Lost Keys
Have you ever lost your keys?
Yes, but you have you ever been at the gas pump, after having pumped your gas, paid at the pump, re-capped your tank, gotten back into the driver's seat and found that you've misplaced your keys in the past three minutes? And there are cars behind you waiting to pull into your spot? And you think, HONESLY, how many places could they BE?!!!! And you check and re-check your pockets, and your purse, and the seat under your bum, and the hood of your car, and then your purse again and then your pockets again, and then you empty your pockets, and then you wonder if you could have possibly put them INTO the gas tank, and then you finally check your purse a third time and THERE they are?!
Yeah, me neither.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Toothy
For months, Cole has had a tendency to bite me. He gets excited or frustrated or maybe his new teeth are just itching to be used. I'm not sure. He just chomps on my shoulder, or that soft skin below my neck, but above my chest. Or if I'm doing dishes, he might stand between my legs, nestle his head against my inner thigh and take a chomp out right through my pants.
I've wrestled with what to do about the matter. I used to be in the bite-him-back/real-life-consequences camp about the whole thing, however, as a mom, I realize now that he's just too young. He's just doing what is developmentally appropriate. He's an oral guy. Freud would have a hay-day.
Anyway, Cole met his match on Monday. We were at the Early Years Centre and he was playing in the big plastic playhouse with a small basketball, which Cassandra (a month and a half older and a lot faster on her feet) had accidentally dropped in the window. She came around looking for the ball and Cole had it. Her mother informed me she's been "obsessed with giving kisses", as I watched her lean into Cole's shoulder. And unfortunately, I just couldn't get through the playhouse door fast enough when she decided to take a nice chunk out of his temple.
He cried, but he lived to tell about it. In fact, five minutes later, playing near her didn't even seem to bother him, leading me to suspect he doesn't have a very good memory. Either that, or he believes he had it coming. He DID after all, take her basketball. And really, crawling around the play room with a gouge out of your temple makes you look like the toddler equivalent of a bad boy. Some girls see him coming and just start to cry. Others swoon. We know how it goes.
It was an unfortunate unfolding of events.
But he hasn't bitten me since.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Stray lash
I was outside chatting it up with two of my retired neighbours the other day. Suddenly, Eric said, "Hold still, Melissa." Reminded of how a good friend might lightly brush away a stray eyelash from another friend's cheek, I paused as instructed. Eric then gripped a stray hair from the zone between my upper lip and my left cheek (I've often seen it there in the mirror - it looks out of place because it's blonde) and yanked, tearing it from the follicle, where it had been still firmly attached.
I was outside chatting it up with two of my retired neighbours the other day. Suddenly, Eric said, "Hold still, Melissa." Reminded of how a good friend might lightly brush away a stray eyelash from another friend's cheek, I paused as instructed. Eric then gripped a stray hair from the zone between my upper lip and my left cheek (I've often seen it there in the mirror - it looks out of place because it's blonde) and yanked, tearing it from the follicle, where it had been still firmly attached.
Choose Your Own Adventure
I was walking to the mail box yesterday, to drop off a bundle of invitations for Cole's first birthday. I had promised myself that it would happen this week, and so I was determined that they would go out that day. I set out close to 10:30 in the morning, pushing Cole along in the stroller.
When we arrived at the plaza, I rounded a corner and saw none other than the Canada Post truck parked right there. My heart skipped a beat. I began to try to remember the pick-up time posted on the red postal box. I began to walk faster. The box was at least four stores away.
Then, suddenly, there was a man in a white shirt and dark shorts walking just in front of me. Was that the postman? Where had he come from? I couldn't remember him getting out of the truck. I began to walk faster. He was going to get to the mailbox before me at this pace. So I swallowed my pride and began to run.
My hands gripped the stroller and Cole's little feet rose with the sudden swoosh of speed that overcame us. I raced past the man in blue and white, and I kept running. Baby, stroller and I, we passed the last two stores and then we were suddenly in front of the red mail box, breathless and triumphant.
