Dinner Music
Dana, Ryan, Ana and Ben came over for supper tonight. Ben fell asleep in Cole's crib and Ana and Cole seemed to be playing really well together in the downstairs t.v. room, so the grown-ups were enjoying some peaceful conversation in the dining room while they ate. Suddenly, we heard a sound. It was like a crash, but not quite. I jumped to my feet, recognizing the sound instantly. Ryan said, "What is it?!"
"The drums!" I said and ran down the stairs.
Somehow, with Cole's limited vocabulary but satisfactory persuasive skills and Ana's fine motor dexterity, Cole convinced Ana to open the door to the basement. The lights were still off. It was a cave of darkness.
By the time I found the pair, Ana was holding a drum stick in either hand and was drumming on the cymbals. Cole was standing beside the stool, thrumming on the bass drum with his foot on the pedal. In his arms, he held a small football, a DVD and a purple marker.
I said, "Guys, Ben is sleeping. We can't play the drums right now." That seemed like enough of an explanation for Ana, who set the drum sticks down delicately, pushed past me and turned to say, "We were just playin' some music."
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Midnight Mishap
Cole wouldn't sleep last night. He was up from midnight to two in the morning. I was trying everything to get him back down. At one point, I decided to try rocking him in the chair in the living room. I had to navigate my way, without glasses, through the obstacle course of toys. I saw the riding truck and tried to veer around it, a tired little boy slumped against one of my shoulders, throwing my balance. I stepped down on what I immediately recognized as Chuck the Truck. Chuck rolled forward and I caught myself on my left knee. Cole didn't even lift his head. I threw my body onto the rocking chair only to find I'd sat on Tickle Me Elmo, who began to laugh demonically. Apparently, when you dislodge him from the crevis between your ass and the cushion and toss him across the room in the dark, his laughter echoes through the entire house.
These are the night-time adventures I never imagined I'd have.
Cole wouldn't sleep last night. He was up from midnight to two in the morning. I was trying everything to get him back down. At one point, I decided to try rocking him in the chair in the living room. I had to navigate my way, without glasses, through the obstacle course of toys. I saw the riding truck and tried to veer around it, a tired little boy slumped against one of my shoulders, throwing my balance. I stepped down on what I immediately recognized as Chuck the Truck. Chuck rolled forward and I caught myself on my left knee. Cole didn't even lift his head. I threw my body onto the rocking chair only to find I'd sat on Tickle Me Elmo, who began to laugh demonically. Apparently, when you dislodge him from the crevis between your ass and the cushion and toss him across the room in the dark, his laughter echoes through the entire house.
These are the night-time adventures I never imagined I'd have.
Friday, July 23, 2010
My Little Pez Dispenser
Jack-Jack, of the Incredibles, had a covert superpower, only discovered under the duress of an emergency. You know, the ability to change into a fire ball or a stone or to defy gravity and crawl on the ceiling. Well, under the duress of bedtime, Cole's superpower was also discovered and it has earned him the nickname "Pez Dispenser" or "Pellet Gun".
I gave Cole his milk, brushed his teeth, PJ'ed him up and plunked him into his crib. He protested loudly and then hollered, "Mommy. I poo. I poo on potty!" Not having read any books on toilet-training, but having purchased a potty to begin the process, I didn't want to quash any potty-going inclinations in the babe, so I took him into the bathroom, stripped him down, removed his diaper and plunked him on the potty. He squeezed and grunted and held his breath and then plunk-plunk, produced two fine fecal pellets.
Yay! I sang the "Cole pooped on the potty!" song and wiped his bottom and let him flush the toilet. And then I disinfected the potty, re-diapered the kid and was about to put his PJ's back on when Cole held up his finger authoritatively and said, "One more poop, Mommy."
SO, I undid his diaper, let him sit back down and to my delight, he wasn't lying. He made two more pellets. He stood up to inspect them proudly and then said, "One more!" And lo and behold, he made one more.
