Pretty in Purple

This is Amelia trying to catch the camera and also trying to figure out the mechanics of the pre-crawl.

Family Love

This morning over breakfast, I said to Cole, "I love you, Cole."

"I love you too, Mommy."

"Thanks, kiddo."

"You love me, Mommy.  And I love you, Mommy."

"That's right.  And I love Daddy and he loves me."

"And Daddy loves me and I love Daddy," Cole added.

"Do you love Amelia?" I asked.

"No."

"You don't love Amelia?"

"No. Her drools on me."

Papa weekend and Fire Station Open House

In the Eye of the Beholder

Cole was supposed to be napping.  He'd been in his room for an hour and a half and he was still wide awake and talking to himself.  So when I finally got Amelia down for a nap, I went and crawled into bed with him and closed my eyes in hopes he'd get the idea.

I felt a delicate hand on my face, "I like your eyebrows, Mommy.  They're beautiful."

"Thanks, Buddy.  Go to sleep. Close your eyes."

"You can close your eyes but I can't close my eyes."

I closed my eyes again.

"Your arms are beautiful, Mommy."

"Thanks, Sweetie."

"And your tummy is beautiful and your cheeks are beautiful and your nose is beautiful and your fingers are beautiful and (pointing to my cleavage) your heart is beautiful and your shirt is beautiful and ....." he paused to look closer at my cleavage, "YOU have a HOLE right THERE!"

"I'm going to roll over, Buddy.  Go to sleep, please."

I rolled away from him.

A few minutes later I felt light hands on my back, "... and your back is beautiful, Mommy....and fuzzy....because of your shirt...."

It was hard not to giggle.
A few minutes later, I gave up and let him get out of bed.

September 2011

 This is Amelia and her bff Jaime Pickering.

Don't you love it when they help out with laundry.

It Takes a Village ...

How many grown-ups does it take to care for a baby?

 I remember how naive I was when I was expecting Cole. Parents and In-laws offered to come and stay and help out, but I wasn't sure how I would feel when the baby arrived and I wasn't sure how much privacy we'd want for our little family. So I politely declined.

Then when the little insomniac was a few days old, I found myself crying into the telephone begging anyone with a heartbeat to come and hold my baby for a short while so I could sleep. I remember it even occurred to me to stand out on the sidewalk and offer the first passer-by $20 to rock him for a bit so I could rest. In these blurry, chaotic days and nights, I wondered how it was that it only took two of us to create this baby but it obviously would take more people than that to get us through. When my sister arrived to help out, I remember thinking that four adults was just about the right number. 4:1

Now we have two kids. Amelia is nearly six months old.  Cole is two years and ten months. And I was fortunate to have my mother-in-law come stay with us for the first month of Amelia's life.  We kept Cole in daycare full time for 3 months and then Mark was off for the summer with us.  So up until two weeks ago, I had NEVER spent an entire day alone to care for my two children.  The thought of caring for both of them for an extended period of time was petrifying to me.  It seemed an impossible task. 

Yet here I am, two weeks in and surviving. I can pack them up in weather-appropriate garb and truck them around the neighbourhood in the double stroller. I can run errands. I can buckle both safely into the car. I can feed and clothe both in the morning. I can't bathe both of them yet, but I can leave one naked and screaming in the crib while I pluck the other soapy and slippery one out of the bath and race him to the toilet. I can use the magical power of television to comatize one while I nurse the other. I can't nap during the day any more, but I can get one to dust while I vacuum and baby bjorn the other.

I was asked by a good friend, Ali-V, if having two kids is more than twice the work of one.  I said that at this juncture, caring for my two children is about 170% of the work of caring for one. 

My husband tutors in the evenings and last year he re-organized his tutoring so he wouldn't leave until after our son Cole was asleep. Tonight was his first tutoring job of this school year and he asked me what time of night would be best.  I surprised myself by answering, "Any time."

"Any time?" he asked.

"Yup," I said, "I can handle it."

Suddenly, I can look at the offspring that I brought into this world and safely say that I can look after both of them simultaneously. 1:2.  Look how far we've come!