I looked back.
The man turned and went into the Mac's.
I glanced at the handle on the red mailbox.
Drop off Times: 13:00 and 17:00.
I was walking to the mail box yesterday, to drop off a bundle of invitations for Cole's first birthday. I had promised myself that it would happen this week, and so I was determined that they would go out that day. I set out close to 10:30 in the morning, pushing Cole along in the stroller.
When we arrived at the plaza, I rounded a corner and saw none other than the Canada Post truck parked right there. My heart skipped a beat. I began to try to remember the pick-up time posted on the red postal box. I began to walk faster. The box was at least four stores away.
Then, suddenly, there was a man in a white shirt and dark shorts walking just in front of me. Was that the postman? Where had he come from? I couldn't remember him getting out of the truck. I began to walk faster. He was going to get to the mailbox before me at this pace. So I swallowed my pride and began to run.
My hands gripped the stroller and Cole's little feet rose with the sudden swoosh of speed that overcame us. I raced past the man in blue and white, and I kept running. Baby, stroller and I, we passed the last two stores and then we were suddenly in front of the red mail box, breathless and triumphant.
I looked back.
The man turned and went into the Mac's.
I glanced at the handle on the red mailbox.
Drop off Times: 13:00 and 17:00.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Shiver and Shake
I read a book on baby and child development which I borrowed from the library. In it, it mentioned that babies around 10 months old begin to develop weird shivers or shudders. You would think this might comfort me....that it's normal. Apparently, sometimes they do it when they're peeing. But then I started to see Cole shuddering A LOT. In fact, over the weekend, he seemed to be shuddering all the time! The kid just couldn't be peeing all the time.
So I talked to Mark. "I think Cole might have a tick," I said. Mark (the special ed teacher) replied, "Hmh. Maybe he has Tourette's", without even looking up from what he was doing. Okay, I thought. That's not the end of the world. Tourette's is completely manageable. And a shudder is a very small tick. That's not a terrible tick to have. He's not yelling profanities yet. I began trying to reconcile myself to the idea that my baby may not be perfect.
Then, this morning, I offered Cole his breakfast, "Cole, do you want blueberries?"
Shudder. Head waves back and forth.
"What about cheese?"
Shudder. Head waves back and forth.
"Are you shaking your head?"
Stares at me with beautiful clear gray eyes.
"Do you want Cheerios?"
Shudder/Head shake.
I guess we take certain things for granted, as adults. We forget that even the simplest motions, like shaking your head for NO, take practice and they may not look exact the first time we do them.
Wait til Cole hears that the first time he shook his head No, I thought he had Tourette's.
I read a book on baby and child development which I borrowed from the library. In it, it mentioned that babies around 10 months old begin to develop weird shivers or shudders. You would think this might comfort me....that it's normal. Apparently, sometimes they do it when they're peeing. But then I started to see Cole shuddering A LOT. In fact, over the weekend, he seemed to be shuddering all the time! The kid just couldn't be peeing all the time.
So I talked to Mark. "I think Cole might have a tick," I said. Mark (the special ed teacher) replied, "Hmh. Maybe he has Tourette's", without even looking up from what he was doing. Okay, I thought. That's not the end of the world. Tourette's is completely manageable. And a shudder is a very small tick. That's not a terrible tick to have. He's not yelling profanities yet. I began trying to reconcile myself to the idea that my baby may not be perfect.
Then, this morning, I offered Cole his breakfast, "Cole, do you want blueberries?"
Shudder. Head waves back and forth.
"What about cheese?"
Shudder. Head waves back and forth.
"Are you shaking your head?"
Stares at me with beautiful clear gray eyes.
"Do you want Cheerios?"
Shudder/Head shake.
I guess we take certain things for granted, as adults. We forget that even the simplest motions, like shaking your head for NO, take practice and they may not look exact the first time we do them.