We flushed them. And while I was disinfecting the potty bowl, he sat down on the potty. "Wait! Wait!" I cried, "You can't poop on the potty without this bowl!" He sat down and produced three more pellets.
That night, thirty five minutes and fourteen poops after his original bed-time, I was finally able to put to bed a fairly content little boy with a seemingly voided-bowel. I was exhausted but also mildly proud. After all, how many of us can produce a bowel movement at-will fourteen times?
And THAT is Cole's superpower.
Jack-Jack, of the Incredibles, had a covert superpower, only discovered under the duress of an emergency. You know, the ability to change into a fire ball or a stone or to defy gravity and crawl on the ceiling. Well, under the duress of bedtime, Cole's superpower was also discovered and it has earned him the nickname "Pez Dispenser" or "Pellet Gun".
I gave Cole his milk, brushed his teeth, PJ'ed him up and plunked him into his crib. He protested loudly and then hollered, "Mommy. I poo. I poo on potty!" Not having read any books on toilet-training, but having purchased a potty to begin the process, I didn't want to quash any potty-going inclinations in the babe, so I took him into the bathroom, stripped him down, removed his diaper and plunked him on the potty. He squeezed and grunted and held his breath and then plunk-plunk, produced two fine fecal pellets.
Yay! I sang the "Cole pooped on the potty!" song and wiped his bottom and let him flush the toilet. And then I disinfected the potty, re-diapered the kid and was about to put his PJ's back on when Cole held up his finger authoritatively and said, "One more poop, Mommy."
SO, I undid his diaper, let him sit back down and to my delight, he wasn't lying. He made two more pellets. He stood up to inspect them proudly and then said, "One more!" And lo and behold, he made one more.
We flushed them. And while I was disinfecting the potty bowl, he sat down on the potty. "Wait! Wait!" I cried, "You can't poop on the potty without this bowl!" He sat down and produced three more pellets.
That night, thirty five minutes and fourteen poops after his original bed-time, I was finally able to put to bed a fairly content little boy with a seemingly voided-bowel. I was exhausted but also mildly proud. After all, how many of us can produce a bowel movement at-will fourteen times?
And THAT is Cole's superpower.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Naps and Fibs
Cole really fought his nap today. I put him in his crib at 1:30. It was an hour before he finally fell asleep. I tried rubbing his back. I tried giving him books. I tried taking the books away. I tried lying visible in the hallway and reading. Then I tried lying visible in the hallway and napping.
After about fifteen minutes, Cole stood up and yelled through the bars of his crib, "Mommy! I poo! I poo!"
We've been encouraging him to tell us when he's got to go, and we've been putting him on the potty. Knowing full well that I was probably being duped, I felt I had to follow through. I plucked him from his crib and stripped him down and sat him on the potty. His demeanor became instantly a hundred times cheerier. He began to chat away and sing, even. But he was not making any of his pooping faces. I kept asking if he was all done. He kept saying no.
Finally, I wrestled him back into his diaper and clothes and returned him to his crib despite his protests.
Minutes later, he was hollering, "Mommy! I poo! I poo!"
I laid on the hardwood floor squinting through the dim light at my novel and tried to make out the words. Mark came up the stairs and looked at me questioningly. Cole continued, "I POO! I POO!"
I whispered to Mark, "He's lying. He already played me."
Mark shrugged and went back down stairs.
Eventually the kid did fall asleep.
An hour and a half later, when he woke up, he had a tail-like protrustion in his diaper. All I could say was, "Sorry bud. I guess you did poo."
EPILOGUE
As I write this, he is fighting bed time and I can hear him saying "I poop" and oddly enough, I don't believe him this time either.
EPILOGUE #2
Turns out he wasn't lying that time either.
Cole really fought his nap today. I put him in his crib at 1:30. It was an hour before he finally fell asleep. I tried rubbing his back. I tried giving him books. I tried taking the books away. I tried lying visible in the hallway and reading. Then I tried lying visible in the hallway and napping.
After about fifteen minutes, Cole stood up and yelled through the bars of his crib, "Mommy! I poo! I poo!"
