So now what do we do?

My kids get away with a lot. They're good kids, but they know how to work the system.

Take my daughter, for example. She's four AND A HALF now, she's quick to point out. And she just graduated from junior kindergarten. In September she'll be a "senior".

But get this; she has her own room, complete with her own pretty bed...which she hasn't slept in since she was three.

Where has she been sleeping, pray tell?

Why, in her Mom and Dad's room, on the couch next to their bed. Mommy and Daddy need T-shirts with "LOSERS" blazoned across them.

How did this happen? Well, she used to go to bed pronto right a 8 PM, we'd tuck her in with her stuffed guys, give her a kiss good night, and she'd be good. No drama for the night.

But she started getting up in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with us. And then before we knew it, she was spending most of the night in bed with us... so our new rule was, get in the couch, if you're coming into our room.

Then somehow we ended up being too tired, and she weaseled her way into getting tucked into the couch right away, bypassing the whole bedroom ritual entirely. (I suspect it was the hubs that allowed this to happen on a night while I was out. Yeah, I blame him for everything, and this is no exception. No willpower against girls who have certain grown men wrapped around their cutie little fingers). And to be honest, there's something just too sweet about hearing your little girl's gentle breathing next to you.

It just became habit.

But this was ridiculous. It's just bad news to lose the sanctity of your own bedroom. It can't be good for a marriage. Bad enough that kids invade your entire consciousness, let alone your sub and then total unconsciousness.

She promised, though, that she would go back to her room, eventually. Before she was ten at least. Well, that argument didn't fly, so she deferred it to her sleepover with her baby cousin, which was two weekends ago. She slept in her room, with her cousin in the playpen beside her. Not a single hitch.

It was beautiful.

But guess what? She went right back to our couch the next day. Grrrrr. And I have little energy to fight.

So here comes my little hero.

"G, if I sleep next to you on the air mattress in your room, will you stay in your bed?."

"Yay, it will be like a sleepover. Yay Goh-Goh, I will, I will sleep there all the night if you're next to me!" she shouted with glee. Literally jumping up and down and clapping.

Her last words to me as she faded into sleep this past Monday were,

"Mommy, if Goh-Goh sleeps here with me forever, then it's okay, I'll sleep in my own bed."

And she did.

And she has every night now, since Monday.

With her big brother by her side.

I asked my boy on Tuesday if he wanted to go back to his room. He replied,

"Uh, no, not just yet. It's comforting hearing her next to me sleeping. It's okay Mommy. I'll let you know when I'm ready to go back."

Where did we get this kid?

And so his Mommy thanks him. And his Daddy too.

Because of him, we've got our bedroom back.

Not that we've got the energy to do anything with this new scenario, but it's the principle right?

Always be my baby

As I was helping my little girl dress for school this morning, she asked me,

"Mommy, did I drool like a dog when I was sleeping?"

And I answered her truthfully.

"You did drool, but it wasn't exactly like a dog."

"Why do animals drool, Mommy?".

"Well, they do sometimes when they're hot, or when they're excited or ready for food."

"But I'm not a dog."

"No, you're not a dog. But humans drool sometimes too. Like babies. They drool when they're teething."

"Oh. So THAT'S why. Because I'm your baby, right Mama?" as she giggled and snuggled into me.

I melted.

"Yup. You're exactly right. You'll always be my baby.", I whispered in her ear as I squeezed her right back.

*****

In the day to day, it's not always top of mind what miracles my kids are. They're great kids, but they still know how to get my goat. But it is always with me, that without help, we may never have had our babies.

And I'll get the occasional nudge when I find out that, yeah, some of the hopeful baby vibes that I've sent out over the internet, do make their mark.

Congrats to my friend Xbox and his wife ET. He was the one who inspired me to open up on my blog about our infertility struggles. And I'd like to think that I was able to give them some hope on their own journey.

Looks like he'll have to switch subject matters now. I can't wait to read his take on the wonders of being expectant parents. Should be a wild nine months!

Living the dream

My eyes followed the beautiful ballerina as her seemingly weightless body floated across the stage, her tiny feet barely touching the ground. The emotion on her face matching the rich passion in her movements. I was utterly captivated.

Then the men took their turns, leaping, spinning, throwing themselves into the air with such strength and precision and mastery. It gave me goosebumps.

I had forgotten how much I loved the ballet. I had forgotten how I had longed to be a dancer, so many, many years ago.

I was touched somewhere in the depths of my heart, in the place where we hold special dreams.

I was eight years old again, dreaming the dream.

The final chords swelled from the orchestra. The principal dancer walked slowly forward, holding the precious flower in his hand, the look of such loving despair on his face.

"Giselle" was over.

I leapt to my feet, tears in my eyes, my hands clapping in unison with the thundering applause around me. And a feeling of sheer joy gripped me, knowing that I had just witnessed a magical, historical performance.

