Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Cole and Mom's Road Trip
We stopped at a truck stop then ate the park. Mom let Cole eat a paper bag so she had time to have her lunch.
Then we played on the grass.
Cole got to meet Aunt Mary's neices and nephew. Here are Carys and Delyth.
Aunt Mary's new house with her new baby: Frisbee.
Aunt Mary, Marie and her little Robert.
The Schwarma guy.He loved to walk Cole around the store, sing Lebanese songs and dance. He even asked Cole to give him five, and was shocked when Cole did!
Aunt Mary was so helpful! She changed diapers and fed the little Cole-man.
After Ottawa, Cole and Mom met Uncle Jay at Grandpa Dave's place. And Uncle Jay kept Cole happy for a long time.
Symbiotic Mutualism: Cody gets some lovin' and Cole gets his face cleaned.
First you take some paint and a pot scrubber and a canvas....
Next, you apply the paint to the canvas with your fingers....
What was this pot scrubber for again?
Then, thoroughly apply paint to bottom half of your body.
Smile for the camera.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!Shortly after the making of this masterpiece, Cole's mom swiftly swooped her blue and purple baby up to an empty bathtub. She was smart enough to think to fill the tub earlier. But she'd forgotten to use the plug.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Controversy
Having a kid is the most controversial thing I've ever done! Not DECIDING to have a kid. THAT is not even questioned. It is just assumed you will want kids. Everyone begins asking you WHEN you're going to have one or a dozen from the moment you get engaged (or turn 30). But doing what's best for your baby, a thing that one might assume is instinctive and fairly universal, is not so simple.
For instance, how to help a baby sleep. You'd think that babies just do. That they don't need help. Well, some don't. But most do. Do you rock them or drive them or wear them? Do you do it until they're asleep, dozy or just calm? Or do you let them cry it out? Do you let them sleep with you? And do you do these things for one month? Three months? Six months? Or until the kid says it's time to call it quits?
No matter what you choose, you're doing it wrong! Either you're spoiling them, emotionally stunting them, making them insecure adults or fostering terrible irreversible sleep associations that will breed atrocious toddlers. It's petrifying!
I used to be an I-can't-let-my-baby-cry-it-out kind of a mom. It's terrible to cry yourself to sleep, I would say. But somehow, I'm reaching the end of my night-time-wakings limit. And a bit of "controlled crying" is starting to have its allure. I got a few books from friends and from the library and now I am scared INTO committing to this sleep training thing because apparently the "window" for doing this is small and if I don't do it soon, I'll end up with an unruly toddler who'll REFUSE to go to bed. I certainly don't want that. But how do you commit to a program that's difficult and may not work on your particular baby?
Let's face it, parenting is a big game of Russian Roulette.
Having a kid is the most controversial thing I've ever done! Not DECIDING to have a kid. THAT is not even questioned. It is just assumed you will want kids. Everyone begins asking you WHEN you're going to have one or a dozen from the moment you get engaged (or turn 30). But doing what's best for your baby, a thing that one might assume is instinctive and fairly universal, is not so simple.
For instance, how to help a baby sleep. You'd think that babies just do. That they don't need help. Well, some don't. But most do. Do you rock them or drive them or wear them? Do you do it until they're asleep, dozy or just calm? Or do you let them cry it out? Do you let them sleep with you? And do you do these things for one month? Three months? Six months? Or until the kid says it's time to call it quits?
No matter what you choose, you're doing it wrong! Either you're spoiling them, emotionally stunting them, making them insecure adults or fostering terrible irreversible sleep associations that will breed atrocious toddlers. It's petrifying!
I used to be an I-can't-let-my-baby-cry-it-out kind of a mom. It's terrible to cry yourself to sleep, I would say. But somehow, I'm reaching the end of my night-time-wakings limit. And a bit of "controlled crying" is starting to have its allure. I got a few books from friends and from the library and now I am scared INTO committing to this sleep training thing because apparently the "window" for doing this is small and if I don't do it soon, I'll end up with an unruly toddler who'll REFUSE to go to bed. I certainly don't want that. But how do you commit to a program that's difficult and may not work on your particular baby?
Let's face it, parenting is a big game of Russian Roulette.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
7 Months Old
Here is a wee update on our little Cole-man. Every day is he more and more like a little man and less and less like our gummy little baby. Over the past three weeks, he broke all four of his front teeth. He spent a lot of quality time with his dad and Grandpa Mike who treated him to plenty of walks and frolicks on the lawn.