We've been encouraging him to tell us when he's got to go, and we've been putting him on the potty. Knowing full well that I was probably being duped, I felt I had to follow through. I plucked him from his crib and stripped him down and sat him on the potty. His demeanor became instantly a hundred times cheerier. He began to chat away and sing, even. But he was not making any of his pooping faces. I kept asking if he was all done. He kept saying no.
Finally, I wrestled him back into his diaper and clothes and returned him to his crib despite his protests.
Minutes later, he was hollering, "Mommy! I poo! I poo!"
I laid on the hardwood floor squinting through the dim light at my novel and tried to make out the words. Mark came up the stairs and looked at me questioningly. Cole continued, "I POO! I POO!"
I whispered to Mark, "He's lying. He already played me."
Mark shrugged and went back down stairs.
Eventually the kid did fall asleep.
An hour and a half later, when he woke up, he had a tail-like protrustion in his diaper. All I could say was, "Sorry bud. I guess you did poo."
EPILOGUE
As I write this, he is fighting bed time and I can hear him saying "I poop" and oddly enough, I don't believe him this time either.
EPILOGUE #2
Turns out he wasn't lying that time either.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Unka Guy!
Cole is in LOVE with his Uncle Jay. Don't get me wrong, I like Jay too. What's not to like? He's fun and he gives great airplane rides and he cooks bacon like nobody's business and he loves to shower Cole with attention. But at the cottage this past weekend, Cole would always be chirping up with "Hi Unka Guy! Hi Unka Guy!" cheerily, be it at brunch or lounging on the dock or during croquet. "Hi Unka Guy!" in joyous surprise as if he'd just happened upon Uncle Jay in the market downtown as their paths crossed. Like they'd just bumped into each other at the corner store while picking up some milk for their respective families. If he was a bit taller, he'd pat his Uncle Jay on the back and add, "So nice to see you again!" or "Fancy meeting YOU here."
On a more somber note, we took the opportunity this weekend to spread my grandma's ashes in the forest behind the Loftus cottage. Laying her to rest near my grandpa's ashes was a family event. We all tramped off over an overgrown path, my dad in his tilley hat, ever the biologist and bushman, looking up at the trees to remember which one was "the white pine" marking Grandpa's resting place. It was my dad, with two dogs in tow, me with Cole hiked up on one hip, Mark behind me, all six feet seven inches of Connor (possibly more) wearing his big sun-shades, Diane casually carrying her cooler in one hand, Mary, Ben holding Isaac who was supposed to be napping, Frisbee racing circles around us, Aunt Jo, Uncle Rod, Kevin, Sara, Liz and of course, Uncle Jay. The biggest congregation of Loftii the cottage had seen in some moons.
Suddenly, my dad stopped and said, "This is the place."
We were standing in the middle of the forest. It could have been any place. And what a big faux-pas it would been to sprinkle grandma's last remains in the wrong location. Near the "other" white pine. But as we all gathered around, Uncle Kevin (or was it Rod) agreed, "Yup. This is the place."
Then Uncle Kevin, who had the of ashes asked us to kindly take a few steps to one side as we were standing on grandpa.
I guess we could call it a ceremony. That's what we'd been calling it up until then. Everyone who wanted to, took a handful of ashes and sprinkled them on the forest floor, and Aunt Jo said Grandma liked Silent night, so we tried to sing it, but most of us got choked up. But nothing formal or forced, just a nice moment for Grandma. No words needed to be said. Except, just as we were winding down, and everyone was feeling a bit heavy-hearted.......
Cole chirped up, "HI UNKA GUY!"
Cole is in LOVE with his Uncle Jay. Don't get me wrong, I like Jay too. What's not to like? He's fun and he gives great airplane rides and he cooks bacon like nobody's business and he loves to shower Cole with attention. But at the cottage this past weekend, Cole would always be chirping up with "Hi Unka Guy! Hi Unka Guy!" cheerily, be it at brunch or lounging on the dock or during croquet. "Hi Unka Guy!" in joyous surprise as if he'd just happened upon Uncle Jay in the market downtown as their paths crossed. Like they'd just bumped into each other at the corner store while picking up some milk for their respective families. If he was a bit taller, he'd pat his Uncle Jay on the back and add, "So nice to see you again!" or "Fancy meeting YOU here."