****

My sister took me and my mother to the ballet on Sunday. It was my birthday present (from October) and my mother's birthday weekend. And unbeknownst to us at the time that we booked the tickets, it was to be the very last performance of Chan Hon Goh, as principal dancer of the National Ballet of Canada. She has been somewhat of a living legend, well known for her beauty, strength and talent. After 20 years with the company, she has retired. At the age of 40, she has decided to shift her career and spend more time with her family.

When she came back on stage with the rest of the dancers, all eyes were upon her. Bouquets were thrown on the stage, several of her principal dancer colleagues came up her, each presenting a single rose, other famous National Ballet alumni came on stage (ie. Rex Harrington, Karen Kain...), her parents, and finally her husband and young son.

The crowd went wild as a shower of red balloons rained on the dancers.

And her little son, whose hand had been clasped by his beautiful dancer mother, broke away to kick through the round balls of fun. He grabbed a couple and threw them up in the air with glee.

Rounds of laughter arose from the audience and the stage.

A moving, perfect moment.

*****

"Mommy, how do dreams come true?" asked my little girl as I drove her and her brother home from the library the other afternoon.

"Well, sometimes dreams take a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, but if it's something you really want to do, you just keep at it. Mommy and Daddy will help you get where you want to get, but it's something you really have to want for yourself."

As I said this, I remembered how badly I had wanted to be a ballerina. But when it came time to step it up a bit and commit to training three times week, I was already spread so thin with lessons and school. My mother gave me a choice. To continue with ballet, knowing that despite my teacher's suggestion, I likely wasn't good enough to make it as a professional; or go with the music lessons and embrace something that wouldn't be so limited.

So at the age of 11, I gave up my first real "dream".

Fast forward over 30 years. After the practical route gave me my first experience with entrepreneurship (teaching piano while in highschool); after continuing with dance as a hobby, but opening up to other possibilities in school and career ... I come to my life as it is now.

Ten years ago I was struggling with infertility, wondering whether I would ever be a mother.

Another dream that I wasn't sure would ever be fulfilled. But I wasn't going to let this one go so easily.

So thankfully this dream did and is still, coming true.

*****

Back in the minivan...

"So sweetie, what is your dream?" I asked.

"I want to be Hannah Montana when I grow up!"

And her big brother piped in,"Well, G, if you really want it, you should sing some more, and then Mommy and Daddy can get you into lessons. Then you can practice, try out for shows, there are so many ways for you to get there..."

He didn't mention that she'd also have to dye her hair blonde and pick up a Southern drawl.

But that's okay.

After all, it's her dream and if she'll stick with it, we'll be there for her.

The Fear

Is it just me, or is the school playground not the equivalent of a war zone? The possibilities for major injury just ABOUND.

As spring has sprung, the kids are all about the climbing walls, poles, monkey bars, ladders, slides ... and all I see in my head are metal bars *CLANG*, chains - *CLANG*, the ground far below- *THUD*, wood chips and sand in the eyes- SPLINTER/SCRATCH/OUCH!!!.

And the warriors, as soon as they're let out of the cage known as school, are just FLYING all over the place. Flying monkeys resembling a hurricane with my little girl channeling Dorothy at the epicenter.

Things were fine last year when she was three. She didn't venture far from me, content to sit in the swing and try the see saw if there was another toddler around to play with. Or just push the sand around with her shovel.

Those days are over. This year, she's out to play with the big boys.

"Be careful, little G, this is making Mommy very nervous. Make sure you take your time crossing those bars, and concentrate when those kids are climbing around you!"

"But Mommy, I am being careful. I'm a BIG girl, I know what I'm doing!!"

"I know you do, sweetie, but it's making Mommy a bit of a wreck, watching you."

"So Mommy, DON'T WATCH ME!"

Clever little thing. I'm already scared.

Mother's talk

As anyone who's ever had a kid (and anyone who's ever been a kid) knows, a parent has to wear several hats at once, often more than one on any given day.

Cook, chauffeur, dishwasher, nurse, cheerleader, coach, hairstylist, psychotherapist, massage therapist, personal shopper... the list goes on.

I've got a bit of hathead today.

It's been a bit of a rough week in this household.

The boy got hit with a 24 hour stomach bug. He doesn't get sick too often, we are lucky that way. But he'd also managed to clang his head with the steel garage door on his way in an hour before bedtime. Great timing. So I was concerned that his nausea may have been associated with a concussion. Do we keep him awake? Do we let him sleep?

In the end, I decided to sleep next to him on the sleeping bag (oh, boy, there go the bones). He likened it to a sleepover. He seemed fine, but was having bad dreams and then a very verbal stomach. Thank goodness he doesn't share his Mom's emetophobia. He managed to get whatever it was out of his system, every 3 hours. He was back on his feet, and after a day resting, all is well again.

Yesterday's saga was not as fun. I don't know if I've shared this, but my daughter HATES anything fruits and vegetables and fibre related. Yes, this is a concern. She's already had one really bad bout of constipation and we had to take her to her pediatrician for that. (I'm sure she's gonna love me for this story one day.)

For this particular episode, I was a little more prepared. The poor thing was sitting on the toilet, her face so red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she told me it hurt and she wanted it OUT! "Is it going to be stuck forever?"

