A pox in our house

So it turns out that kids can now get vaccinated for chicken pox. I suppose the benefit of this is that parents don't have to suffer through their kids' misery as the illness runs its course. The downside, though, is that the protection provided by the vaccination is temporary -- you've got to keep getting it on a regular basis, especially after you've reached adulthood and are are at risk of contracting worse illness than childhood chicken pox.

I opted to not have Tim immunized against chicken pox, thinking it would be better for him to be sick for a bit and be immunized for life. The risk, of course, is that he would never get the disease because most other kids have been artificially innoculated. (Thus, chicken pox parties.) My doctor assured me that we could wait until he was 10 or 12 to see if he caught it naturally, and if not just vaccinate him then.

FFWD to yesterday morning: I noticed spots on Tim's trunk, which I immediately took to be bites. By the end of the day, there were more and they had taken on a decidedly pimply look. This morning, a few more, also pimply... Internet searches rules out Coxsackie (spots are on hands, feet, and mouth), roseola (body rash), fifth disease (rash on cheeks)... etc. I kind of thought it was too good to be true, particularly because Tim was neither feverish or seeming very itchy (though he was starting to squirm a little). I made a call to Info-Santé (Quebec's Tele-health) to go over the symptoms, and the "health professional" on the line assured me that even in the absence of a fever the symptoms I described could be none other than chicken pox.

Huzzah! Life-long immunity!

It may get worse before it gets better, but Tim is notorious for getting the mildest form of illnesses. Dude seems to have the immune system of an elephant. Croup lasted three days, and nobody lost sleep. The gastro bug that felled the rest of the house left him unscathed. Tim doesn't even know how to pick his nose yet, because the rare cold he catches doesn't last long enough to leave nagging crusties behind.(This is awkward when he does have a booger, as he runs to ME to get it out.) Tim is many things, but one thing he is not is a snot-nosed kid.

So anyway, Pox Party at our house!

Morning in the new house

We moved a couple of weeks ago. (That's the short version of that story.)

As part of the move, Constance got a new-to-her queen sized bed for her awesome big bedroom. Tim, who had formerly slept on a futon, inherited Constance's single bed. We used the "you get Constance's old bed!" angle to help him be excited about sleeping in the new house and in a new bedroom on the first night.

That first night, though, Constance and Ben slept at their mom's place. When C disappeared at bedtime, Tim was confused. Turns out, he thought that inheriting Constance's old bed involved getting to sleep with Constance as well!

He made the most of it. That first night, he got up a once or twice in the night and I put him back in his bed (not totally unusual). We thought heard him up again at around 4 am, and waited for him to appear bedside. He did not, and we fell back asleep.

In the morning, Tim was not in his bed. McPie eventually found him here:

Fast asleep in Constance's new bed. He'd found his way all the way downstairs in the middle of the night, and curled up amid her half-unpacked stuff. Possibly the more notable thing about the whole adventure was that he slept here until nearly 9:00 am, an unprecedented sleep-in. (Which he has not repeated since... Sigh.)

Perma PJ's

After nap 'nack, with bedhead.

Lately, Tim has been obsessed with wearing pyjamas. Typically, I get him dressed in regular clothes at some point in the morning because we are going out somewhere. Upon arrival chez nous, he'll beeline it to his room, close the door, and emerge awhile later wearing PJ's. Part of the fascination for him in all this is putting them on all by himself, so inevitably he spends the rest of the day (or until we get dressed to go somewhere else) with all or part of his PJ's on inside-out and/or backwards. While Tim is quite particular about getting his shoes on the correct feet, he's not fussy at all about the relative position of his pyjamas, as long as they are on his body. (The above photo was taken at about 5:30 pm.)

Belly to belly

I just had this conversation with Tim. We were lying in bed in the dark, and he brought it up spontaneously:

T: Hey, you got a baby in your belly.
H: Yep, it's going to get bigger...
T: Yeah, it's going to get bigger and bigger and it's going to come out and it will be a little baby.
H: The baby will be your baby brother or sister.
T: It will be my baby sister.
H: Tim, I think you'll be a really good big brother.
T: Yeah, I will.