Cole can quite effectively belly-crawl from one room to another. He reaches for electrical sockets, so we've plugged them up. He can move fast enough around the kitchen so I've had to put a baby gate at the step-down to the back door stoop. As if moving horizontally is not enough, he's a climber. He reaches up for chairs and his exersaucer and cupboards and his crib rail. He can pull his body up to a standing position or, if not, he hangs precariously dangling until one arm gives in and he falls on his head.
It is indeed a fun, somewhat sleepless and bumpy time in our lives.
Here is a wee update on our little Cole-man. Every day is he more and more like a little man and less and less like our gummy little baby. Over the past three weeks, he broke all four of his front teeth. He spent a lot of quality time with his dad and Grandpa Mike who treated him to plenty of walks and frolicks on the lawn.
Cole can quite effectively belly-crawl from one room to another. He reaches for electrical sockets, so we've plugged them up. He can move fast enough around the kitchen so I've had to put a baby gate at the step-down to the back door stoop. As if moving horizontally is not enough, he's a climber. He reaches up for chairs and his exersaucer and cupboards and his crib rail. He can pull his body up to a standing position or, if not, he hangs precariously dangling until one arm gives in and he falls on his head.
It is indeed a fun, somewhat sleepless and bumpy time in our lives.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Tag Along
Everyone talks about the over-abundance of zuchini, come harvest time, in every farmer's life. But no one mentions the over-abundance of spinach or lettuce. Well, our farm share this week and last has brought us lovely, organic greens such as lettuces and spinach, and our garden spinach and lettuce is ripe for the picking. In fact, the spinach has gone to seed. So I've become the neighbourhood vegetable tramp. I give it away like it grows on trees. Well, it grows in the ground actually. But I bag it every day and I skip across the road, across the driveway, across the lawn, to whoever's house, with my wares. If they take the spinach, but mention they like lettuce. Well, the next day they get lettuce.
Well, today, I sat in the yard and plucked some fresh spinach. Then I gathered Cole onto my hip, took the lettuce in a grocery bag, and off I went to Sharon and Tim's house.
Sharon and Tim's house is under renovations. Sharon, after thanking me for the spinach, wanted to show me around their home and explain all the renovations. I was fascinated and succumbed to the tour of the dishevelled house that will soon be their homeowner's dreams come true. Just as we were finishing the tour (we'd been upstairs, downstairs, in the powder room, in the basement, seen the water damage, seen the spot where the staircase used to be, seen the spot where the closets used to be, etc.) I caught a glimpse of something in my peripheral vision. I turned my head to the left and there, on my left shoulder, dancing mockingly in on my T-shirt, was a bright green inch worm.
My thoughts were, in this order:
1) ICK!
2) How did you get there? Oh, probably in the garden.
3) I wonder if Sharon has seen you. I wonder if she saw you as soon as she answered the door and she's been politely pretending you're not there. I mean, what do you say to someone with a worm on their shoulder? Perhaps, with my pig tails and my spinach, the inch worm was just the proverbial cherry atop my hippiness.
What do you do so as not to draw attention to the inch worm on your shoulder?
Swift as a cat, when Sharon turned her head, I reached up with my right hand, pinched the thing hard and flicked it onto a pile of magazines near the telelvision.
The inch worm comes free with the spinach.
Everyone talks about the over-abundance of zuchini, come harvest time, in every farmer's life. But no one mentions the over-abundance of spinach or lettuce. Well, our farm share this week and last has brought us lovely, organic greens such as lettuces and spinach, and our garden spinach and lettuce is ripe for the picking. In fact, the spinach has gone to seed. So I've become the neighbourhood vegetable tramp. I give it away like it grows on trees. Well, it grows in the ground actually. But I bag it every day and I skip across the road, across the driveway, across the lawn, to whoever's house, with my wares. If they take the spinach, but mention they like lettuce. Well, the next day they get lettuce.
Well, today, I sat in the yard and plucked some fresh spinach. Then I gathered Cole onto my hip, took the lettuce in a grocery bag, and off I went to Sharon and Tim's house.