It was breaking my heart.

I'll spare you the details, but fixing it involved suppositories.

Yes, a parent's job is never done. Jill-of-all-trades, master of none.

So down she sat again, a bit happier knowing that Mommy had done something and that she would be productive at some point. With her princess book on her lap, she smiled.

"You're like a doctor! I love you mommy!"

"I love you too monkey."

"I love you because you make my poo come out and go away"

So apparently I am a master of one.

You can write "shit disturber" on my next hat.

Visiting the motherhood in 80 clicks

The whole time we were going through our infertility struggles, I remember sitting down at various points wondering what it was that drove me to want children so, so badly. It seemed almost obsessive, my drive to become a mother. Bringing me to the brink of insanity, sometimes, the frustration of it all. But I never found a good answer.

I was never one of those 'aw, coochie-coo' ing type of people growing up. Babies were cute, but I didn't necessarily need to have them in my arms. Admiring from afar was fine. Babysitting was a means to an end for me; I'm sure I corrupted many a youngster in my care with bad TV or inappropriate musical fare.

I suppose I'm a lot like my mother in that respect. While she loved and still loves each and every one of her own children and grandchildren, she's just pragmatic about all the rest. A labour and delivery nurse and trained midwife, she could lull a crying baby in half a second, but babies and kids were just part of work. Or in her words, just a lot of work.

Now that I've been a mom for almost NINE years (how in the world did THAT happen?), I can't say that my progeny will not be corrupted with bad reality TV or questionable selections from my iPod. Being a mom is not all about running through the fields and playing hide and seek amongst freshly laundered sheets, singing happy songs during circle time ... there are both good times and bad. But I wouldn't trade it for a second. Not a one.

So in celebration of all things good in the motherhood, I've decided to join the travelling caravan of blogging moms around the world, launched at Her Bad Mother. I share herewith, five things that I love about being a mother :

1/ I love that when I stroke my daughter's face, in awe of her white as snow, soft skin, her doe- eyes turn to me, she throws her little arms around my neck and she whispers "I love you mama" in my ear.

2/ I love that for every moment like this (and this is only 7 seconds, folks, I had to endure 10 minutes of contrived drama):


there are about five more like this:


3/ I love the squeals of wonder when they wake up Christmas morning to see that cookies left for Santa have been devoured and the stockings are stuffed with new little goodies.

4/ I love our good night kisses, the heart-felt "I love you too. See you in the morning"s. And how they usually pass out within three minutes.

5/ I love the Sunday morning snuggle in our king sized bed. We are sleepy, we are fuzzy, we are cozy. We are loved.

I sometimes wish that I could just stop time and capture these wonderful childhood moments in a bottle. That there were some way to savour them time and time again. I know things will change, the children will grow. I only hope that they will always know that the love that their mother holds for them knows no bounds.

*****

And now for the tour... I ask you to visit some other Canadian blogging moms: a new mom, blogging pal C of Random Thoughts & Musings at Manitoulin Island, and newer blogging friends at The Petite Gourmand and Blog like no one is reading.

A couple of moms from the US: Donna at Spuddy Buddy and Domestic Goddess in Training at Love, Laughs and Lice

And a couple of moms from overseas: Etc, Etc, Etc, the lovely Debbie from Japan and tiff and her beautiful family in Australia.

Enjoy.

Now this is how the day should start...

As I'm rushing the kids and helping them get dressed in order to meet the schoolbus that is due in a matter of minutes, the Boy notices something.

"Mom, is that white hair I see on your head?"

I reply with a sigh in my voice,

"Probably. It's from the stress, sweetie. It's a busy time for me now, so I haven't had a chance to colour it. And Mommy's getting old."

He puts his hand through my hair, lifts it through his fingers and says,

"Wow, there's quite a bit..." with wonder on his face.

But then he smiles at me and says,

"It's actually silver, Mommy. Silver is WAY cool."

My boy, my heart.

Me and my girl

As G and I ran errands earlier today, our last stop before home was the grocery store. We walked up to the glass doors, and they automatically opened for us. Little G giggled as we passed through and asked how that happened. We've done this hundreds of times before, but for some reason she really noticed it this time. Making our way through the aisles, I told her it was magic, which fascinated her.

While we waited at the checkout, she eyed the doors impatiently and could not wait until we got to them.

"Open Sesame!" I said, and the doors slid open as commanded.

"Open Sesame!" G repeated gleefully, and the next set of doors graciously obliged.

We moved toward the van and G shouted "Open Sesame!" Miraculously her door did as it was told.

After I buckled the girlie into her carseat, she smiled and yelled at her door,

"Close the Sesame, close the sesame!"

*******

G decided to wear her "Toopy and Binoo" pyjamas tonight. She shrieked excitedly as I pulled them from her drawer. I helped her change out of her clothes and as I pulled off her shirt I grabbed her close to me, tickling her a bit as her cuteness was irresistible, and I gave her a quick peck on her cheek.

