active participant during circle. [The Boy] enjoys singing songs with Rob, listening to stories during circle time and he is often heard singing his favourite songs throughout the day.

Yup, not afraid to ask for help, although "Mummy help" usually means "Mummy do." Lucky for him I'm a sucker for good manners. As long as he says please, I'm pretty much his puppet on a string. The Boy has just started to develop his own interests when it comes to music. This is really funny until he asks you repeatedly to sing a song that you've never heard of, or until you have to listen to Speed Turtle for the gazillionth time.

Cognitive Development

[The Boy] has a wonderful imagination. He is often found in the dramatic area with several other children role playing, or cooking lunch for babies and animals. [The Boy] is able to recognize some letters, especially those in his name, and count objects consecutively. He enjoys putting together puzzles alone or together with other children.

The question is - what are these babies and animals having for lunch? And why doesn't he make lunch for me?? I'm really busy sitting on my ass and eating bonbons, after all. I digress. I would disagree with recognizing "some" letters, I would say that he recognizes about 23 of the 26 letters in the alphabet. I would also disagree with the counting objects consecutively, unless you think "1 2, 3, 5, 9, 14, 15, 16" is consecutive, that is.

Motor Development (Fine/Gross)

[The Boy] has wonderful fine motor skills. He hold pencils with the pincer grasp when he is creating his many daily masterpieces. [The Boy] has been practicing very hard at independently taking off his slippers, as well as putting on his boots. Way to go, [The Boy]!! Outside, [The Boy] enjoys riding the bicycles, building sand castles, playing in the playhouse and playing soccer and hockey.

Other than the part about the pincer grasp and daily masterpieces, this comment is clearly meant for another child. We have a really cool bike that we got last Christmas that is gathering dust in the shed. We also have sports equipment that rarely gets touched. But we do have a LOT of artwork. I mean, a LOT. I'm thinking of selling it on Ebay. Didn't some guy make a film recently about his kid's artwork being indistinguishable from modern art?? I stand to make thousands. To support my bonbon habit, of course.

Food Consumption / Sleeping Behaviours

Most days [The Boy] is a great eater, often asking for second servings. [The Boy] sleeps at least an hour every day.

Sure, he's a great eater at our house, if I serve only pasta and crackers. I swear, he goes to daycare solely to avoid scurvy.

Social Interaction (Peers/Adults)

[The Boy] is very social. He is always playing with many friends in the dramatic area or working together to build castles and cars with the blocks. [The Boy] has no fears about expressing his emotions or concerns to peers and adults.

He must get this from his dad.

Inappropriate Behaviours to Monitor (if appl)

N/A

Ha! Obviously, he saves the tantrums for me.

Additional Comments

[The Boy] is a joy to have in the classroom. He always has a smile on his face and is always ready to joke around and have fun.

This is the Boy at his best. I know I'm biased, but I think he'spretty fantastic little man. We're very lucky.


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In other news, check out the new bling on my sidebar, awarded by the lovely KC at Where's My Cape. I'm blushing.




I'd like to pass on the blingy goodness to another excellent one-handed blogger, Kgirl at The Kid's are Alright. Eventhough she only gets to post when the stars align and the kids are asleep (I hear ya, man), every post is gold.

What I wish I had said the other day...

...to the otherwise very nice teacher at our daycare centre...

"Believe me, there is no one else - with the obvious exception of Mr Earth - who would like to see the Boy using the potty more than me. We have introduced the subject time and again, only to be met just shy of complete resistance. By complete resistance, I mean shouting 'NO I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE POTTY!' and other similar choice phrases. I fully support the daycare's attempt to get him interested in potty training. In fact, in the end, I believe it may be the only way to get him to use the potty - he has always been a child who wants to do what everyone else is doing. The reason(s) that I have not pushed the subject harder to date is because, in my qualified opinion, he has not shown any of the typical signs of potty readiness other than wanting to buy new underwear (and that, only because he likes presents, like his mum). He does not tell me when he has to 'go'. He is not at all uncomfortable wearing wet diapers, pull-ups, or even underwear. He doesn't show any resistance to wearing diapers or pull-ups. He has difficulty taking off his pants and underwear, and usually asks us for help in doing so on the few occasions that he actually tries. Need I go on? Also, we just had a new addition to our family a few months ago, and it's taking some time to adjust, however amiable and easy-going the Boy may happen to be. I RESENT the implication that I am not potty training our child because it "might be more work for me". It's more work for me to change two sets of diapers, instead of sending one child off to the potty. I may be exhausted from tending a newborn, but I CAN see the big picture. Plus, I don't have a lot of money and I am spending upwards of $60 a week to keep the shit from hitting the floor, to be crass. Because I respect you and your experience with children, I am going to try out your suggestion and spend a couple of days of having him just wear underwear, and see what happens. Frankly, I don't have much faith that it will make a difference. BUT, as I said before, I DO want him to be potty trained. I was just hoping that it would happen more agreeably, with support from the most important factor in the equation - the Boy.

