Our little elf

I picked up a seasonal topper for Tim at the dollar store today. He had it on for half an hour before a) I realized I should take a picture, and b) he realized he had it on. Of course, he realized he had a hat on his head the moment he saw me trying to take a picture. I was too quick for him, though!

But he continued to be cute for the rest of lunchtime.

Charades

When Tim turned 19 months and still wasn't saying any words, I figured I'd better teach him some sign language. McPie's band members had given us a baby signs book for a shower present before Tim was born, but I never really used it. I liked the idea, but could never remember the signs on the fly in order to use them and teach them when he was a baby. But as a toddler, Tim learned them faster than I did.

A month later, he speaks with his hands. Please, thank you, drink, eat, milk, cookie, more, all done, book, home, coat, hat, Wii, Mum, Dad, dirty, sit, look, ouch, dog, cat, bird ... and many more. Some are official (ASL) signs, and some are ones we've made up intuitively. He even signs when he wakes up in the middle of the night: "milk" and "please". First thing in the morning, he can't decide which he wants first, and signs both alternatively: "book!" "milk!" "book!" "milk!"

Tim does vocalize quite a lot (um, constantly... in fact, his sign for "drink" has a slurping sound effect), and seems to be -- maybe, finally -- on the verge of talking in words. Today, I found him on the couch holding a framed photo of McPie's mom (which he'd scoffed illicitly from an out-of-bounds shelf). I said, "Oh, you've found a picture of Nana." And Tim said "Nana!" I thought it might be a one-off, but it turns out that after some coaching, he got that it was a picture of Nana, and now he will say "Nana" when prompted. Finally, an actual word.

And Tim sings. He loves, loves, loves songs. Between us, grandparents, and the music class we attended in the spring and fall, we have a lengthy repertoire of kiddie songs (many of them singable nursery rhymes, you know the type), and he just LOVES songs. He has actions for all of them, to the extent that the action for songs have become the sign for the thing in the song when it's mentioned in a totally different context. And he's started singing along. Not in words -- just tunes.

Tonight, we celebrated the last Sunday of Advent. We're not a religious family, but over the past few years, we've developed a new tradition (in a patched-together family like ours, all the traditions are new) of getting together at alternating parents' houses for Advent Sunday suppers. (Then we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas morning together for supper and brunch.) One of the sub-traditions of Advent supper is that we sing Christmas carols around the dinner table as a prelude to dessert. The only family member not keen on this is Ben, who tends to mouth the words in a feeble attempt to earn his dessert. This year, Tim sang along. The only song he knew well was The Huron Carol (we have an illustrated book that he makes me sing to him a half dozen times a day), but after singing along to that one, he got into the swing of it and just sang along to most of the songs from his perch on Constance's lap.

It was pretty much the cutest thing ever.

For posterity

Constance started high school this September (in Quebec, high school = grades seven to ten). She was very anxious about starting, but it's been going well, to say the least. Just now, we are sitting at opposite ends of the dining table at our respective laptops, and had the following exchange:

H: "Uuuggh. Thank god for Friday."
C: "I'm not grateful for the weekend. I wish it was school."

Ah, the idealism of the young.

Big thanks, little thanks

We've just returned from celebrating Thanksgiving at my mother's place in the Annapolis Valley. What an amazing way to kick of the fall season. Although we rarely do any sightseeing when we visit, the farmhouse itself, the cozy company, delicious food, rural setting, and always-festive atmosphere (ie: cocktails served on the dot of noon) embodies the season of harvest and giving thanks for a bounteous year.

Of course, it was a ton of fun getting "the twins" together again. How awesome is it that Tim has a cousin exactly his age? Right now, I think the benefit is all for the parents. The boys seem to not mind each other, and are certainly enthusiastic about reuniting first thing in the morning, but the novelty wears a bit thin as the day wears on, and they're ready to get back to having the parents all to themselves. As the grow, their individual personalities are emerging clearly. Lucas is the wild man, always on the move, exuberant and enthusiastic, ready to have fun no matter what. Tim is a little more cautious, takes his time to check things out before diving in, is a little skeptical of strangers, likes his personal space, but still has a ready smile.

I found this picture, which pretty much sums them up.  (Note also that Lucas is not wearing pants. So like him.)

But ultimately, they got along well, and shared certain passions. Such as berries.

The only hitch in the vacation wasy the return odyssey. After arriving at the airport to return home, Air Canada first delayed our flight for over an hour, then cancelled it altogether. "Pick up your luggage from the carousel, and good luck!" We had to scramble to find another flight home. Note to Air Canada: "Ottawa via Toronto" is not a flight. It's a flight to Toronto, then another one to Ottawa. So rather than arriving home at 5 pm (perfect! Dinner time! Return to routine and a good night's sleep!), we arrived home at 2 am after two ups-and-downs, and five hours in various airports. It would've been easier to DRIVE home from Halifax.