"Mommy!" she said laughing, "...what are you doing?"

"Mommy's stealing a kiss!", I replied.

My little girl put her hands on either side of my face, brought her own face close to mine and planted a light butterfly kiss on my cheek.

"Now I'm taking it back!" she exclaimed excitedly.

*****

Magic and kisses all in one day. Life can really be sweet.

Weekly Winner #21

I'm sitting here in the quiet of a Sunday morning after a glorious wedding and rockin' reception. No children accompanied us parents yesterday. It was a nice break; yeah, we closed the bar down, us and the wedding party. You could see us a mile away, the couple with young kids, who just don't get out too much. Whooping it up on the dance floor, wondering what these new songs were, going a bit overboard when Human League, New Order, Justin Timberlake and Flo-Rida came on.

But this morning, it's quiet, too still. The kids aren't here. And it's Mother's Day. Before I get a bit sad, the phone rings. And it's them. My boy, wondering when we were coming to get them. My girl in the background with a "Happy Birthday, Mommy" (close enough!). All is right now.

It's been a pretty busy couple of days, and with the lovely weather we've been having, there hasn't been a lot of picture taking this week.

Except for one very special one...

I'm off to celebrate the day with my mother now.

Have a wonderful Mother's Day.

For other Weekly Winners check out the home of Sarcastic Mom

Thursday Thirteen - Kids are the best Life Coaches

With Mother's Day coming up this weekend, I thought I'd take the time to reflect on the things that my children have taught me since I've joined the trenches of Mommyhood. I'm not the quickest study, but eventually I'll get it: 1. Pride. Shyness is nice, but shyess can stop you. And shyness is me. But not so much my kids. And that makes me proud. 2. Patience. Not one of my best virtues to begin with. Reading the favourite bedtime story for the fourth time without wanting to scratch my eyes out. Then tucking the chatty preschooler into bed with another personal (sometimes made-up) childhood anecdote. Re-tucking her in for the 6th time and loving the request for the tummy rub and even the dismissive "You can go now mommy" as she fades to sleep. Yeah, I do that now. 3. Courage. To even contemplate labour and delivery. Better yet, look forward to someone the size of a watermelon coming out from through the whoo-hoo. Twice in a lifetime. I've learned to be fierce. Don't even think about hittin' my kid in the playground, because although I'm no Mr. Lady, I can hold my own: 15 4. Humour. I laugh at burps and farts, as long as they're my kids'. Even the husband doesn't enjoy that distinction. 5. Dexterity. Carrying a knapsack, diaper bag, beach bag, snack bag and five-year old's hand in one hand, baby carrier including baby in the other. That was my summer of 2005. 6. Fear. Watching my boy fall from the swing with a thud, thinking he's cracked his skull open. Not seeing him at the playground within five minutes of when he's expected, only to find him playing a bit further down at the other playground. Seeing my 3 year old go hurtling headfirst toward the door frame in her too-big shoes, witnessing the sharp edged mark on her forehead, just thanking the stars that she missed her eye. In a busy department store, not realizing I'm in the middle of an impromptu game of hide-and-seek with a two year old who's suddenly perfected the skill of remaining still and silent. Fear. 7. Expect the Unexpected. Poops in the bath - check. Sticky-gooey-gluey play-doh peeling the varnish off the antique table -check. Glittery silly putty stuck to the broadloom - check. Untold smelly treasures on the floor of the van -check. Last year's chocolate eggs squished into the dark corners of the sofa/trampoline - check. Super sweet hug around the neck after a wrestling laughfest-tears to the eyes and - check. This is just the beginning, I know. 8. Selflessness. Motherhood. Synonyms. 9. Determination. Getting him to shower more than once a week. Sourcing the Wii. Battling to be second in line for kindergarten registration. 11. Ingenuity. This one I need to learn more from the hubs. Make every chore a game, instead of a shouting match. Kitchen utensils, putting away the laundry, getting dressed, brushing the teeth, it's a race against time or each other ... events worthy of the Olympics. Diversion tactics during tantrums ... look at the robin's egg; hey isn't that a plane in the sky; let's play basketball, but finish up the reading homework first ... 12. Fun 13. Love. The enduring love between a mother and her two precious children. A bond that knows no bounds. Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there.

Brotherly Love

The other day while waiting in the doctor’s office for what might have been his second xray in a week, the boy was BORED. After sighing for about the hundredth time, he looked at the clock.

He then proceeded to rhythmically kick at the heels of his little sister, who was sitting very patiently next to him, happily people-watching in the busy waiting room. Of course, she wasn’t quiet for long, reacting in her usual manner. A whiny shriek is putting it mildly.

Quite irritated by this time, I said to him:

“L-ster. What are you doing?”

And he replied, “Mom, it’s that time of day. It’s in the schedule!”

Now you know how I am with schedules.

Puzzled, I asked, “What schedule?”

Rolling his eyes and laughing, he answered, “Come on, Mom. It’s the usual time when I’m supposed to annoy my sister.”

This kid. He’s good.