Sharon and Tim's house is under renovations. Sharon, after thanking me for the spinach, wanted to show me around their home and explain all the renovations. I was fascinated and succumbed to the tour of the dishevelled house that will soon be their homeowner's dreams come true. Just as we were finishing the tour (we'd been upstairs, downstairs, in the powder room, in the basement, seen the water damage, seen the spot where the staircase used to be, seen the spot where the closets used to be, etc.) I caught a glimpse of something in my peripheral vision. I turned my head to the left and there, on my left shoulder, dancing mockingly in on my T-shirt, was a bright green inch worm.
My thoughts were, in this order:
1) ICK!
2) How did you get there? Oh, probably in the garden.
3) I wonder if Sharon has seen you. I wonder if she saw you as soon as she answered the door and she's been politely pretending you're not there. I mean, what do you say to someone with a worm on their shoulder? Perhaps, with my pig tails and my spinach, the inch worm was just the proverbial cherry atop my hippiness.
What do you do so as not to draw attention to the inch worm on your shoulder?
Swift as a cat, when Sharon turned her head, I reached up with my right hand, pinched the thing hard and flicked it onto a pile of magazines near the telelvision.
The inch worm comes free with the spinach.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Vegetablly Challenged
This year, Mark and I bought a vegetable share at a local, organic farm. (www.myfarmer.ca). Every week, we will have organic vegetables, fruit and eggs delivered right to our door. Last week, while I was in Peterborough, the first crop was harvested and delivered. In fairness, it IS early in the growing season. So the vegetables weren't exactly numerous. We had some rhubarb, some beautiful brown eggs, what we presumed were beets, some oniony looking bulbs, lettuce, parlsey and some more greens and sprouts in a jar. There was also a newsletter with recipes.
Eager to leap into this new adventure of trying recipes we haven't had before and broadening our vegetable palatte, Mark and I leafed through the newsletter and decided to make wild leek and parsley risotto.
The recipe called for two cups of wild leeks. I said, "Mark, I don't think we have two cups of wild leeks." He said, "We do if you include the greens." I looked in the bag of vegetables we'd been given. There were many things that could be called "greens". So I cut up the most leeky looking things I could find, which were not, incidentally attached to anything, but were long narrow green pieces, and included those in the count. "Which ones are the wild leeks, Mark?" I asked. I had seen store-bought leeks before and they looked like fat green onions. Nothing like that was in the bag. Mark pointed to the bag of shallot-y looking bulbs. Okay. I began cooking. The newsletter then called for shallots too though. Hmmmmmm. We didn't have any shallots. Unless what I was calling wild leeks, were, in fact, shallots. And what about those "leek greens"? Were they, in fact, chives? If so, they were oniony and could, perhaps count as shallots, which were kinds of onions, right? I was so confused.
I came upstaires and googled "wild leek". Wild leek stems do not look like chives. What I had counted as wild leek greens were chives. I should know better. I have seen lots of chives. I am growing chives in my garden.
The risotto was delicious, despite the confusion about the leeks, shallots and chives. In the end, expensive parmesan can cover any small slip-ups in the vegetable department.
What was left to eat this weekend? Beets. Actually, just a very small bag of teensy beets. I had thought beets were larger. I had also thought beets were harvested in the fall. I had not known beets were so beautiful when you cut into them. Like fuscia marble.
"Should we make borsht or baby food with the beets, Mark?"
"Borscht," replied my Ukrainian husband.
I phoned my father. He had a good recipe for borscht which included the beet stems and leaves. We needed four small beets with tops. I think we had three. But soups are forgiving. We purchased the other ingredients and then I began to chop. However, when I pulled the beets, by the greens, from the bag, I realized that the beets were different shades, one was purple, one was red, one was even white. And their leaves were different lengths and shapes. That is definitely not right. It seemed, in fact, that there was only one beet, several bundles of beet greens and....perhaps three radishes? But the radishes were not all red. One was white!
Back up to the computer. I googled "radishes". Then I googled, "beets". Yes, what we had here was one, very miniscule beet and three radishes. So I went to the grocery store and bought four "small" beets, which were four times the size of our one, organic micro-beet.
I got to the check-out counter with my beets and the cashier, who was a young gum-chewing, apathetic-looking teenager glanced at my produce and said, "These are radishes, right?"