Thank you for your input."

For Matilda Rose [MBT]

It is only fitting that this week's Musical Monday be a tribute to the sudden death of actor Heath Ledger. To tell the truth, I didn't believe the Husband when he told me the news. He's too young, I thought, you must mean someone else! And then, of course, my mind strayed to the inescapable conclusion that he was just another young star who fell by the wayside, into the path of drugs and destruction.

Admittedly, he's not an actor who fell under my radar. I had a mini-crush on him in the 2001 movie, A Knight's Tale, but I just thought he was an especially pretty young actor, not necessarily Someone of Particular Talent. The Husband and I both couldn't understand why his fans were touting him as the 'finest young actor of his generation'. We have yet to see Brokeback Mountain, though, so maybe we have missed out. It's on my must-see list, but the Husband has no interest, so it keeps getting pushed back.

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So Soothe Me!

They say there's a sucker born every minute. I don't know about that, but there were certainly two born in our household.

When you've got a couple of suckers on your watch, what do you do? Well, you end up jumping into the fray of the ongoing Mommy-battle: The Thumb, or The Soother? In one corner, we have The Thumb. It's all natural, can't be lost (we hope), the first thing that babies explore and the go-to choice for sucking. In the other corner, we have The Soother. You lose them constantly, have to disinfect them repeatedly, babies have to learn how to keep them in their mouths, BUT they are theoretically easier to get rid of later on, and will supposedly cause less dental problems down the line.

The Boy was a finger-sucker from very early on. Ensconced in the blissful two-on-one days of new parenting, we allowed it. Encouraged it even. I (all too vividly) recall hours of sitting on a couch with a (clean) finger stuck in his mouth. You couldn't go anywhere or do anything, but whatever. He eventually found his own thumb, and hasn't looked back since. For me, it's not all the big a deal. I sucked my thumb until I was five. My parents tried to get me to stop, but the more they harassed me, the harder I sucked. I just did it behind their backs. I did stop, eventually, but it was on my own time. On my own terms.

You'd be surprised at how much flak we get from the public, though. Daycare teachers have made passing comments about it. Nothing offense, but still. The ladies who run the local fruit market chastise the Boy when he sucks his thumb. I let that go, but it's a struggle. Total strangers have actually reached into my stroller and pulled the still wet thumb from his mouth. That made me mad. Now that he's three, we're trying to gently discourage him from the thumb-sucking. From everything I've read though, it isn't a real problem dental-wise till they're four or five.

Not surprisingly, it turns out that the Little Guy is a sucker too. If anything, he a bigger sucker than his brother. I've checked to make sure he's not hungry. He just wants to suck. A lot. And he gets mighty angry if he can't. Gone are the days, though, when we can leisurely sit and, well, give the Little Guy the finger. And you can't get anything done at all. Not. One. Thing. I'm not trying to be a Super Mom here, either. There are just some things that I have to do. Want to get the Boy dressed. SCREAM! Want to make the Boy some breakfast? SCREAM! Want to give the Boy a bath? SCREAM! Want to feed, dress or bathe myself? SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM! And then just to change things up a little, he will SCREAM A LITTLE LOUDER!!!

So this time around, we are trying to introduce the Soother. The Boy didn't take to it at all, but we only made half-hearted attempts really. This time, the Soother is a survival mechanism. I've always been slightly opposed to soothers though. I've seen some parents use it to shut their kids up, instead of the intended purpose of soothing a child who really doesn't want anything else than to suck. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and it stuck with me. It's all too easy to offer the kid the soother anytime he cries, rather than seeing what's actually wrong first. In fact, I'm already worried that I've fallen into that trap. But I simply don't know what else to do. It's impossible to function normally with an underscoring of SCREAMING every time you have to do necessary household tasks. So far, it's helped a bit, but the Little Guy is having difficulty keeping it in his mouth.

How do you feel about Soothers vs Thumbs? Is one better than the other? Is one wrong, and one right? And how in the heck do you get the kid to keep the pacifier in his mouth if sucking is what he truly wants to do?? I don't know if I'm doing the right/best/smart thing here, I'm just doing what I can to get through the day. I may regret it later. Let's just hope that the "later" is a long time coming.

And now I'm going to go and try to dry out my water-logged finger.