They did what they're supposed to do ... sort of

Here is my contribution to the (Breast) feeding carnival hosted by my friend Lotus at Sarcastic Moms. It's an important topic... I was so angst-ridden during that period of new parenthood. If sharing my story helps other moms and parents, new and not-so-new, then I'm glad. And if you're just here to read about my tremendous breasts, well you're a bit out of luck.

*****

One of the most embarrassing moments of my life occurred during a piano lesson. My piano teacher told me I was blessed to have a small chest. According to her, it was easier to play, especially if there were any crossovers required during a piece. And did you know, she added, you can still breastfeed even if you're flat-chested? Honestly!

At the age of 13, that conversation made my life feel so much better.

*****

Even before I got pregnant, I always knew I would breastfeed whatever children I would be blessed with. And during the almost three years pre-conception, I read every article I could get my hands on about keeping your body healthy to conceive, and then keeping it healthy and eating right stuff so you would nourish your baby to the fullest, once baby arrived.


Well the journey to baby #1 wasn't as smooth as I had expected, so to take my mind off of not getting pregnant, I decided to enrol in business school (3 year, part time program) while working full-time. Just for fun, yeah, best way to de-stress when you're trying for baby.


Wouldn't you know it; just after the first part of my program I did miraculously get pregnant. Hurrah! When the boy was born, a full month early, I was just finishing up my middle year. The timing was right; I would be off on maternity leave for a few months, so the schooling would keep my brain busy when I wasn't focussing on baby. Yeah.


I was preprogrammed ... exclusive breastfeeding, no soothers and no bottles because Breast was best and heaven forbid anything that could lead to nipple confusion. I was huge ... at least for me. Went up to a size C, there had to be TONS of milk there! The boy actually latched beautifully and we were doing very well the first week or so. But then he started getting lazy, falling asleep whenever he got on my boob. Wake up, kid, I know you're hungry! I would strip him down, just to try to keep him awake. And I would pump, pump, pump just to keep the milk going, as it was slowing down. But he would fall asleep, then wake up starving. He would nurse and then still scream. For more. And more.

I was so stressed ... did I mention we were living with my parents at the time, mid-move, waiting for our house to close? So my mother was helping me with baby, but would slide in a criticism here and there about giving him the bottle. See, we were all formula fed babies, and fine. And why couldn't I just give him a paci... he was screaming all the time.


I was miserable. Told everyone to back off, as they were trying to be helpful. Why couldn't they support me? I even called the lactation consultant and on the phone, honestly, she didn't help. In fact, she was fairly critical. I really should have taken baby physically with me to see someone. But I felt so much pressure to do this on my own, I didn't want any help.


After two weeks, at the pediatrician's, I was told that he was losing weight. And that's what really woke me up. I decided that it wasn't worth it to focus so much on the BF. I relented, we gave him the bottle. He slurped it up. And didn't cry hardly at all ... ever again!


I didn't really give up on the nursing though. What I did was nurse him first, on each side. And then I had some formula for him in case he was still hungry. We got to the point where he was almost exclusively nursing. So all the efforts I made with nursing, pumping (yup, that was fun as I carried my "lunch/pump" bag to class with me every weekend) and supplementing with formula as needed... totally worth it. We did this for 6 months before he weaned from me and preferred the bottle.

****

Four years later, another roller-coaster ride to baby number two. This time, yes, this time I was going to do it. I had decided to stay at home so the baby would be with me all the time. Surely this baby would do well?! You'd think I would have learned a thing or two first time around.

I guess I'm a bit slow on the uptake. If anything I was more obsessed (possessed?) to exclusively nurse the girl. But the same darn pattern happened again. My kids like to sleep when they eat!!!! I had no problems with latching - just as baby would start eating, she would pass right out! And this time I did take her to the lactation consultant, had her weighed before and after a feed, just to see how much she was getting. Had her practically nude to keep her awake. And sure enough, she was losing weight! Arggggghhhhhh!

I took herbs (fenugreek, blessed thistle) even though I was reluctant. My experience in the drug industry taught me that not enough studies are done about lactation and nursing mothers and how much passes into mother's milk. But I was getting desperate. I went and got one of these contraptions too ...




About a million other things I would prefer to wear around my neck, like a Tiffany necklace or something? But the things you do for your kids. I tried it for a couple of weeks. Soooo.... I had this weird lasso-thing strung around my neck, my chest fully exposed with tubes attached to the nipples. Still, baby slept on the nursing pillow. Not eating. Lovely.


At one point, it was even suggested that I try domperidone. A drug. Hey, I'm all for drugs, I know a lot about them. Okay, I know it must work, but I don't know if the drug has ever been officially approved for that use. I was worried about excretion in the milk again. I'm paranoid, likely, as I'm sure thousands of moms have used it safely. But it wasn't for me.


In the end I supplemented with formula ... again. And it was the smartest thing for me. Sure it was more work, but at least I was sure that my daughter was really full. My darling girl eventually was at a point of exclusively nursing too. She weaned at 17 months. She's the world's pickiest eater... but that's a whole other story.

