Underwear Tales...

Funny that I have enough underwear-related material to write about. Or maybe I just have a six year old and it comes with the territory. Underwear, whoopie cushions, giggling about poop...we're chock full of maturity over here.

So it occurs to me as I'm folding laundry this morning that I'm already getting my underwear confused with E's, and that just doesn't feel right. It would seem that someone needs to step up their lingerie game. (Cotton boyshorts for the win!) I decided not to mention it to J. I can't imagine a universe where that won't make at least a few of his brain cells commit suicide.

And while I was contemplating spicing up my underwear drawer, it occurred to me that I just dropped $100 at Victoria's Secret while we were in San Francisco. E was with me - I even let her pick out a bra and a few pairs of underwear for me. (I think I'm starting to identify the source of the underwear mix-up...) I also remembered J's reaction to my haul. "I guess thongs are out now?" I was, of course, quick to point out that there were two thongs in there. E even picked one of them out. Aaaand...Pop! Pop! Pop! go the brain cells...

So there we were, E and I, in the change room at VS, where I was attempting to try on a couple of bras as quickly as humanly possible before E  a) decided she was DONE shopping, or b) decided to whip open the precariously draped curtain that was shielding me from the packed store.

"Mom? Can I try one on?"

Now who in their right mind would say no to the opportunity to see their first grader in a push-up bra? Oh. Everyone? Of course. Everyone but me, that is. *cough*

So first I let her try to figure it out herself. Because the picture would be way funnier. Then I made the necessary adjustments and snapped another couple photos, which I will never, never, NEVER share.

Until the wedding day.

Making Memories

Yesterday you asked me if you could go on a run with me.

We were walking to your piano lesson - something I insisted on even though you complained that we walk every time and maybe I don't realize that walking home from school and then to and from piano lessons (combined time of approximately 30 minutes) might be too much for a six year old. The sun was shining, spring was finally starting to spring, and I was prepared to be frustrated with you.

Not a race with a bunch of people, just out for a run. With me. Just the two of us.

A smile crept across my face. I held your hand a little tighter. And I said yes. I would love that.

Maybe today or tomorrow? you asked.

Tomorrow, I replied. Quick! I thought to myself. Quick, before she doesn't want to be with you, close to you, happy to be doing what you're doing, together. Don't miss this chance!

Maybe our first real run together will be something you will always remember. Maybe it will be one of your favourite memories of the two of us together. Or maybe when I pick you up from school today you'll be too tired or you just won't feel like it. But this time, I won't insist that we get out there and enjoy ourselves whether we like it or not, because we have memories to make and a childhood to make special, dammit!

I am coming to realize that the memories make themselves. Every day, in the big and the small, the memories are being made no matter how many articles I read or hours I spend worrying about how to do it right. That moment between us yesterday was a very special one for me. I witnessed a memory being made. I felt it wriggle its way into a corner of my brain and take up residence. It felt warm.

I am also realizing that it doesn't matter to me if your memories include the coolest Hallowe'en costumes or the most original loot bags or the most elaborate vacations. I want you to remember me smiling, laughing, hugging a lot, and listening. I want to you to remember that I made you feel loved, capable, and important. And now that I've learned the secret to making memories - that my job is not to carefully select, package and insert each memory into your brain, but rather to show up and be the person I want you to remember - I find myself witnessing even more memories.

I remember holding you on my lap after dinner last night while we looked at houses on the computer with your dad. You looked through all of the pictures, searching for the perfect place in each house to set up an art table. Your bare legs were dangling over my arm, and I couldn't believe how little and how big they looked. I felt the warm weight of your back on my chest. I was so content.

I remember rubbing my cheek against yours as I carried you upstairs. We tried to decide whose cheek was softer. I thought yours. You thought mine. I think I've never felt a cheek so soft and warm and unbelievably kissable.

I remember how much I love our Uno games before bed, and how I love it when you win. I used to lose on purpose, but I worried that winning all of the time might make you a poor sport. So then I won a couple of times, and worried that you would lose your confidence and not want to play anymore. Now I just play. Because you're not going to remember how many times you won or lost. You're going to remember that you and mom and dad played hundreds of games of Uno before bed and there was a lot of laughter, a few tears, and an alarming amount of trash talk.

