Tidbits from the past

I found this post in my drafts folder: from nearly two years ago. It's a good remembery, and I realize my mom is right - I need to write all this stuff down. Because I didn't remember this at all, and Ruby is even wackier than Tim was...

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(July 2013)

Now that we seem to be in the "winter" of the tantrum lifecycle, I'm able to sit back and enjoy some of the zaniness that Four Years Old has to offer.

For example.

Tim is running around with a blanket tied around his neck and flowing over his shoulders and down his back: he is a Superhero. He asks if there is anything I need help with (because Superheroes help people, don't you know.) He helps do a little sweeping, then I ask him what he'd like his Superhero name to be. He pauses to think.

"Kevin," he says, finally.

"What about a real superhero name, you know, like Mighty T or something like that?" I counter.

"No, I want it to be Kevin." And off he flies.

And then, he's rocker dude, sporting a shiny guitar, making up a hardcore tune to "It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring..." And then he decides that the really rock'n'roll thing to do would be to put on some mascara. Only, he can't exactly remember what it's called, so he asks if he can have "those eyelashes that aren't really eyelashes, but go on your eyes?" (Only it's extra cute because he pronounces it "eyelasses".) After some hesitation, I acquiesce, and he's surprisingly calm about holding his eyes still and open while I apply the makeup. Then Tim smiles winningly at me, opens his eyes extra wide and asks:

"Am I beautiful now?" (I assure him that he was already beautiful, before the mascara.)

Daily miracle (one of many)

I put my son on the school bus this morning, and as he waved happily from the window I was struck by no small amount of amazement: I can send my small, precious boy out into the world confident that he would return to me, many hours later, safe and happy. From my driveway to the very large school bus, into the school, through the many rooms and activities of the day, interacting with several adults and many other children, back onto the bus… There are so many people and actions that work together throughout each day that are designed and dedicated to keeping MY child safe and happy. And I don’t have to worry. It’s practically a miracle.

We are so lucky. To live in a community that can make this happen. That WANTS to make this happen. The policy-makers, administrators, teachers, educational assistants, volunteers, other parents, other kids… everyone around me is so invested in my child’s safety and contentment. It’s so simple, it’s been happening for so long – so many generations of other peoples’ safe and happy kids – I have been completely taking for granted how incredible this is. This seems to me to be the pinnacle of civilization.

(First day of kindergarten, back in September. It's now the dead of winter, so picture a fully-bundled youngster in a red coat and black snow pants, climbing the very tall steps of a big yellow bus...)

Good-bye thirty-seven

 

Well gosh, it's been a bit of a  banner year, hasn't it? We moved houses and had a baby: two sort-of monumental life events. I also dealt with more temper tantrums than I care to count (some of them my own), sweated pregnantly through the hottest summer on record. And my white-hair count multiplied about a hundredfold.

 

All in all: older, wiser, happier.

 

I'm kind of excited about 38. There's lots to look forward to. I plan to get back to work (plans still vague, but they do NOT involve commuting to an office!); regaining some adult independence (ie: more date nights with my Sweetie); continuing to settle into our new home and really making it ours; connecting more with friends and neighbours as we continue to develop and explore our new community; delighting in watching my kids grow up and up and up.

 

Really simple stuff. But what's not to look forward to? Especially when you start it all off with a homemade snickerdoodle cake. Onward, ho!

Au contraire

On the other hand, some days I know nothing. The following conversation is typical.

Driving up the Gatineau Parkway today, Tim pointed out the window to a clearing in the woods. "Is that a golf course," he asked.

"Nope," I replied.

"What is it?"

"It's a sort of park, in the woods."

"No," Tim said. "It's a golf course."

"Uh, no... it's a park. Or a forest." (I was trying to cover a few bases, to maximize my chance of success.)

"NO, IT'S A GOLF COURSE!!"

(And yes, the all-caps signifies shouting.)

Omniscience

Tim still believes that I know everything. For real. He does not accept "I don't know" as an answer from me. Actual conversation:

"How was gymnastics camp?"
"Good."
"What did you do there?"
"Tell me what I did at gymnastics today." (Completely earnest.)
"Um... I don't know, I wasn't there."
"TELL ME WHAT I DID AT GYMNASTICS!"

Food! Glorious food!

Ruby-doo will be six months old this coming Friday. For weeks now, she's been watching us like a hawk at mealtimes, following our forks from plate to mouth with eyes gleaming with curiosity and intent. She even kicks up a fuss when relegated to the bouncy chair on the floor; nothing less than the front row seat of Mom or Dad's lap will do. She's also mastered the knack of grabbing things and passing them back and forth between hands, and bringing them to her mouth.

So we figured she's ready to try her hand (and mouth) with real food.

First, we had to test her high chair readiness. Though she's getting there quickly, she's not quite sitting up on her own yet, so we had to make sure she she'd be comfortable in her high chair.



Okay, I'm good! Bring it on.

Next up: dinner time! I cooked up a few pieces of sweet potato so they were nice and soft. Ruby was very excited to join us at the table, and curious about the potato. She immediately began man-handling the goods, and got it to her mouth without delay. It was when she managed to actually swallow some that she became a little... uncertain. And decided it was time to stop playing this game. But it was the first time in her wee little life she'd ever swallowed something solid, so you can't really blame her.

You guys sure about this?

 

Okay, I'll give it a whirl.

 

Not bad, not bad.

Errr...

Um, no.







Let the adventures begin!



Lessons learned

Well. Didn't we have quite a day yesterday.

Back in December, I applied for a govvie job as an editor at the NRC. I got screened in and scheduled to do a pre-interview editing test. McPie came home from work to stay with the kids in the afternoon while I drove all the way out to the NRC for the two-hour test. We'd been trying to get Ruby to take milk from a bottle, with little success. (She'd progressed from spitting it out to chewing the nipple in amusement, but no real drinking.) I left them with a little milk in a bottle just in case, but we knew it wouldn't be much help. So I headed out, thinking I'd be gone about three hours, four tops.

Cue winter snowstorm. It took me THREE HOURS to drive home. I was DYING the whole way, thinking of the chaos that must be happening at home: it's dinner time, McPie home alone with a starving baby and potentially volcanic kid. When I burst in the door six hours after leaving, I braced myself for the worst.

I was met with silence. Then a soft "Hi Sweetie!" from upstairs, and McPie emerged looking completely sane and undisheveled. He ducked back into our room and returned with a very happy looking Doobie-doo.

WTF?

Apparently my child prefers attention to food. She was happy all day, as long as she was entertained. She even went down for a nap. (Of course, Tim threw a bit of a hissy fit because I came home "too early", but we managed to shut him down without too much trouble.)

Then McPie made supper, we put the kids to bed, I shoveled the driveway, and we settled in for a glass wine and enjoying the fact that all was right with the world.

And I learned that I do not want to take a job that reqiures me to commute across the city. Winter storms (and other inclement weather) are not unusual up here, and I do not want to revisit that white-knuckled drive again. Ruby may not need my milk that bad, but my kids need me for other reasons, and I'm not going to live my life that far away from them.

Amen.

While I'm here are other recent milestones:

Tim seems to have rounded the corner from three to four. His crazy tantrums are much less frequent, and they are almost always defusable (is that a word) by way of reason. Thank god. The little personality he's becoming is more and more visible and vibrant. He's truly becoming himself, and himself is starting to put it all together.

We caught Ruby making adorable mouth movements: opening and closing her mouth while smiling. It was new and sweet and very soon a clear indication that she's trying to "talk". She's imitating our talking mouths, and starting to spit out syllables. True baby babble. It's awesome. I will try to get it on video.