A couple minutes later, as I was tucking him in and about to leave, he continued:

T: When the baby comes out from my belly, it will get bigger and bigger.
H: Um, the baby's in MY belly.
T: NO! The baby's in MY belly!
H: Uh... Okay, 'night 'night sweetie...

As time goes on, I think it will become obvious who is correct in this argument. :-)

Let it snow

Before the Xtreme cold wave hit, we enjoyed some good playtime in the snow. It is hilarious watching a toddler play in the snow! I let Tim loose in the backyard, and the snow itself was the toy/activity/play structure. He just stomped around in the six fresh inches of white stuff: stumbling, falling, making angels, throwing handfuls in the air... Whatever, it was the most fun ever!

After awhile though, it inevitably came time for sledding. Wherein Mommy pulls kid on a sled around the snowy block. Again. And again. It was good exercise for me, as most sidewalks weren't shovelled at all. And on our jaunt, Tim made an astute scientific observation (perhaps his first). Looking up, he exclaimed:  "Mommy! The 'no is coming out of the clouds!"

Gift of the Magi

We are a non-religious family, but thanks to Baba, Tim has ready access to a wide selection of Christmas books featuring the story of Jesus' birth. (I'm glad of this; religious or not, the story of Jesus IS the reason we have Christmas to celebrate. Might as well be honest!) His current fave is Margaret Laurence's version, which is really quite lovely.

Baba also brought Tim a Little Peoples crêche (aka Manger Scene) and gave it to him while we were away in Montreal. Because Tim knows the Christmas story quite well from the books, I suggested tonight that we act out the Christmas story using the Little People. When the Wise Men arrived, I asked Tim what they brought for Baby Jesus.

"Peasants."

When pressed for specifics, Tim informed me that the three wise men brought peasants consisting of myrrh, gold, and ice cream.

An overnight sensation

Tim is all about surprises. We wait and wait, worry, find ourselves on the cusp of giving up hope, then Voila! Mr. Expert shows up.

So it was with talking.

Now it's happened again with peeing on the toilet. Yesterday, I could not have coaxed Tim onto the toilet or potty even with M&M's. (And if he submitted to sitting on it, there was no expulsion of liquid whatsoever.) Today, I could barely pry him away from the toilet, and every time he sat on it (or stood over it), he managed to squeeze out enough droplets to justify squealing "I peed! I peed on the big white toilet/little green potty!"

It started with a morning with Dad, naked and post-shower. Somehow, he managed to announce before he actually peed, that he had to go. (Unprecedented.) Dad brought him to the toilet, and he just stood before it, aimed, and shot. Perfect, and was rewarded with M&M's.

FFWD to Mom suggesting trying it again. He tried to replicate his experience with dad by running upstairs... but nothing would come out. He was so frustrated! What is going on? I suggested that there may not be enough water in his tummy, and we should try again after lunch. Dude was chomping a the bit and when I finally suggested it might be a good time, he opted for sitting on the Diego seat on the downstairs toilet. When the water poured forth, he simply beamed with pride. High five's and M&M's all around!

The rest of the day was a bit of a snowball. He was keen to try his skills on the virgin Little Green Potty in the living room, and nailed it on the first try. During supper, he got up, ran to the living room on his own, and when I peeked in, there he was, standing over the potty aiming right into the hole. Bulls-eye! M&M's be damned, success was intoxicating and being allowed to empty the potty into the big toilet reward enough. Tim spent the rest of supper with his pants around his ankles, running back and forth between the potty and the toilet. Tim, wanna watch TV? NO! I WANT TO PEE IN THE TOILET!

I made the mistake of telling him that first thing in the morning he could try to POO in the toilet. The prospect was apparently as exciting as that of a visit from Santa Claus because he was so excited it took a good 45 minutes to fall asleep.

Can't wait 'til morning! Bring on that shit!