The moral of the story is the same as every moral since Elsa and Anna came on the scene: Let it Go. The memories are making themselves. Let them.

No Snow in NoCal! Day 3...

Day 3 in Baghdad by the Bay (I'm not kidding. Who comes up with these?), and this time the girls were left to their own devices. I would love to tell you that it started off with a good, old-fashioned sleep-in...but unless you consider 6:45am sleeping in, I cannot.

It did, however, start with several rounds of Uno, most of which I won, and absolutely no coffee. The apartment we're renting doesn't have a coffee maker. I cannot emphasize enough how unsatisfactory I consider this to be. In fact, I rank it even more unsatisfactory than the 1-ply toilet paper. I mean, come on. 1-ply is for prisons. Period. But I digress.

After two solid days of sunshine and walking, I thought we'd take it a tad easier today by spending a bit of time lounging around and taking advantage of the myriad of public transit options. Instead, we enjoyed a solid day of sunshine and walking. Hey, if it ain't broke...

First stop: Coffee. Obviously. The Beanstalk Cafe is a lovely little spot that I can forgive for only having one (moderate) size of coffee, but not for being out of their two delicious sounding breakfast options: breakfast cups and cragels. In their defence, we'll try to get there before 10am tomorrow.

Second stop: Park. E has dutifully pounded the pavement for the past two days with more stamina and good humour than I could have imagined. And while there have been plenty of sights and tastes to amuse and delight her, there comes a point when every six year old decides that enough is enough. We've been lucky not to hit that mark yet, and to show our appreciation I unleashed her on the coolest park I could find in the neighbourhood. And I want it known that I dutifully played pretend (me: bad guy and/or prison guard, her: girl inmate/moth/butterfly/snitch/spy/honourary prison guard) the whole way. Where's my medal?

After wearing ourselves out at the park, we stopped for a quick lunch at Whole Foods before heading to mom's playground - aka Trader Joe's - where I put damn near everything they had in my cart. And it was good.

On the way home, loaded down with my booty, we stopped for another coffee and then popped into the salon next door to our apartment to see about a trim for the short one. Karen happened to have an opening right then and there, and proceeded to shampoo/massage/cut/style and blow-dry E until she looked like a newly-minted PR exec, and I died.

I had been looking forward to a little down time following the park/shopping excitement, but I guess E is just like any girl fresh from getting her hair did - she wanted to flaunt it! We sat on the step of our building for a few minutes while she decided what she was in the mood for. She settled on a picnic, so we packed up some Trader Joe's goodies and headed to Union Square. There we played a little, laid in the grass and ate a little, and I people-watched while E ran circles around me, literally and figuratively.

Then we headed to the Westin, which overlooks the square and boasts glass elevators that offer spectacular views from the 31st floor - as well as a stomach-flipping adventure for those of us with a fear of heights.

From there we would have headed straight home were it not for the irresistible underwear sale at Victoria's Secret (go ahead and try to resist 7 pairs for $27...I'll wait...). What started with an eyeroll and a "Mooooom...not underwear shopping!", ended with my daughter in a bra, admiring her "dress-up boobs" in the mirror. And I died for the second time.

It was another awesome day. It's spring, and I'm on vacation in a place where it actually feels like spring. It just doesn't get any better.

No Snow in NoCal! Day 1

11:00am EST - Leave for the airport

11:30am EST - Actually leave for the airport

12:30pm EST - ...Aaaand, we're through ticketing about 2 minutes before check-in closes for our flight.

1:00pm EST - Board first flight to Chicago, IL. Consider, again, how much I hate flying into and out of Chicago. Manage to read 100 pages of new book while husband and daughter defeat zombies with garden vegetables. Visit airplane bathroom with child twice.

2:45pm EST - Land in Chicago with exactly enough time to grab a smoothie and pee before...

3:15pm EST - Boarding second flight to LA. Consider the likelihood of actually making next flight with a 33 minute layover. Enjoy another 100 pages of book while husband studied and daughter snoozed on my bladder. Visit airplane bathroom with child four times.

