Beach Bodies

Spent a bit of time at the beach today. Did you know that there are 4 beaches within a 10-15 minute drive of our place? Not bad at all, I say. It makes it delightfully possible to steal away for an hour or so and not worry about getting on the road by a quarter past dawn to make the most of your one "beach day" of the month.

Walking on the beach today, painfully aware of myself in a bikini for the first time this summer, I couldn't help but appreciate the unabashed lack of self-awareness in the under-5 set. Being at the beach these days is an exercise in self-flagellation for most of us, but not for our kids...yet. My daughter doesn't care about sitting up straight to avoid unsightly belly creases and rolls. She doesn't try to dash from the security of her towel to the security of the water out of anything more than being really excited to get in the water. She isn't concerned about sitting in the right position so as to minimize her thighs...and I love that about her. Of course, this carefree sense of confidence won't last forever. And as much as I try to shield her from my own insecurities and the insensitive remarks of people around her, there will come a day when she wants to go on a diet, when she thinks she's fat, when she doesn't like something about herself for no reason other than because someone or something told her to. And do you know what I'm going to tell her? I'm going to tell her that one of the great lessons that she has taught me, is that beauty is confidence and confidence is beauty. And the next time we hit the beach I'm going to lead by example.

Eljitos for everyone!

Our little girl likes to be involved. So when mama and dada kept mixing up these exciting cocktails every friday (last night counted as friday...but don't worry, tonight does too) it was only a matter of time before she wanted one. Of course, she's a smart cookie and knows that she hasn't quite reached the height requirement for alcohol either, so she asked for one "without booze". The result: an Eljito! She likes hers in the bath.

Doctor? Easy Peasy. Dentist? Hellooo? Anyone out there???

This morning I set about my mission to find the Cowfam a doctor and a dentist in our new town. Dentists...they're easy to find, right? Always taking new patients? Not at the end of July they're not. 8 phone calls. 8. And I managed to get one appointment. Every other office I called, including offices with multiple dentists, was closed until anywhere from the August 2nd to the 18th. I was dumbfounded. I actually took a break from looking for a dentist and switched gears to doctors. Because I like a challenge.

2 phone calls. 2 measly little phone calls and my entire family has a family physician. Is she any good? Who cares? I have my very own second opinion at the other end of my king size bed.

Be careful on the roads this long weekend, because the Emergency Rooms are open, but if you chip a tooth you're up the creek. Of course, you'll probably find a bunch of dentists up there fishing.

Dr. Seuss on the brain

In a very perfect world
You wouldn't like juice
And I wouldn't need coffee
But it's really no use

For you see it's unwise
To wish for odd things
Like superpowers
And magic rings

What matters most, if you really must know
Is that you have a big heart that continues to grow
You have a smart brain that will help you out too
When you're stuck in a rut wondering what you should do
And just when you think you may be all alone
You have parents who love you and a pretty nice home

Your home you can come to from near or from far
You can come by foot, plane, ship or railway car
It will always be here, and your parents will too
When you need us to help or to cook up some stew

Sure, I may be getting ahead of myself
Right now you just want my help reaching the shelf
The second one up though, you've mastered the first
So it's really not long before worse comes to worst
And you leave us here wondering, when did she grow up?
Remember when she couldn't drink from a cup?
Or figure out how to tie those shoes up?

The point, my dear toddler, of all of this talk
Is to tell you I LOVE YOU, now that can't be a shock
And tho sometimes we won't get along all that well
And there may be some secrets you don't want to tell
Please remember this poem - this is where you belong
If I had a good voice I would make it a song
Every bone, hair and cell that my body contains
Is devoted to you and is taking great pains
To make sure that you know that my love never wanes

Sometimes I'm grumpy, impatient and mad
Sometimes I'm not always nice when you're sad
I'm sorry for that, for I'm imperfect, see
But I'll never stop trying and trying to be
Worthy of you, for you came here to me
As perfect as any perfection could be

You will make mistakes too, it's what we all do
But like dogs will bark and cows will moo
And donkeys will bray and flies will shoo
You, my darling, will do what you do
And we will be there, so proud of you.

By Popular Demand

It has come to my attention that I have been shirking my duties of providing ample pictures of my astonishingly cute little one for your viewing pleasure.

And so...

IKEA: Swedish for Devastation

I really screwed up this time.

In my quest to make this the most exciting 49 days my daughter will ever experience, I included the famed Ballroom at IKEA on the list. You see, a couple of months ago we were shopping at IKEA, and on our way out E got a glimpse of a room full of coloured balls. She wanted it bad. Unfortunately, she was already on full meltdown mode and besides, a sign clearly stated that kids must be toilet trained. It was a no-go. Needless to say the meltdown continued well into the car ride home.

Anyhoo, now that I am quite sure that I can leave her unattended for an hour without her turning the ball pit into the ball pool, I figured we'd give it a shot. I had a couple of things to buy anyway and we had the car at our disposal. I geared her up for this. I told her about it last night over dinner, reminded her before bed, and when she woke up this morning the first thing she said when I walked into the room (nope, still hasn't bothered to try getting out of bed herself yet) was "Can we go to the baaaaall piiiit???" Sure! I replied. For a girl who usually likes to putter for the first hour of her day, we got out the door with military precision this morning.

We arrive at 9:40am. The store opens at 10. No matter, we were planning on splurging for a $1 breakfast with free coffee anyhow, and the restaurant opens at 9:30. At the restaurant, she frolicked happily in the play area with the little toy kitchen and a pair of abacuses...abaci? We should have let that good time roll, because in five short minutes the world was going to end, and there we were smiling dumbly.