On a more somber note, we took the opportunity this weekend to spread my grandma's ashes in the forest behind the Loftus cottage. Laying her to rest near my grandpa's ashes was a family event. We all tramped off over an overgrown path, my dad in his tilley hat, ever the biologist and bushman, looking up at the trees to remember which one was "the white pine" marking Grandpa's resting place. It was my dad, with two dogs in tow, me with Cole hiked up on one hip, Mark behind me, all six feet seven inches of Connor (possibly more) wearing his big sun-shades, Diane casually carrying her cooler in one hand, Mary, Ben holding Isaac who was supposed to be napping, Frisbee racing circles around us, Aunt Jo, Uncle Rod, Kevin, Sara, Liz and of course, Uncle Jay. The biggest congregation of Loftii the cottage had seen in some moons.
Suddenly, my dad stopped and said, "This is the place."
We were standing in the middle of the forest. It could have been any place. And what a big faux-pas it would been to sprinkle grandma's last remains in the wrong location. Near the "other" white pine. But as we all gathered around, Uncle Kevin (or was it Rod) agreed, "Yup. This is the place."
Then Uncle Kevin, who had the of ashes asked us to kindly take a few steps to one side as we were standing on grandpa.
I guess we could call it a ceremony. That's what we'd been calling it up until then. Everyone who wanted to, took a handful of ashes and sprinkled them on the forest floor, and Aunt Jo said Grandma liked Silent night, so we tried to sing it, but most of us got choked up. But nothing formal or forced, just a nice moment for Grandma. No words needed to be said. Except, just as we were winding down, and everyone was feeling a bit heavy-hearted.......
Cole chirped up, "HI UNKA GUY!"
For Father's day, Uncle Jay (Unka Guy) treats us all to lunch. Cole happily shoves straws between the tables.
Cole's taken a fancy to Mom's purse, much to his dad's chagrin.
I like to read with Por por.
A quiet morning on Baptiste. Great Uncle Rob drinks a coffee while Cole does some light repair work at his work bench.
Smiley
My Beautiful Nephew, Isaac Jay
Cousins Cole and Isaac
Hey!
Splashing in Baptiste Lake on the July long weekend 2010.
Monday, July 05, 2010
The Fluids you Can't Control
Some fluids you can control. Some fluids you cannot. Serenity is knowing the difference.
My sister is the world's best guest. She has always been a considerate person, but when she visits, it's not like any more work for the host, it's less! She the kind of person that cleans up after herself and bakes brownies and pays attention to where things go in the kitchen so she can dry the dishes and put them back. She's the kind of person who strips off the sheets from the guest bed on the day she's departing and throws them in the washing machine. She IS the easiest house guest. And she wants to be. I know it is in her to make her host's job easy. That is why certain events that unfolded this past weekend agonized her.
You see, this weekend was Loftus-fest. And so we all went to Baptiste Lake to re-visit our extended family and our memories and to spread my grandma's ashes in the forest with my grandpa's. Mary, Ben, Baby Isaac and their dog, Frisbee, stayed at Aunt Jo's cottage with Mark, Cole and I. We were so grateful for a comfortable, quiet, air-conditioned place to rest our babies. That way we could visit the main festivities and then retreat when we needed to. We were extremely thankful for Aunt Jo's hospitality and we didn't want to impose. Mary, being the kind of guest she is, cared even MORE about not imposing.
That is why it was so difficult when, in the first five minutes after their arrival, Frisbee peed on the carpet in the basement. Mary was mortified. And she was mortified to have to ask Aunt Jo for the cleaning supplies. She was mortified when I tried to help her clean it up. But these are the fluids we can't control. The fluids coming out of our canines.
But it gets better.
