The Blue Binder

I remember the Blue Binder. And I remember the meeting where the Character Ed department gave the Blue Binder to each staff member. I remember raising my hand and saying, "Maybe you (the committee) should keep our binders until all the necessary documents are in them. I'm afraid we might misplace them." I remember someone making the argument that the staff were responsible enough to keep their own binders without losing them.

I'm just not sure what happened after that. I don't remember taking my Blue Binder out of the meeting room. I may have lost it that very day. Or maybe the committee, did, after all, heed my advice and decide to hold on to everyone's Blue Binders.

Trouble is, I can't ask anyone if I'm supposed to know where I put my Blue Binder. If I do, they'll know I've lost mine.

Bull's Eye (The Adventures in Poop)

I am a proud mother today.
My 19 month old shat on the can. Assisted, mind you, but STILL!
Here is my story.

It was a hot, muggy Sunday evening. Cole's dad had just headed out to play geeky board games with Yeats et al. I was cleaning up from supper, trying to prep lunches and make the house presentable for the babysitter who was coming over tomorrow. The happy chatter dimmed, so I turned to see what trouble Cole had gotten into. He was squatting underneath the kitchen table (in child's pose, if you will) with his arms straight out in front of him braced firmly and pushing against the seat of a kitchen chair. He was straining and his face was red.

"Uh buddy? Are you pooping?"

No answer. Only bulging eyes and the emotionless poop smile, where the cheeks get pulled back on either side, not because of glee, but because of the sheer force of the deed. It was evident the matter was in the making. Feeling a bit lucky, and somewhat inspired because Kenny from daycare had peaked Cole's interest in sitting on the toilet, I whisked him upstairs to the bathroom.

It occurred to me as I was about to pull down his drawrers that in all likelihood, a little turd would roll out onto the tile floor, so I peeked in first and it looked like the coast was clear. So with the swiftness of a jungle cat, I ripped off the diaper and hoisted him onto the toilet and held him there.

There ensued some straining and much concentration on both our parts and a lot of coaching and encouragement and when it was over, I taught him how to lean over in the downwards-facing dog so I could give him a good wipe. We celebrated with an ultra-long toilet-flushing.

The pride and joy was only dimmed by the lack of anyone else to share our good news with.

So I picked up my pregnancy/baby journal and noted today's date and wrote in big letters "COLE POOPED ON THE TOILET TODAY."

Enough said.

But the day wasn't over yet. And there were more poop adventures in store.

Bath time followed.
And I had the kid lying on his back so I could wash his face, neck and various creases, when he suddenly began to make the poop face again and his face began to turn red. My heart sank. This couldn't be happening to me! I'd heard stories. I'd read blogs. But somehow I had foolishly denied I would ever be in the position myself. I thought I'd never have to decide whether to scoop out a floater or to will it down the drain hole. I peeked down between my son's legs.

He was turtling. It was happening indeed. I was done for! And Mark was miles away. I almost gave up.

But then something happened. Perhaps an autonomic response to danger. Probably adrenaline being secreted into my bloodstream and glucose stores being mobilized and reaching all of my muscles giving me superhuman strength. I hoisted my slippery, bubbly and wet little boy out of the tub and half expecting to see a trail of pellets fall upon the bathroom floor, I flew over to the toilet and placed him firmly on the seat. As if from the momentum of his moving body, the most enormous shit I have ever seen leave his young body exploded into the bowl in two giant pieces and relief swept over me. Relief and amazement.

After drying him, diapering him and properly scanning the bath for offending escapees, I went back to my pregnancy/baby journal and added, "...TWICE."

Quaking

So there was an earthquake last Wednesday near Ottawa. My sister lives in Ottawa. She was visiting her sister in law and her kids. So when the quake occurred and Janie called, "Get your kids, there's an earthquake!" it must have been alarming and new to some of the younguns. Rhys, for instance, is only six. It was his first quake. My sister took her own baby and Rhys out while Janie collected the other kids.

Outside, some of the neighbours had gathered in front of their homes. Rhys was a bit worked up and warned some of the neighbours in a worried voice, "There's an EARTHQUAKE in our house!"

Niblet

My friend's son, Niblet, is 2 years old.
And he is at the heart-warming stage where, when his parents are leaving and they say to him, "Bye, bye, Niblet. I love you," he will reply in his chirpy voice, "Bye bye. I wuv you."

Also, Niblet is in the beginning stages of being toilet trained. As part of the understanding-what-poop-is-and-where-it-goes process, Niblet's parents take his poopy diapers and drop the poop into the toilet before him. He then gets to flush it down.

The other day, after such a ritual, he leaned over so he could peer into the toilet bowl and waved at his descending fecal matter and chimed, "Bye bye. I wuv you!"

The Great Escape

I visited my dad over the weekend.
On Saturday, my brother and his wife were visiting too.
I put Cole down for a nap in his playpen in the basement and went upstairs to visit for Jay and Michelle. Finally, the complaints and talking through the baby monitor ceased and I thought, "Finally! He's asleep."

I recounted to Michelle and Jay how Cole had been doing something like a handstand in his playpen when I'd put him down, walking his feet up the side and over the top of the railing. Michelle smiled at me and said, "One of these days, you're going to put him down for a nap and whammo, he's just going to appear in the doorway."

Then, with timing too ironic to be real, suddenly he was standing there beside my chair, with a grin of enormous satisfaction, clutching his blanket (which he'd had the foresight to throw out of the playpen before making his escape - demonstrating that this feat was pre-meditated). I said, "What are YOU doing here?" And he just looked at me and giggled.

Identifying Uncle Jay

The Sweetest Words Ever Spoken

There was a time, when I was younger and life was simpler, when I would have said that the sweetest words that could touch a girl's ears, coming from the lips of the man she loved, might be "I love you." Or perhaps, "Will you marry me, darling?"

But I am older now and wiser. Being a working mom has shaped me in ways I never imagined possible. And I realized today that there does exist a lovelier phrase. When a woman is juggling a career and motherhood, defending her vegetable garden from rodents, throwing baby showers, paying bills, maintaining social and emotional balance, when her to-do list is two pages long and sub-categorized by date, it is then that an exhausted heart can be brought back from the brink of despair by a loving husband who mutters this single phrase...

"...What do you need me to do?"