This year, Mark and I bought a vegetable share at a local, organic farm. (www.myfarmer.ca). Every week, we will have organic vegetables, fruit and eggs delivered right to our door. Last week, while I was in Peterborough, the first crop was harvested and delivered. In fairness, it IS early in the growing season. So the vegetables weren't exactly numerous. We had some rhubarb, some beautiful brown eggs, what we presumed were beets, some oniony looking bulbs, lettuce, parlsey and some more greens and sprouts in a jar. There was also a newsletter with recipes.
Eager to leap into this new adventure of trying recipes we haven't had before and broadening our vegetable palatte, Mark and I leafed through the newsletter and decided to make wild leek and parsley risotto.
The recipe called for two cups of wild leeks. I said, "Mark, I don't think we have two cups of wild leeks." He said, "We do if you include the greens." I looked in the bag of vegetables we'd been given. There were many things that could be called "greens". So I cut up the most leeky looking things I could find, which were not, incidentally attached to anything, but were long narrow green pieces, and included those in the count. "Which ones are the wild leeks, Mark?" I asked. I had seen store-bought leeks before and they looked like fat green onions. Nothing like that was in the bag. Mark pointed to the bag of shallot-y looking bulbs. Okay. I began cooking. The newsletter then called for shallots too though. Hmmmmmm. We didn't have any shallots. Unless what I was calling wild leeks, were, in fact, shallots. And what about those "leek greens"? Were they, in fact, chives? If so, they were oniony and could, perhaps count as shallots, which were kinds of onions, right? I was so confused.
I came upstaires and googled "wild leek". Wild leek stems do not look like chives. What I had counted as wild leek greens were chives. I should know better. I have seen lots of chives. I am growing chives in my garden.
The risotto was delicious, despite the confusion about the leeks, shallots and chives. In the end, expensive parmesan can cover any small slip-ups in the vegetable department.
What was left to eat this weekend? Beets. Actually, just a very small bag of teensy beets. I had thought beets were larger. I had also thought beets were harvested in the fall. I had not known beets were so beautiful when you cut into them. Like fuscia marble.
"Should we make borsht or baby food with the beets, Mark?"
"Borscht," replied my Ukrainian husband.
I phoned my father. He had a good recipe for borscht which included the beet stems and leaves. We needed four small beets with tops. I think we had three. But soups are forgiving. We purchased the other ingredients and then I began to chop. However, when I pulled the beets, by the greens, from the bag, I realized that the beets were different shades, one was purple, one was red, one was even white. And their leaves were different lengths and shapes. That is definitely not right. It seemed, in fact, that there was only one beet, several bundles of beet greens and....perhaps three radishes? But the radishes were not all red. One was white!
Back up to the computer. I googled "radishes". Then I googled, "beets". Yes, what we had here was one, very miniscule beet and three radishes. So I went to the grocery store and bought four "small" beets, which were four times the size of our one, organic micro-beet.
I got to the check-out counter with my beets and the cashier, who was a young gum-chewing, apathetic-looking teenager glanced at my produce and said, "These are radishes, right?"
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Now
Now is a gift. And there is freedom in that realization. Instead of always wanting a different now, one in which we aren't stuck in traffic, one in which we aren't in the doctor's waiting room, one in which we aren't lying in bed with the flu, one in which we aren't quarantined because we're radioactive, shouldn't we be thankful for the now we have?
The problem is that the now we're in might be unpleasant or not as nice as the now we imagine. We compare our current nows to ones in which we are at the beach or drinking margueritas on the deck of some Muskoka cottage or a now in which our baby sleeps soundly all night. But what we forget is that we are not owed anything. We forget that every now is a privilege and even the unpleasant nows are better than no nows. When you're told you have cancer (or if your plane is going down into the Atlantic Ocean), you realize this even more. Every now is real and, therefore, wonderful.
Now is a gift. And there is freedom in that realization. Instead of always wanting a different now, one in which we aren't stuck in traffic, one in which we aren't in the doctor's waiting room, one in which we aren't lying in bed with the flu, one in which we aren't quarantined because we're radioactive, shouldn't we be thankful for the now we have?
The problem is that the now we're in might be unpleasant or not as nice as the now we imagine. We compare our current nows to ones in which we are at the beach or drinking margueritas on the deck of some Muskoka cottage or a now in which our baby sleeps soundly all night. But what we forget is that we are not owed anything. We forget that every now is a privilege and even the unpleasant nows are better than no nows. When you're told you have cancer (or if your plane is going down into the Atlantic Ocean), you realize this even more. Every now is real and, therefore, wonderful.
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