*****

So those are my boob tales. I just wish they were still around to tell you their stories on their own. Unfortunately, along with the milk, they are long gone. But I still have those precious nursing moments to remember... and those with the bottle weren't too bad either.

So when should I be concerned

The Diva gets around...

She's always sleeping with a different guy.

Maybe her wild ways will settle down before she hits puberty.

Prince of hearts

Note to reader: a bit of a braggity post today. I'm not one to boast about myself too much (well, at least not usually), but my kids...well, hopefully I'm not one of those Moms who bore you to sickness with the minutia of all of the juniors' accomplishments. But I did feel compelled to capture this moment, as we often forget these fleeting, precious nuggets.

Today was another sad day, as another, local memorial service was held for Uncle D. As we had already taken the kids to the one in Ottawa, and I wasn't feeling 100%, we decided that I would stay home with the kids while Ian attended this one alone.

Last night when Ian's cousin AJ phoned to ask a favour of him for today's service, L asked to speak to AJ's son K, after his Dad was done. L and K have this tremendous bond even though they're 2 years apart (K being older). When they were toddlers and preschoolers, we weren't sure they were clicking. But that's not surprising, as 2 years is a huge age gap when you're 2 and 4. For the last couple of years, it's been completely the opposite. We probably don't get them together often enough, but whenever they see each other they're as thick as thieves. K is also L's only male cousin, a saviour among a sea of older girls and female babies.

When L took the phone, the first thing he said was, "Hey K, I'm so sorry about your Grandfather..." as he turned the corner out of the kitchen and out of earshot.

I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the way he said it, or even the fact that he said it at all. That he would know to offer these words to help comfort his cousin. Not just to offer these words, but really mean them. To see evidence yet again, that indeed, our son is a caring, sympathetic and empathetic little boy.

When he got off the phone, Ian asked him if he wanted to attend the memorial with him the next day. L boy said of course, he wanted to be with his Dad and to see cousin K. And although he didn't mention it, we know that he really wanted to be there to support his cousin, during a very sad time.

He continues to amaze me, this little guy of ours. He's had this awareness of others, of his surroundings, a keen sensitivity since he was such a little boy. I'd venture to say as young as 18 months of age. But lately, in his rush to grow up, in his growing social world courtesy of school and activities that no longer require us to be at his side at all times, we're not witness to this side of him as frequently.

Of course, he is quite sweet and tender to his sister (when they're not bickering), even though he's not paid to be. And I think at this rate, the love and tenderness will come to her totally free of charge.

Lucky girl. Lucky parents.

The First Sleepover Ever

My boy had his first sleepover this weekend. And I survived it.

He came prancing up to me on Friday when I went to pick him up from school. His cheeks flushed from the run, his eyes sparkling as they usually do when he sees me, he announced that his friend had invited him for a sleepover. And he threw his backpack to me and went tearing back to the playground. He didn’t even wait for an answer – he knew what it would likely be.

His friend’s mother came by to confirm the invitation. I told her that it would be his first sleepover. She asked me if I was okay with it, in a very understanding manner. She told me it would be tougher on me than it would be on my boy.

He’s forging new territory, this son of mine. My firstborn. Paving the way, hitting the milestone firsts with a little less hesitation everytime. His sister will likely follow in his path, he’s making it easier for her. He still needs his mom, but for different reasons than he did a just few short years, even months ago. He’s spreading his wings, trying new things, establishing strong friendships … experiencing life.

To be honest, I’m wasn’t sure that I was ready for it. I knew he would be. An overnight playdate with a couple of his best friends? Pizza for dinner? A movie and video games? Staying up late? What on earth could be better than that for a 7 year old boy? There was also the comfort of knowing that his own home was just around the corner. Major bonus.

I was happy that he felt safe and secure enough with his friends to want to go on an extended playdate with them. But sad at the same time. This was the first night he has ever been away from home when we’ve been here. The house felt rather empty without his presence, even though the little girl was keeping her parents quite occupied with her minute-by-minute demands. Little G was asking about her big brother all night, but seemed satisfied that he would have a good time when we told her where he would be spending the night.

In the morning, the parents dropped him home on their way to pick up their other son who was at another sleepover. As the doorbell rang, I could see L’s face pressed against the glass looking in. I opened it to see his flushed, excited, but somewhat tired looking face. “Hi Mom, where’s G?” he said as he scampered into the house looking for her. My sweet boy, he does love his little sister.

I asked him how the sleepover was. He replied that it was fun, and they fell asleep around midnight. Then I asked him about his schoolwork from the previous day:

Me: How was your spelling test?
L: I got perfect again.
Me: So Mommy owes you another cookie now?
L: No, but you do owe me a hug.

Wise little man. Still my little boy.

And so I complied, holding his precious surfer dude head close to my chest.

Is it possible to love someone more each day? Yes, I think it is.

I guess I'll just have to get used to him flying a little more each day too.

[This is him at 3; what a difference 4 years makes!]

Let's hit rewind

G has always been a tough nut to crack. From the time she was born, she has never been as affectionate as her big brother.