Later, we were all lounging on the dock. And Isaac had been kind of fussy. And suddenly, while he lay in his father's lap, he had one of those gigantic blow-out liquid poops. If you've ever had a baby, you know the ones. They creep out the top of the diaper and produce bright orange stains on the backs of onesies. That is the kind of poop we're talking about....except....times ten.
So the orange fluid leaked out of Isaac's diaper. And it leaked through his clothes. It made a fluorescent puddle on the cushion of the lounge-chair. No problem. Aunt Jo dipped it in the lake and we scrubbed it with dog shampoo. Ben (the dad), took Isaac up to the cottage for damage control. As he walked, he felt kind of wet and warm and he thought to himself, "I didn't realize I was sweating THAT much." (He hadn't been). The poop had leaked onto his lap. He had a gigantic yellow stain on the crotch of his swim suit. But he didn't realize it until he'd sat down on Aunt Jo's bedspread to change Isaac. Poop on the swimsuit. Poop on the bedspread. And when he came back down to the dock to break the news to Mary, mortification and shock on her face.
The blow-out orange cottage cheese poop coming from our cherished cherubs...that's another fluid we can't control.
As moms, we are in charge of a lot of individuals and all of their fluids. Some of which we CAN control, and some of which....well, you know what they say about spilt milk.
Some fluids you can control. Some fluids you cannot. Serenity is knowing the difference.
My sister is the world's best guest. She has always been a considerate person, but when she visits, it's not like any more work for the host, it's less! She the kind of person that cleans up after herself and bakes brownies and pays attention to where things go in the kitchen so she can dry the dishes and put them back. She's the kind of person who strips off the sheets from the guest bed on the day she's departing and throws them in the washing machine. She IS the easiest house guest. And she wants to be. I know it is in her to make her host's job easy. That is why certain events that unfolded this past weekend agonized her.
You see, this weekend was Loftus-fest. And so we all went to Baptiste Lake to re-visit our extended family and our memories and to spread my grandma's ashes in the forest with my grandpa's. Mary, Ben, Baby Isaac and their dog, Frisbee, stayed at Aunt Jo's cottage with Mark, Cole and I. We were so grateful for a comfortable, quiet, air-conditioned place to rest our babies. That way we could visit the main festivities and then retreat when we needed to. We were extremely thankful for Aunt Jo's hospitality and we didn't want to impose. Mary, being the kind of guest she is, cared even MORE about not imposing.
That is why it was so difficult when, in the first five minutes after their arrival, Frisbee peed on the carpet in the basement. Mary was mortified. And she was mortified to have to ask Aunt Jo for the cleaning supplies. She was mortified when I tried to help her clean it up. But these are the fluids we can't control. The fluids coming out of our canines.
But it gets better.
Later, we were all lounging on the dock. And Isaac had been kind of fussy. And suddenly, while he lay in his father's lap, he had one of those gigantic blow-out liquid poops. If you've ever had a baby, you know the ones. They creep out the top of the diaper and produce bright orange stains on the backs of onesies. That is the kind of poop we're talking about....except....times ten.
So the orange fluid leaked out of Isaac's diaper. And it leaked through his clothes. It made a fluorescent puddle on the cushion of the lounge-chair. No problem. Aunt Jo dipped it in the lake and we scrubbed it with dog shampoo. Ben (the dad), took Isaac up to the cottage for damage control. As he walked, he felt kind of wet and warm and he thought to himself, "I didn't realize I was sweating THAT much." (He hadn't been). The poop had leaked onto his lap. He had a gigantic yellow stain on the crotch of his swim suit. But he didn't realize it until he'd sat down on Aunt Jo's bedspread to change Isaac. Poop on the swimsuit. Poop on the bedspread. And when he came back down to the dock to break the news to Mary, mortification and shock on her face.
The blow-out orange cottage cheese poop coming from our cherished cherubs...that's another fluid we can't control.
As moms, we are in charge of a lot of individuals and all of their fluids. Some of which we CAN control, and some of which....well, you know what they say about spilt milk.
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