9:10pm EST/6:10pm PT - Land in LA 4 minutes before boarding begins for next flight.

9:20pm EST/6:20pm PT - Run from gate 50 to gate 53 as third flight is boarding. Be grateful for 3-gate commute. Visit airplane bathroom with child for the 7th, 8th and - thank god - final time. Finish second bottle of hand sanitizer.

11:10pm EST/8:10pm PT - Land in San Francisco, CA!

11:20pm EST/8:20pm PT - Walk length of airport several times with 6 pieces of luggage to secure 5 minute shuttle to hotel

11:45pm EST/8:45pm PT - Arrive, exhausted, at hotel. Convince offspring that constant snacking on last flight counts as dinner, wait 3 minutes for her to slip into unconsciousness and order some of the best Italian food this side of Italy. Let the gluttony begin!

No Snow in NoCal!

It's Cowger Family Vacation Time again! And where better for an Ottawa family to go in mid-March than...anywhere without snow?

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the American Academy of Dermatology for scheduling the 2015 annual meeting in San Francisco, California. I appreciate you having our backs like that. After hearing that we set a record this year for being the coldest capital in the WORLD, we are in desperate need of being talked off of the ledge.

Forecast for San Fran for the next week: highs of 17/18, lows of 10/12, lots of sun and absolutely no snow.

This is going to be awesome.

Look Ma! No boots!!!

The Birds and the Bees: Ep 2

I should be writing more. There certainly have been some blog-worthy moments in the last little while. My crazy daughter continues to say and do crazy things, and almost every day I think I really need to write this down...and then I get distracted and busy and life goes on undocumented.

But STOP THE TRAIN, folks, because today we're getting off at PROCREATION STATION.

You might remember our first conversation going fairly smoothly and without causing too much trauma to either party. You might also remember we had a wall between us. And that she managed to be more concerned with getting a baby sister than the ins and outs (pun intended) of how said baby is made.

So today was kind of like that, except the complete opposite.

There we are...lunch this time...face to face, eye to eye, ovary to ovary. Dad was there too, quietly packing up his bag in the background, en route to the hospital - getting just ready enough for a quick exit, but not wanting to miss the Oscar-worthy performance he could be sure was just around the corner.

E: Mom, how long does it take for a baby to be made?
M: 9 months.
(I believe this is what they call "greasing the wheel". Man, she's good.)
E: So, why does it take so long?
M: Well, the baby goes all the way from being an egg to being an actual human in that time. There's a lot of stuff that has to happen!
E: Yeah. I know. But how does it go from an egg to a baby?
M: Well, first it's one cell that divides, and then -
E: Yeah. I know. But how does the baby get made?
M: Do you mean how does the cell turn into a person?
E: No. How does a woman make a baby?
M: Well, remember we talked about the egg and the fertilizer? The man has the fertilizer and the woman has the egg, and when you put the fertilizer on the egg the baby grows.
E: Yeah. I know. But how does the man give the fertilizer to the egg?

J: Okay! Bye guys! Have fun!

M: Well, that's a grown-up thing. It only works when you're an adult.
E: Well, how does it work?
M: The man gives the fertilizer to the woman and the egg is fertilized.
E: Yeah, but how does the fertilizer get to the egg? Like, how? (lots of hand gestures here...none of them accurate)

~ This is where the wall would have served me well. Any of you who know me well will understand that this is the kind of situation I find painfully amusing. Keeping a straight face would require monumental self-control. The entirety of this conversation was spent actively willing the corners of my mouth to turn downward, with no success whatsoever. I smirked through the entire exchange.

M: The fertilizer comes out of the man's penis.
E: ... (Picture your facial expression the day you learned what hot dogs are made of.)
M: Yep.
E: Ew.
M: (In for a penny, in for a pound) And it gets to the egg by going into the woman's vagina.
E: Ugh, gross. Really?
M: Mmhmm.
E: Why?
M: Well, it makes sense, really. Sperm is made down close to the penis, and a woman's eggs are at the end of the vagina, so it's the easiest way.
E: ... (Picture your facial expression the day you learned that your parents have sex)
M: Yeah, so that's how it happens. It sounds gross now, but one day it won't sound so bad.
E: ... Ew.