The Real Life Memory Game

Remember that game called Memory that you played when you were a kid?  You flipped over two cards and tried to match them.  Did you ever wonder how this applied to real life? Today I figured it out.

It's starting to feel like autumn.  And this means that in order to avoid the scornful looks from the elderly strangers in coffee shops, I need to put appropriate footwear on my baby. Amelia has about sixteen pairs of shoes.  Only half of these are not boots.  And half of the shoes won't stay on her feet past the front door.  Of these, I could not find a single matching pair of shoes this morning as I was leaving the house. 

Part of the problem, I suspect, is the exersaucer.  It's like a black-hole for footwear.  It will suck off the shoes, no matter how well they fit, and then it will slowly peal off the child's socks too. And whoever looks under the exersaucer to retrieve socks and shoes?  Who has that kind of time?

So I want to put on the cute pink sandal-y Robeez, but I can't find both of them at the same time.  I know I've seen them in the baby's room.  I find one on the stool of the rocking chair.  I also know I've seen them in the kitchen by the exersaucer.  Or was that the same one that is now in the baby's room?  Maybe I thought to myself, "Shoes don't go in the kitchen.  I'll just put this somewhere SAFE," and then brought it upstairs.  And I know I saw shoes in the living room because when Amelia was fussing while I was on the phone, I handed one to her to chew on so she'd be quiet. But was that the same pair? And there are pink shoes in the front hallway, but they're not there now. I know at one moment, Cole got angry and threw a pink shoe down the stairs in protest of something.

The poor kid ended up having to wear hand-me-down penny loafers and they SO didn't match her pink dress.

Walking with Babies

When Amelia was a few months old, despite the fact that she screamed her lungs out every time I put her in the car seat or stroller, we walked around and around the neighbourhood.  One elderly gentleman leaned on his rake as I passed by and exclaimed, "That has GOT to be the MOST walked baby on Earth!" But Cole was far more walked than Amelia.  I walked Cole so much that when Amelia was only a week old, the stroller I'd used for her older brother just gave up the goat and lost a wheel half-way across the intersection of Fairview and Woodview.

With two kids, walking is much more of an adventure. Here's the walking adventure we had this morning:

I wrestled Amelia into a fleece snow suit and Cole into his sweater as they both protested. I had an errand to run - yogurt and prunes from the Metro.  I rolled the double stroller out of the garage, the creaky one I'd scored at Once-Upon-a-Child. Cole was still yelling that he didn't want to go. 

"You can take Echo the robot," I suggested.

"NO!"

"Okay.  I'll let Amelia pick her seat. Maybe she wants to sit in the front..."

"No, I want to sit in the front...." and with that he raced out the door.

I must have looked a sight, with sleep-tousled hair, a zombie-like daze on my face and two hooded kids in tandem in front of me. I was leaning into the stroller both to use my weight to propel it into motion and to hold myself upright.

We raced through the grocery store, all too aware of the time-bomb that is Amelia stirring in the stroller. And when we arrived at the cash register I pulled out my wallet, flipped it open, only to find my debit card and credit card weren't there.  The moment I saw the empty spots, I knew I had no cash and no other way to pay for the groceries.  I also knew that my cards were tucked in the front left pocket of the jeans I'd worn yesterday, probably in the hamper heap in our bedroom.

I apologized to the cashier and then I zoomed around the store returning the items to their respective spots. As we left the store, Amelia began to fuss more loudly than before.

We got home and I ran into the house, got my cards and made the decision to risk it all and attempt a second trip to the grocery store.  Back to the store we went. Back down the aisles collecting yogurt and prunes. Back to the same cashier. This time with money. We paid. And as we were just leaving the store, I looked down and Amelia was asleep.

Bless her heart - my baby never sleeps in the stroller. So we took the long way home around the block.  As we approached our house, I decided to convince Cole to go on a longer walk so I didn't have to wake Amelia.  I suggested we walk to the creek bridge. No sooner had he agreed than Amelia woke up.