Wait til Cole hears that the first time he shook his head No, I thought he had Tourette's.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Nocturnal Gardener
I love to garden. It's very cathartic, all the plucking of weeds and pruning of shrubs and planting and transplanting and the squatting in the dirt to peer closely, gauging the growth since the last squat-and-peer.
But this spring and summer, I faced a new gardening challenge: motherhood. Time is not exactly at a premium when one is a new parent. So, I developed a habit of taking a half an hour to an hour right after Cole went to bed, to garden. His bed time used to be 6:30....then it shifted to 7:30. Then, apparently with my noticing, summer turned to fall. And last night, well, last night was when I noticed.
I went out after Cole went to sleep at 7:30. I had one goal: to chop down my tomato jungle. It was no longer producing lovely, juicy, red fruit. Instead, it was producing partially green, rotting-on-the-vine, smelly lumps, infested with slugs and flies. So the jungle had to go. I took the pruning shears and chopped and chopped and freed bits of twine and scrap wood that had been used to prop up the tomato cages. I threw armfuls of tomato appendages into the paper bag. And the tomatoes that were already rotting on the garden floor, I dug little graves in the soil and laid them to rest. Maybe they'd help fertilize my tomatoes-to-come, I figured.
Then, as I lugged a heavy paper yard-waste bag towards the garage, a rose branch caught my arm. Mark had JUST been saying that the rose bush that climbs our trellis is getting kind of unruly, dangerous almost. And I had my pruning shears in hand and I had a yard waste bag right there, so, I decided to just chop a few branches here and there, to make the passage more passable. It was starting to get dark. I'd noticed it a bit while I was chopping tomato plants, but now it was really and truly twilight. I squinted into the darkness at branches, not sure which end of them was attached to the vine. I reached to delicately disengage a thorny claw from our cable wires near the roof. And I was pruning above my head when a tiny, prickly rose leaf fell down, down, down, into my cleavage.
And THAT is when I realized it was fall.
And it was dark.
And I was pruning a rose bush....in the dark.
And that is silly.
So I went inside.
I love to garden. It's very cathartic, all the plucking of weeds and pruning of shrubs and planting and transplanting and the squatting in the dirt to peer closely, gauging the growth since the last squat-and-peer.
But this spring and summer, I faced a new gardening challenge: motherhood. Time is not exactly at a premium when one is a new parent. So, I developed a habit of taking a half an hour to an hour right after Cole went to bed, to garden. His bed time used to be 6:30....then it shifted to 7:30. Then, apparently with my noticing, summer turned to fall. And last night, well, last night was when I noticed.
I went out after Cole went to sleep at 7:30. I had one goal: to chop down my tomato jungle. It was no longer producing lovely, juicy, red fruit. Instead, it was producing partially green, rotting-on-the-vine, smelly lumps, infested with slugs and flies. So the jungle had to go. I took the pruning shears and chopped and chopped and freed bits of twine and scrap wood that had been used to prop up the tomato cages. I threw armfuls of tomato appendages into the paper bag. And the tomatoes that were already rotting on the garden floor, I dug little graves in the soil and laid them to rest. Maybe they'd help fertilize my tomatoes-to-come, I figured.
Then, as I lugged a heavy paper yard-waste bag towards the garage, a rose branch caught my arm. Mark had JUST been saying that the rose bush that climbs our trellis is getting kind of unruly, dangerous almost. And I had my pruning shears in hand and I had a yard waste bag right there, so, I decided to just chop a few branches here and there, to make the passage more passable. It was starting to get dark. I'd noticed it a bit while I was chopping tomato plants, but now it was really and truly twilight. I squinted into the darkness at branches, not sure which end of them was attached to the vine. I reached to delicately disengage a thorny claw from our cable wires near the roof. And I was pruning above my head when a tiny, prickly rose leaf fell down, down, down, into my cleavage.
And THAT is when I realized it was fall.
And it was dark.
And I was pruning a rose bush....in the dark.
And that is silly.