4 minutes later...
I carry a positively bursting toddler toward the ballroom. We're whipping each other into a frenzy, skipping along the arrows to the promised land. Then we're standing in line, waiting relatively patiently, and I notice absently that that ball pit looks much deeper than the one at Cosmic Adventures. No matter, I tell myself, there's someone there to supervise. Of course, I note, she seems a little busy and does have her back turned to the...rather calamitous, if I'm being honest...activity behind her...in the other room. And then I see it.

The height chart.

There was a moment, a brief flash not unlike the stories you hear about tiny mothers lifting transport trucks to save their babies...humour me...when I considered launching my daughter into the ball pit and running like hell to housewares. But it passed, and I'm sure that the panic in my spasming chest was reflected in my widening eyes.

"How old is she?" asked the surprised employee, pointing to E.
"2 and a half," I reply confidently.
"Is she toilet trained?" (thinly veiled suspicion here)
"She sure is!" (more beaming bravado)
"Well, put her against the wall."
"Sure!"

Now, the minimum height on the wall is 37 inches, and I know for a fact that two weeks ago my daughter was 34 inches tall. But I prayed for a miracle. Because this, ladies and gentlemen, was the absolute, without-a-doubt, worst mother moment I have ever experienced. Worst. The combination of being the one to plant this seed of anticipation in her brain, to being the one to have to physically extricate her from the vicinity after being so close she could smell the fun she almost had, to the knowledge that if only I had shot up a couple more inches after high school she might just have made it, to the look on that beautiful little face, followed by the absolute saddest display of utter disbelief and disappointment I have ever witnessed. Now, I'm not one of those evil parents who take pictures of their children in extreme emotional distress, but apparently there are plenty of them out there, so I can tell you that it was eerily similar to this. I know. I still can't believe I held it together without sobbing along with her. I REALLY wanted to.

She did end up getting a free toy as a result of her passionate display, and we did salvage the day by buying her a smock and painting some popsicle sticks pink, and there's a good chance that E is well over it now. It's just her mother who will have nightmares of that moment for years to come.

Something to cling to

Three days ago my parents-in-law lost their house to a fire. They had lived in this house for over 30 years, since their twin boys were toddlers. They had long since paid it off, and have spent three decades filling it with everything that means something to them. They have done endless renovations themselves, they have shared it with their children and with tenants who became like family, with their children's children, with friends and family and pets. I can't think of another couple who has been so firmly planted and has grown so beautifully in one spot for so many years as these two. I have been heartbroken for them these last few days, and I cannot even begin to imagine the depth of their devastation. They may be able to rebuild, and if not they will no doubt find a new place to call home, but so much of what they held dear is gone. Irreplaceable.
Except each other.

J and I like to remind each other in difficult times that at least we still have each other. We have never been through something that would force us to cling so desperately to that sentiment. These two have. And as much as I have been repeating over and over for the past few days what a complete injustice this is - and it is that - there is one piece of this story that always floats to the surface of my mind. I cannot imagine a relationship that is better equipped to deal with this kind of tragedy.

When J spoke to them just an hour or so after the fire started, as they were standing outside watching their house burn, he asked if they were able to get anything out. His father said - "Just your mom." These two still have each other, and that, truly, is all each of them really needs.

Check your smoke detectors today

This is how quickly your life can go from a lovely Saturday morning to holding tight to your loved ones and leaving everything else behind.

I'm glad you guys are alright.

49 Days

That's how long my daughter has before her very first day of school. That's also how long her mama has her all to herself. After September 9th, E will spend the majority of her waking hours being influenced by people other than her parents. They will teach her new things, they will be authority figures and disciplinarians, they will be new friends, and there will no doubt be a bad influence here and there. But let's be honest, mama and dada aren't always the best influences either.

For the next 49 days, I'm going to give my daughter my best stuff. We're going to do fun things, and we're going to learn a few things too. I'm going to try to send her off to school with as many tools as I can think of, from successfully putting her own underwear back on to learning how to get the teacher's attention politely, and that sharing food will always score points.

I'm going to take her to lots of cool places, like the cat sanctuary at Parliament Hill and High Tea at Chateau Laurier.

I'm going to be resolutely patient, endlessly cheerful and downright enthusiastic about anything she might want me to be a part of, including my all-time nemesis: Moon Dough. I hate that stuff.

I think she understands what is going to happen. She continually reminds me that she's starting school in September. In fact, she has started making up names of new schools she would like to start in July and June, including the prestigious-sounding Mozzarella School. I hope we don't have to pay International Student fees for that one. She says things like "When I go to school, the teachers will teach me how to do things", and "If I need help getting on the toilet I can ask a teacher and she will help me" that boost my confidence that she knows that I won't be around. I think she'll be just fine, and I even think she'll love the crap out of school. What I'm most apprehensive about is how I'll manage to let her walk into that classroom without me, and how I'll ever feel like the time I spend with her is enough after these 49 days are over.

I'm almost hoping she gets rid of her naps this summer so I can squeeze in a little more time. I said almost. Great, now I jinxed it.

My Best Stuff

"This blog is the place where I record my best stuff"

~Molly Wizenberg, author of Orangette


This line popped out at me from a tantalizing post about strawberry shortcake. Food blogs are often my happy place, and this is one of my favourites. Molly, of course, was referring to her recipes, but that simple statement reached out from the screen, grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a firm yet gentle shake.

Right.

I'm just going to process that for a while.

Changes might be a'comin'.