So we hurried along the bumpy side walk to the creek bridge, hoping Amelia wouldn't decide to revolt against the confinement of the stroller until our trip home.

We watched the water rippling over the rocks for a few moments then we turned around and went home.

We got home and I unloaded Cole from the stroller when he noticed that Echo the robot was missing. So, of course, we had to strap back into the stroller and retrace our steps.

Echo was at the creek bridge and all was well.  But I had to walk home, past the same construction workers I'd greeted three times already, with Amelia in one arm and Cole happily clutching Echo in the other.

Free Compost Giveaway

The halton region gives away free compost twice a year. You just need to bring your own shovel, containers and a donation for the food bank and you can take home the equivalent of 8 garbage bags of still-steaming dirt to satisfy your gardening appetite. And I'm not afraid to admit that not much gets me as excited as the free compost giveaway event.

This year, I decided to take my son, Cole.  He's nearly three years old and loves to dig holes in his sand box. Sadly, the small sand box can barely meet his digging-in-the-dirt needs, so taking him along seemed like a great idea.

We put on his splash pants and his Bob the Builder crocs. He ran into the back yard and got his plastic orange garden spade and I found his Lightning McQueen gardening gloves. We loaded up the Mazda and away we went.

We drove way up Bronte Road and turned left into the landfill. Then we zig zagged through the windy roads until we came to the happy Partnership West Volunteers. I handed them my two canned goods and then asked Cole to hand me the one he was holding.  He misunderstood me and offered me his shovel.

We followed the orange safety cones and then entered the big dirt parking lot with long lines of mounds of warm compost. I backed the car up to a pile and unloaded my son and our tools.

The atmosphere at the compost giveaway is surprisingly festive. It seems to draw a certain type of crowd - humble and frugal gardeners, giddy at the idea of feeding their crops for free. It also feels great contributing to the carbon cycle. We rake our crispy leaves out onto the road for leaf pick-up in the fall and they get speed-decomposed with heat and whatever other magic they do here at the landfill and the end result falls right back into our hands.  It's wonderful.

I've almost mastered my technique.  If your container of choice is paper yard waste bags, like me, then make sure you line the bottoms with  newspaper.  Because if the warm compost sits in them for any length of time beyond a day, the moisture will interfere with the integrity of the bag. Also, you need to bring a bucket.  That way, you can fill your paper bag half way, THEN put it into the trunk of your car and then continue to fill it using the bucket.  Also, a bucket is the perfect height for a 3-year-old to deposit his shovel-fuls of dirt into.

Cole got right to work. He had on his red gloves and gripped his orange shovel.  And each time he turned around with a heap of dirt balanced on the shovel and I was emptying the bucket, he giggled and said, "HEY!" He even tried climbing the compost heap at one point. The compost was light on the shovel, so it was easy to scoop. And on such a cold morning, the mounds were giving off a welcome warmth.

As I filled the fifth bag, I said to Cole, "This is the last one. We're going home soon.  Thanks for being such a good help."

Cole paused in his shovelling and turned to look at me. What a picture he made standing knee-deep in dirt, holding that orange shovel with a fine speckling of dirt all through his copper hair and on his face. He looked up at me dreamily and exclaimed, "I want to stay here forever!"

Peaches and KD

                Cole's favourite meal of all time is cheezy shells macaroni.  So I give him a very, very small portion and some fruit or vegetable and bribe him with more macaroni to eat some of the healthier foods.  (Don't tsk tsk at me until you've had a finicky toddler to keep alive.)

                Today, I  cut him three small wedges of peaches.  He has decided he doesn't like peaches, but he'll eat the yogurt and he'll bite a peach if I'm eating it.  As always, I give him just enough macaroni to cover the bottom of the bowl.  He scarfs it down in seconds and requests more.

                "Have a piece of a peach then you can have more."

                "Okay," he chirps and picks up a wedge and nibbles barely enough of the end to change its shape.

                I look at him sternly, "Eat a whole piece please."

                "I don't like the red part."

                "That's not the pit.  I took the pit out. "

                "I don't like the red part."