From there I was able to distract her from this disgusting revelation by marvelling over fetal development week-to-week, and we moved on. Thankfully.

And then I realized, that was the big one. That was the part I've been dreading, wondering exactly how I was going to navigate what ended up being a very matter-of-fact explanation. And I think I managed to instill just the right amount of knowledge and revulsion to get us through the next few years.

BA BAM!!!!! Come on, give me a hard one.

(That's what she said.)

Wherefore art thou, Baby of mine?

Excuse me. I wonder if you could help me. I seem to have lost my baby. I'm sure she was right here only a moment ago. Tiny, fat, bald, really cute. Loves eating and sitting, hates being away from mama. I think I may have dozed off for a moment, but she can't have gone far. No? Strange.

Even more strange (talk about a coincidence!) is that there is a girl here who calls me mama and has the same name as my little squishy baby. But she is almost six years old. Clearly, she cannot be mine. Mine is ever so much smaller. Why, she can't even walk!

Yet she calls me mama. "Mom", actually.

This girl is quite breathtaking. She has wide eyes of the most intoxicating green through which I can see her beautiful heart. She loves, she loves so well. She cares, she protects, she advises. She is so wise. And she is so silly. She tells the best jokes, she does a mean naked baby dance, and she can instantly assume the identity of any animal you can imagine.

She is also astoundingly clever. In fact, she tells me that she entered the Elementary program at her school yesterday.  Her parents must be so proud. I wonder if they miss the days when she was a sweet little baby like mine. Or do they spend each day growing more in awe of her, more in love with her, unable to hide how smitten they are with each new skill, each discovery, each challenge that she navigates? I'm willing to bet that both are true. I know I find myself thinking about what my baby will be like at 5, 10, 15 (god help us), 20...and I have to stop myself to remember that those days will come, but these days, these early days, won't come again. If only I could stay awake long enough to witness them!

Now where is that chubby little monkey?

The WOW factor

Happy New Year!

I would like to say that this year I will blog every day, that I will write letters and make phone calls to loved ones every week, and that I will not waste time on Facebook. I would love to purge our house of unhealthy food and spend an hour a day exercising and make sure that Ralph gets two long walks a day. These are fantastic ideas, but I know myself fairly well by now. Good ideas, great intentions, outstanding ability to procrastinate.

Recently I read about the importance of saying "Wow". About how our happiness depends in part on our ability to get up every morning and find things that spark our sense of wonder and amazement.

"Wow. I have another entire day in front of me!"
"Wow. I convinced this pretty great guy to marry me!"
"Wow. Matching socks!"

It's a bit like gratitude. But it's also more than that.

"Wow. Rainbows are AWESOME."
"Wow. Skype is exactly like those space age videophones we saw in movies in the 1980's."
"Wow. My dog just loves me all the time, every single day."

It's not the hardest thing in the world to do. Maybe if I fill my brain with WOW thoughts, I won't have time for things like brooding and pouting and self-flagellation. Instead of wondering how the world can be so unfair, I can focus on how on earth bees ever figured out how to keep us flush with flowering plants...not to mention sweet, sweet honey.

Let's give it a shot.