As a baby, L was a roly poly Buddha who loved to be held, cuddled, tickled and kissed. By everyone pretty much, but he’s always been especially snuggly with his parents and grandparents. Even to this day, if Grandma or Grandpa walk into the room, he’ll go over and give them a quick hug and peck on the cheek. And if Ian or I happen to steal a hug or kiss when we're picking him up from a friend's after a playdate, he doesn't really mind. He will even still sit on my knee occasionally when we're reading, all 60 pounds of him, just so he can be close and snuggle.

Not so the little one. I never thought I would ever use this word to describe a baby, but “stoic” seemed appropriate, even as a newborn. Unlike her little cousins, who've been cooing and smiling away at their parents since they were about two months old, I don't think G cracked her first smile until she was over the age of 4 months. She used to cry whenever she saw my parents; she's still not particularly warm to them unless we prime her; once she warms up to them (takes about 20 minutes or so) she loosens up, chats away, but will rarely allow a hug. A squirmy wormy she is. We don't know what it is. Sometimes when I sneak a kiss, she wipes it away with her hand and races away from me as if she's been kissed by the devil. Her own mother.

At bedtime, which is Daddy time for both kids, she'll sit through a couple of bedtime stories, tolerate her daddy's kiss as he tucks her in, and then whisper in her tiny voice "Daddy, go away."

We've just been so used to that from her. She will get cuddly when she's tired, or if she's hurt. During those occasions she'll take all the TLC she can get. And she also seems to have a soft spot for her big brother. He must have a magical touch with her, as she has a reserve of spontaneous hugs for him and him alone.

G CAN be affectionate. She's fiercely independent and so proud of what she can do on her own. Like everything else with her, it just has to be on her terms. She needs her space and she'll be very clear about if and when you can invade it. Her father and I just keep up with our attempts as per usual, with both the kids. We're not an exceptionally touchy-feely family, but we think it's important for them to know that such displays of affection are more than welcome in this household. Ian's a bit better at that than me, but then I am a Snake Mother.

So I could hardly believe it the other day, while we were getting ready for play school, when she decided to practice kisses on my cheek. She planted five sweet puckers on me, all in a row, just after I caught her from our daily wardrobe change/chase. Her little pixie face all flushed and smiling, I couldn't resist kissing her back as I pulled her up close to me.

She grabbed my face with her little hands, stared at me with her sparkling eyes and declared the following:

"I love your kisses, Mommy."

What a precious, magical mommy moment that was. I almost wept, but didn't, as I didn't want to have to explain why mommy was crying. Didn't want to confuse the girl. If only I could have captured that moment in time somehow, to experience being awash with love from the top of my head to the tingles in my toes in that nanosecond, and replay it over and over again.

I'm sure I'll have more of those "wow" times with my little girl as she grows, continues to amaze me and comes even more into her own. I just hope they won't be so few and far between.

Of butterflies and big girl beds...

We finally moved the little one into her "big girl" bed. And lo and behold, she's slept right through the night ever since. What was I thinking keeping her in the crib? It took an early morning crib rescue to convince the both of us (little G and myself) that she was indeed ready for the big time.

I woke up at around 2 AM the other night to the sound of my little girl crying. Which is not too unusual, really. I think the one thing that parenthood has taught me is that there's no longer such a thing as a good night's sleep - I'm lucky if I can squeeze in a good five hours before waking. It's such a habit that even when my kids do sleep through the night, I'll still wake up in anticipation - my body's internal clock is now programmed. What a drag.

But this particular time, there was a little more sense of urgency in G's cries. As I walked into the bedroom, I saw her sitting up, and in the hazy light cast by Winnie the Pooh's plug in, I could see the tears rolling down her face and her leg awkardly positioned with her ankle wedged between the corner rung of the crib. Uh-oh. Try as I might, I couldn't pull her leg up or out by sliding it either which way.

Finally I snapped out of my sleepy fog and had to reposition her so she turned her body into a crawling position away from me. Meanwhile, she was wailing as of course, she was still half-asleep herself. Poor little G. We had to face the facts -she really should be in a big girl bed now.

This fact probably hit me the hardest. The crib, it's the quintessential symbol of "baby". And after the little princess, there ain't no more babies in this household. So we've been okay with the fact that she's just loved her crib, and was reluctant on all counts to pass this down to her cousins baby J or R. I'm a little bit sad.

So what's a Mom to do when she's sad, but to embark on a little retail therapy. I hit Winners the very next day on a mission. To find the cutest "big girl" bedding possible. And we struck the jackpot with a some wonderful purchases:

-a duvet set with butterly designs just perfect, for a perfect little princess;

-a toddler gardening tool set to tend to our landscaping with her green thumb daddy
-some new shoes for mommy. After all, there's always room for new shoes in my closet.


And the crib? Well, it's still in the little G's room, complete with new occupants.
Shhhhhhhhh.....



We figure we'll leave it there until she (the landlady) decides to move it. But only when Mommy and Daddy are ready.