So I went inside.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Incredible Monkey
Picture an exersaucer, with no one in it, in a living room. And picture me, sitting at the dining room table, just a few feet away, engrossed in writing party invitations for Cole's first birthday. I look over and Cole is playing on the floor. Minutes later, I look over again, and he is IN the seat of the exersaucer, with one leg down through the leg hole of the seat and the other one up by his ear because it obviously didn't find a leg hole. I have no idea how he got into there by himself! He may have used his box as a stepping stool, or maybe he just stood on the rim and grabbed the seat and pulled hard, but somehow I missed the whole thing.
Picture an exersaucer, with no one in it, in a living room. And picture me, sitting at the dining room table, just a few feet away, engrossed in writing party invitations for Cole's first birthday. I look over and Cole is playing on the floor. Minutes later, I look over again, and he is IN the seat of the exersaucer, with one leg down through the leg hole of the seat and the other one up by his ear because it obviously didn't find a leg hole. I have no idea how he got into there by himself! He may have used his box as a stepping stool, or maybe he just stood on the rim and grabbed the seat and pulled hard, but somehow I missed the whole thing.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Woman of Iron
(Delia is the bridesmaid on the right)
Delia Chan is an Ironwoman!
She completed the Canadian Ironman Race in Penticton August 29 2009.
Not only did she survive, but she completed the race in less than 13 hours.
That is a 4km swim (a bit over an hour), 180 km bike (a bit over six hours), and 42.2 km - a full marathon (which took her less than 5 hours).
Delia is incredible. She is a force to be reckoned with.
(Delia is the bridesmaid on the right)
Delia Chan is an Ironwoman!
She completed the Canadian Ironman Race in Penticton August 29 2009.
Not only did she survive, but she completed the race in less than 13 hours.
That is a 4km swim (a bit over an hour), 180 km bike (a bit over six hours), and 42.2 km - a full marathon (which took her less than 5 hours).
Delia is incredible. She is a force to be reckoned with.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Define Tired
We have some family visiting us here during the long weekend. They flew in late last night and yet, when I got up with Cole pre-dawn, they got up too, so excited they were to gush over him and rain love and attention on him. It's very cute. But, 10 year olds and 13 years olds are growing beings and need their sleep, sometimes more than they realize. As the morning wore on, it became an ongoing debate (dare I say, argument?), between the grandparents and the youngsters. "You're just tired. You should go back to bed," a grandparent would gently suggest. "I'm NOT tired," would always be the adamant reply, along with constant refusals to return to bed. This theme continued all morning with comments like, "I am an EARLY riser," and, "No, I don't usually sleep in," and, "I don't feel sleepy at all! I got enough Zzzzz's." I was baffled. I'd forgotten the presumed dishonour in a youngster's eyes attributed to admitting tiredness.
How would this conversation go amongst thirty-something parents? (My currently-growing circle of friends).
"You're just tired....."
"Beat! Wiped! Tuckered to da bone."
"You should go back to bed."
"HELLLS, YEAH!"
We have some family visiting us here during the long weekend. They flew in late last night and yet, when I got up with Cole pre-dawn, they got up too, so excited they were to gush over him and rain love and attention on him. It's very cute. But, 10 year olds and 13 years olds are growing beings and need their sleep, sometimes more than they realize. As the morning wore on, it became an ongoing debate (dare I say, argument?), between the grandparents and the youngsters. "You're just tired. You should go back to bed," a grandparent would gently suggest. "I'm NOT tired," would always be the adamant reply, along with constant refusals to return to bed. This theme continued all morning with comments like, "I am an EARLY riser," and, "No, I don't usually sleep in," and, "I don't feel sleepy at all! I got enough Zzzzz's." I was baffled. I'd forgotten the presumed dishonour in a youngster's eyes attributed to admitting tiredness.
How would this conversation go amongst thirty-something parents? (My currently-growing circle of friends).
"You're just tired....."
"Beat! Wiped! Tuckered to da bone."
"You should go back to bed."
"HELLLS, YEAH!"
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
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