2015. The year of WOW!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas...

This year.
This year she gets it. This is the big one. I have a feeling it may also the last one, so I'm taking in every second. For the last couple of years she has looked forward to Christmas, and she's been excited for Santa and presents, but never like this year. She has never had that special shyness when meeting Santa, she's never woken up on the 24th saying "Merry Christmas Eve!", and she's never had trouble going to sleep on Christmas Eve.
Tonight was magic. We kept our eye on the NORAD Santa Tracker, we made sure to get to bed on time, and we panicked and jumped out of bed when we realized we had forgotten to leave snacks out. She was giddy like a...well, like a 5 year old at Christmas during her bath, while brushing her teeth, and she positively couldn't sit still during story time, joining in as dad read How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
And then, just as we were lying down and tucking in...there arose such a clatter. First, jingle bells. Right outside the window! Then, a booming HO!HO!HO! Merry Christmas! Away to the window I flew like a flash...but saw nothing. After a few moments, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof...and the unmistakeable scraping of what could only be a sleigh, landing on the roof! And again, jingling and HO!HO!HO! Elle was beside herself, and I was mystified. "Is Santa here? Is he here at this house right now??!" she asked me. "It sounds like it!" was all I could reply. "Quick! Go to sleep!" she pleaded, and threw herself under the covers. Then she realized that everyone was still awake downstairs. Up she leapt and ran to the stairs. "Everyone! Santa is here! Go to sleep! EVERYONE GET INTO BED RIGHT NOW!!!" She didn't try to go and see if there were presents. She didn't try to catch a glimpse of him. She just ran around frantically trying to persuade everyone, including a guest who had recently arrived for a visit, to drop everything and go to sleep. Eventually Jeff and I coaxed her back upstairs and lay down in the room with her, but she knew that the folks downstairs would stop Santa from coming down the chimney. We assured her that he was doing a first pass to get all the houses where everyone was already asleep, and then he would circle back to get the rest of us later.
It seemed to work. Because here we are, ten minutes to midnight, and she is sawing logs. I think I see sugarplums. A few weeks ago she decided that it would be amazing to wake up Christmas morning to see her room filled with balloons. So Santa is bringing a balloon bouquet that he'll put at the end of her bed for her to wake up to. Between that and the pile of gifts downstairs, along with Papa's genius Santa App and the trusty NORAD Santa tracker, I think we've got her hook, line and sinker for at least one more year. Tonight, perhaps more than ever before, I believe in the magic of Christmas.

Not That Serious

Hi babe.

This year, the year that I am 38 years old, I have a new motto. Want to hear it? Here it is:

Life is not that serious.

Your dad doesn't share this motto. He's in his 4th year of a 5 year residency, looking down the barrel at a pretty big exam in a not-so-distant and ever-nearing future, while handling the life and death of his patients day in and day out. Life is pretty serious for him right now. And that's okay. 

But for me? I have a job I love that offers me very little in the way of stress. I have a husband I love, a daughter I am head-over-heels smitten with and a dog who's the worst but we love him anyway. Our little family has a roof over our heads in a fantastic neighbourhood with fantastic neighbours. We have food on the table and amazing shops and restaurants we can (sort of) afford to enjoy. You go to a wonderful school with wonderful teachers and are learning so much so quickly it makes my head hurt. We live in a safe city in a great country with loads of resources for families. We get to go on vacations, we get to pursue hobbies, we get to greet each other every morning and kiss each other good night every evening. For me, life is not that serious. It's seriously sweet.

Having said that, there is a reason that I needed a motto to come up with in the first place. You see, sometimes I take things too seriously. Or, to be more accurate, I take almost everything way too seriously almost all of the time. I have no perspectacles. Do you know what those are? Those are special imaginary glasses you wear that give you a beautiful view of the BIG PICTURE, so that you don't go losing your mind over things that are not worth the crazy. (A very wonderfully wise woman came up with that term. You would do well to learn as much as you can from her.) So this new motto of mine, it's an attempt to find my perspectacles, and to keep this elusive BIG PICTURE in mind as often as possible. 

Not everything is an omen of terrible things to come. Not everything is teetering on a slippery slope toward doom. Things might be just wonderful next time, even if this time they were very, very bad. THINGS ARE OKAY. I read an interesting article the other day, saying that most people who believe that they are in the middle of terrible, horrible periods of their lives are actually OKAY from moment to moment. You may be going through a divorce, but at this moment you are grocery shopping and you are doing okay. You may have a new cancer diagnosis, but you have just finished reading your kids a bedtime story and you are okay. We all have times of struggle, and sometimes those struggles are intense, but we are STILL OKAY. And we can smile. 

These ideas are so easy to type, and so hard to live. But I believe that the only true meaning of life is to find joy for yourself, and to make joy for others. We are lucky enough to begin life, lucky enough to live it, but not quite lucky enough to get out of it alive, so we might as well enjoy that luck until it runs out. 

I wish you joy, peace and lots and lots of laughter. I wish you a lifetime shared with your greatest loves. Life is not that serious, but it is beautiful.

xoxoxo,

Mom