On the up side, Sweetie McPie has aeroplan elite status thanks to his trips to China, so we got to chill in the Maple Leaf Lounge in Toronto. Tim chose those two hours to sleep, so we could really sit back and relax. It took a little work for McPie to convince me that you really could help yourself to anything at the bar, but I finally got the hang of it. Who can complain about unlimited access to Grand Marnier? Not I. Air Canada is forgiven, for now.

Slim Jim

The day after Tim turned 18 months, we went to see Dr. Oliver for his well-baby check up. Tim is extremely healthy (two colds and a couple of minor fevers so far; no allergies; no extra limbs), so scheduling this check up is mostly just for me to show him off to my doctor.

So, besides being an obvious genius, Tim measured in the 75th percentile for height, and the 25th for weight. He's a skinny minny! Or, as Dr. Oliver so astutely observed: you've got a runner there. No kidding? Where on earth would he get that from?

And seriously, this kid is all legs. He can scale vertical surfaces like nobody's business -- just swings one of them foot-long legs up and voila! He's on the dining room table. Or sitting on the barstool at the kitchen counter (which is where he insists on eating breakfast now -- a bowl of cereal or pb toast, depending on what his brother and sister on either side of him are eating.)

Language, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated. Although it's clear to me that he's a genius because he's created his own language, in which he chats constantly, Dr. Oliver says he's "delayed" because he doesn't say five words fairly clearly. I'm not sure what to think of this. Tim doesn't say any English or French words yet, but has many words, gestures, and facial expressions that he uses consistently for a variety of things to the extent that it's pretty easy to figure out what he's telling us or asking for. (Cutest: when he makes the motion of swinging a tennis racquet to indicate that he'd really like to play Wii. Which actually consists of Dad or Ben playing Wii golf or tennis and Tim watching, rapt.) And Tim often looks at us like we're just stupid when he babbles a question and we stare at him dumbfounded. Like "people! What about gaw-gi-gaw-gi buggla-bug don't you understand? I'd like to eat berries on the porch chair, duh!"

My theory is that he can't be bothered with these simple individual words and has skipped right to full sentences, existing language be damned.

Or he's delayed. Whatever. This weekend we're heading out to Nova Scotia, where Tim will hang with his cousin Lucas who has way more than five words in his English vocabulary. Maybe Tim will learn a thing or two (and maybe teach LuLu to scale hutch). Though from what I can tell, Lucas is more of a car and truck dude, while Tim is a dog and cat guy.

Lunch or laundry?

Hi. I need help with something. I need to figure out a way to be okay with doing nothing for a few minutes during the day. By doing nothing, I mean not cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, etc.

Here's what happens: I sit down to eat lunch after Tim begins his nap. While eating my giant salad (creature of habit - I eat the same giant salad every single day), I read my emails, the blogs I follow, some other news sites, or sometimes I read a book. This is something I can't do while Tim's awake, because, well you just can't sit for more than a few seconds when there's an 18-month-old on the rampage. So it's a moment of treat time.

In my head, sitting in front of the computer or reading a book is "doing nothing". I can do this while I eat lunch, because I can't really be doing anything else at that time. But the chores are lurking and once I finish eating, I should really get back to it. Right? However, I like surfing/reading, and to keep it going a little longer, I keep eating. After my salad, I'll get some nuts to snack on. Then a piece of bread with pb or a cookie, or even more salad. So I have an excuse to keep doing nothing. As soon as "lunch is over", it's time to get back to work -- get all the chores done that I could do so quickly while kid-free.

You see the problem, right? I end up eating two lunches, just to enable myself to sit still for a little longer. Am I a glutton, am I lazy, or just a bit mental? I figure I have two choices: either forget about relaxing and doing nothing (ie: get up off my lazy butt and just get the chores done already), or give myself permission somehow to sit there "doing nothing"... without having to have the excuse of "eating lunch" (even when lunch is actually over).

Meanwhile, as I sit quietly writing this during naptime, salad ingested, I'm eating peanuts...

Chomp, slurp, lick

You know you've made a kickass meal when the 12-year-old asks if it's okay if she licks her plate, and when she's finished doing so (you let her because she's old enough to know not to do it in public, and also you're flattered), she asks you if you're going to lick your own plate, because if not, would you mind...?

It was only eggs benny, but with cornbread and smoked prosciutto rather than english muffins and ham, and a lemony homemade hollandaise. (The cornbread was left over from the previous night's supper of moosemeat chili. Also a hit.)

What can I say, my family loves butter and whipping cream. Of which there was plenty in the cake I made for dessert: white butter cake with chocolate buttercream icing. A totally rich and yummy and super-simple cake. Sweetie McPie said "Can we have cake?" (Said not asked, because I don't think he thought it was possible, and didn't dare actually ask.)  But I whipped one up right then, right under his nose, just what he requeste: white cake with chocolate icing. I do take my job as a homemaker seriously!