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.

All in the family

This always happens: my kids grow up and I miss it, somehow. It starts happening right from the earliest infancy. You are thinking of them as completely helpless, and then you notice that they are doing something, a certain look or reaction or action, that makes you realize that they are way ahead of where you thought they were. And as I became seasoned as a parent, I'm coming to terms with the fact that this is just how it works. The keep slipping out from under me, and I run to catch up.

We realized today that Ruby is big enough to put in the exer-saucer. She's probably been ready for weeks, but we were still thinking of her as tiny and helpless. We brought it up for dinner time, and she sat-stood in it the whole time, quietly puttering away at some project or other, completely absorbed, and playing by herself.

Today was also Family Day, so we went out for brunch. Just the four of us, since the Big Kids had to go to school. The experience at the restaurant was relaxed, pleasant, unhurried... When did this happen? Wasn't it just yesterday that "Tim in a restaurant" required quick service and constant high-intensity management? Does this mean we don't have to dread restaurants any more? (It does. At least for another couple of months... Though the way things are going with Ruby, she'll be happy to just to sit calmly in a high chair, sardonically flicking Cheerios at passers-by.)

For Family Day, we also enjoyed an afternoon at the Aviation Museum. I'd never been before, so check that off the list. It's a lovely, very mellow place. So much space for a kid to run free, and just enough hands-on to keep them interested. (Pictures to come.)

Finishing off the day: Little kids in bed, Big Kids out for a skate on the canal with Dad, and Mom with a moment of blessed Quiet Time. (On my way to bed to work on the last few chapters of The Lacuna.)

Life is good.

Child('s) play

I have a confession to make: I don't like playing with my kid. There. I said it. (Does that make me a terrible stay-at-home-mom?)

There are a couple of reasons I don't like playing with my kid. First, kid games are kinda boring. I totally appreciate observing my child learn and discover, and I'm happy to learn with them. But take the simplest concept (say, falling down in a funny way, or doing somersaults), and repeat x 1000 times = ugh! Enough already!

But more than that: my kid is a bitch. He doesn't always play nice. He's kinda bossy. I usually get bitched at for doing it wrong (even when I'm imitating him exactly; other times, I can't understand wtf he wants me to do). Or heaven forbid, I try to bow out due to fatigue (usually mental), or the baby is screaming. Like today, we were playing -- apparently -- belly flop. And throwing myself horizontally into the air and landing spread-eagled on the futon mattress on the floor was painful, especially as I was still in my pj's (ie: no bra, still lactating). So I fell knees first, instead of full lay-out. Cue TimmyTantrum™.

Fun.

Luckily, Tim has an accomplice on the horizon.

Miss Ruby cannot keep her eyes off her brother. Better still if he's moving. She's DYING to play those boring, physical games. I can't quite tell yet whether she'll be the type to happily take his shit, or definitely take no shit... But I'm confident it will be one or the other.

Then all I'll have to worry about is keeping them in peanut butter and jelly sammiches.

Babylove

As much as I am excited to discover the girl and woman that she will soon become, I would also love to keep Ruby just as she is, tiny and sweet.

Obstetrics lesson

Tim: "Why is Lilly picking up Coco from school?"
Me: "Because MamaCé had to go to deliver a baby."
Tim: "Why does she have to deliver a baby?"
Me: "Because she is a midwife."
Tim: "Well, is she going to deliver the baby in a mailbox?"
Me: "...[LOL]..."

Neurology lesson

(While cuddling up after a nasty tantrum caused by the sadness of Dad going to work.)

Tim: "You're getting on my nerves."
Me: "You mean, I'm bugging you?"
Tim: "No, you're getting on my happy nerves."

Sigh.

Growing up

Ben just came up with his laundry and needed to "have it done" asap, because he had no pants left. I suggested h throw it in himself -- something he hasn't done here before. I sent Tim in to supervise.

Tim showed Ben where the soap was, how to put it in the machine, then turned the washer on for Ben.

I've been saying lately that sometime it feels like I'm living with two 3-year olds. Today, I guess it was more like two 12-year olds. :-)