Happy Happy Joy Joy!!!!

Excuse me while I REJOICE! Giselle ate half a hamburger and 3 pieces of BROCCOLI tonight! Of her own accord. No major persuasion needed. I almost passed out with exhileration. I know her Dad's burgers are out of this world, but I didn't think she would try them until she hit her teenage years.

The magic trick was of all things, coloured toothpicks. I decided to chop up the burger and make a little game of it, so she could pick each one up like an hors d'oeuvre. And while I was at it, I poked a couple pieces of broccoli "trees". In they popped into her mouth too. BINGO!! When she cleaned her plate she said "thank you mommy for the dinner" right after her brother excused himself from the table. She beamed as she told us she's a big girl and growing bigger and bigger and bigger.

Let's keep our fingers crossed that this is the turning point I've been waiting over a year for. Thanks for indulging a major mommy moment.

School's out- braggity brag post

My little boy is now officially DONE Grade 1! A full year of full-day school. A remarkable year of friendship, learning, with a couple of truly amazing teachers. The kids were totally in love with the series of Mr. Men and Little Miss books. Each child in Liam's class was given a title, so Liam was Mr. Tall (for obvious reasons). The teaching assistant, Mr. R, a huge bear of a man but who was so obviously adored by each student, was Mr. Tickle. And his teacher, lovely Ms. E (who is even lovelier carrying twins!) was Little Miss Sunshine. They were a great team, and having had the pleasure of volunteering with the class through the year I was able to see the vast improvements many of the students made, and the love of learning that was clearly evident every time I was in the classroom. Mr. R even made a lovely slide show of the year, and will give a copy to each student.

So, the final report card was really quite good. I still can't believe that they grade the kids this young, but Liam had many A's, B pluses and B's, B being at the provincial standard. He's particularly good at Reading and Communications, and Health and Phys Ed (that part's not from me); meeting expectations in Math ( it may take a couple years for the Asian math gene to kick in - sorry, I'm so terrible!). Not straight A's, so I have to hide the report card from Grandma. But what I was most happy about was the comments section.

Ms. E reiterated that he is a hardworking, polite and conscientious student, with a very positive attitude to learning; he perseveres when faced with challenges and is always willing to assist others when needed. He's a reflective learner, self-aware of his strengths while recognizing his own areas needing improvement. WOW - it sounded like this had been written by his mother! To me this was the most important part of the report.

I had a great conversation with the mom of one of Liam's best friends yesterday, as they came by for a playdate and lunch. She shares a basic philosophy with me - academics are important, but it's more important to have be a well-rounded individual who is self-aware, empathetic, more in tune with the world around them - IQ with EQ. For her daughter, they're exposing her to music and the arts and skating; for Liam, he's tending more toward the sports. Although I'd still like to get him into piano lessons, and potentially visual art classes in the fall. But for now, I'm happy just to let him be a boy of summer.

A day of celebration as hubster is also officially in long-weekend mode, with Canada Day coming up. So yesterday was in fact also "throw-a-drink-back thursday"...

The wine we had with dinner - lovely full-bodied cabernet:


And after the kids were asleep, he brought me this:

All the health benefits of pomegranate juice beautifully combined with vodka! Love it, love my husband all the more for it!

Have a great long weekend to all my fellow Canadians!

Girly Friday

Fridays are my favourite day of the week. Even though I'm with Giselle pretty much 24/7, Fridays seem that much sweeter as we have a little routine going, totally instigated by my little one.

I hit the gym for my favourite hip-hop aerobic dance class at the Goodlife in Loblaws. It's a great arrangement, I've been with the gym since my baby was about 9 months old. One of the best gifts hubby ever got me, was this membership. Nothing like your husband investing in your health - mind and body!

While I'm at class, Giselle is having a great time playing at the childminding facility. The ladies there who watch her are fantastic - they've watched her grow from when she could barely sit. She's also got a group of buddies there now, especially little 4 year old Jacob who's a good pal. But not his little sister who's closer to G's age, because "she's a baby". I hope she doesn't continue to be this "clique-ey"!

After class, and my decadent shower, we do some grocery shopping. But for about the past month, we've gone to the "meals to go" section and picked up a quick lunch, headed back upstairs where there are some tables and umbrellas set up, and a huge window giving you a lovely panoramic view of Hwy 7 and Hwy 407, laying just beyond the breathtaking Loblaws parking lot. Ahhhhhh, you just can't beat the scenery in the burbs!

I did this the first time because I ran into one of my neighbours who was picking up sushi-lunch for her kids. We sat down with her for lunch. So the next time I finished my class, G asked "mommy, go down get lunch and eat upstairs?". I was flabbergasted! (Don't know if I've mentioned it lately, but she's a Chatty Cathy - with an ever expanding vocabulary of unknown origin). And then when we got to the table and set everything up, she actually ATE her chicken - no fries required! Eureka!

So these are my Fridays. A workout, lunch with my itty-bitty gal pal, and some grocery shopping. I'm sure it will be no time before my little G becomes my workout buddy too!