                "It's not the pit!"

                "I don't LIKE it!"

                "Fine. I'll eat it." And I nibble off the red flesh and hand it back to him.  He grimaces and takes another small nibble.

                "I don't LIKE peaches." Amelia begins to fuss in her exersaucer.

                "Just eat one bite."

                "I want you to HOLD it for me!"

I am thinking a lot of profane things, but I bite my tongue and pick up the peach and he takes a small bite of the end.

                I get him another small bowl of macaroni.

                He requests a third bowl.

                "You have to eat all of this smallest piece of peach."

                I bite off the red part.

                "Hold it for me, Mommy."

                I hold the peach and he takes a bite. Before he can change his mind, I distract him by biting into the last piece of peach and making agreeable noises and then saying how delicious peaches are.  I eat the rest of it.

                I hold Cole's peach out to him. He eats most of it and I try to stuff the rest into his mouth.  He begins to protest and so I remind him, "Just eat it all and then I'll get you more cheezy, cheezy shells."

                He finishes the tiny slice of peach and then eats all of his third bowl of macaroni. 

                He leans over, peers into his empty peach bowl and complains, "HEY! You ate my last peach!"

                "You said you don't like peaches."

                He exclaims indignantly, "I DO! I DO like peaches, Mommy!"

Melissa Cooks and Mark tends the kids

I'm on maternity leave and if you've ever been off on a parental leave you'll know that although you feel delirious with exhaustion much of the time, it's also kind of boring. To feel some sense of the old me, I told Mark that I want to cook supper once a week. Some background on our family - this never happens. Mark is a formidable chef and no one cares to eat the simple, comfort food that I make, but I needed this and once a week, Mark and I swap the roles we normally have from 4:30 to 5:30.

In my heart of hearts, I felt that I would be getting a break. I thought that watching and entertaining two kidlets for the dawn of the witching hour was far more difficult than having the kitchen to myself and preparing a meal, following the directions, and pretending to be just a cook with a mission. ESPECIALLY since the recipes I usually choose are not difficult and a lot of the chopping and prepping can be done earlier in the day during the snip-its of moments when the kids are happy or sleeping or in a t.v. coma.

Yesterday, I prepared a chicken curry and a very simple quinoa pilaf. I chopped everything earlier in the day and I blended the curry sauce earlier in the day too. But suddenly at 4:30, I found myself racing around the kitchen, wondering if the quinoa was cooking too fast and was the curry sauce flavourful enough. Was the chicken going to cook at the low temp because it was not thawed all the way when I started and why was the home-made chicken stock kind of gelatinous? The dirty dishes were piling higher and higher and I couldn't wash them because I didn't have time to clear the dish rack. I could hear Cole whining at Mark and Amelia was fussing in the living room. I was summoned three times to see Amelia crawling, but she wouldn't do it until I left the room.

Mark checked in on me close to 5:30, wondering how I was doing. I was frazzled to say the least. I remembered how most evenings, at this time, Mark would be coolly producing some delectable delight, all dishes would converge to perfect doneness at a minute or two before the estimated dinner-hour. The dishes would be all cleaned, the counters wiped. Mark would prepare any separate bits of meal for Cole, like pealing and cutting pears, and he'd serve all of supper and bring out the glasses of milk too.

The curry and quinoa was edible but not flavourful. And I'll still make supper once a week, if for no other reason than to be reminded how much I appreciate all the hard work that my husband does for me on the other six days.

Christmas

Cole really really really wants Christmas to hurry up and get here so he can have Cranky the Crane and a Fireman Sam firetruck and other select toys. I tried to explain in terms a preschooler could understand. I said, "First, the leaves need to fall off the trees and then it'll snow and THEN it will be Christmas."

Then he said to me, "Mommy, get a really tall ladder, Mommy. And Mommy, get a bucket, Mommy. Then, Mommy, then climb up and up and up, Mommy and put the leaves in the bucket, Mommy. And give them to me, Mommy and I will put the leaves on the ground, Mommy. Then we can wait for snow."