E,
Tomorrow, you are 4. The baby years are over. You are a big girl and I can't believe it. I love you so much that I can barely stand it. You have taught me how to be a parent, and I've made lots of mistakes, but you stick by me. You tell me that I'm the sweetest mom ever. You tell me that you love me all the way to the moon and back the last number in the world times. I must be the luckiest person on the planet to be on the receiving end of so much love.
I am so proud of everything you do. You finally mastered 13, 14, 15 - hooray! You love books as much as I do. You're helping mama to save the adverb. You are a natural swimmer, and your balance and flexibility always surprise me. Your favourite thing to do is to pretend, and I promise to try to flex my imagination muscles a bit more for you, if you try to pick up the pace a bit with breakfast in the morning. You put outfits together that I would never think of, and most of the time they look better than what I would have picked out. You always try a new food, even if you don't think you will like it. You set and clear the dishes from the table, feed the dog, help me cook and clean up your toys, and you rarely complain about it. Speaking of the dog, you are so sweet with Ralph, feeding him treats, helping him down the stairs when he's nervous and calling him "buddy". I can see that he really trusts you, and I love to watch the two of you together.
Thank you for letting me cuddle with you, almost whenever I ask you to. Thank you for giving me hugs and bringing me stuffed animals when I'm sad. Thank you for always wanting me around, to comfort you when you're sad, to help you when you need it, and just to play with. Thank you for always forgiving me when I apologize, and for always giving me another chance.
You are the best gift I have ever received. We will always belong to each other. I love you all the way to the moon and back the last number in the world times, too.
Mom
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Happy Thoughts
Fresh from a morning of having to physically overpower my child to get her clothes on while she screamed and writhed and did her very best Incredible Hulk impression, I find myself combing my brain for a few of the brighter moments.
Yesterday we made bread. Typically, about an hour before it's finished in the breadmaker, it starts to smell ungodly good. Like, strap a drool cup under your chin good. At which point E practically shouts:
"It smells so GOOD, this BREAD!!! I just can't RESIST it!"
The day before yesterday I took E grocery shopping with me. It was the first time in a while that she had been forced to endure such hardship, and she wasn't terribly excited at the prospect. Once there, however, she was very well behaved and helpful and I told her dad so when we got home. To which she added:
"I was pointing to things that we needed. That's what made me so awesome."
And, to top it all off, the words every mom dreams of hearing. Earlier in the day she had complained about not being able to watch a movie "for special", even though it wasn't movie day. She said she was sad because we didn't do anything "special" that day. We then had a long conversation about how sometimes things that are special don't feel special anymore if you do them all the time, and that we need to appreciate all of the little things in our day that are special (ahem - lemon blueberry pancakes for breakfast). Later, while I was making dinner she walked into the kitchen, hugged my leg and said:
"You are the sweetest mom ever. I think that just being with you is so special."
Aaaand…bad feelings gone.
Yesterday we made bread. Typically, about an hour before it's finished in the breadmaker, it starts to smell ungodly good. Like, strap a drool cup under your chin good. At which point E practically shouts:
"It smells so GOOD, this BREAD!!! I just can't RESIST it!"
The day before yesterday I took E grocery shopping with me. It was the first time in a while that she had been forced to endure such hardship, and she wasn't terribly excited at the prospect. Once there, however, she was very well behaved and helpful and I told her dad so when we got home. To which she added:
"I was pointing to things that we needed. That's what made me so awesome."
And, to top it all off, the words every mom dreams of hearing. Earlier in the day she had complained about not being able to watch a movie "for special", even though it wasn't movie day. She said she was sad because we didn't do anything "special" that day. We then had a long conversation about how sometimes things that are special don't feel special anymore if you do them all the time, and that we need to appreciate all of the little things in our day that are special (ahem - lemon blueberry pancakes for breakfast). Later, while I was making dinner she walked into the kitchen, hugged my leg and said:
"You are the sweetest mom ever. I think that just being with you is so special."
Aaaand…bad feelings gone.
I'm either a month late or right on time!
It's been a long while. There, I addressed it. Let's move on.
Happy New Year! I am happy spending the entire month of January wishing people I have not yet seen a Happy New Year. Once we get into February though, you'll have to settle for implied wishes as I have two very important birthdays to worry about, not to mention St. Chocolate's Day.
How were your holidays? Good? Good.
Here are things I'm learning about being a parent at Christmas. You see, I spent 33 years being a kid at Christmas, and I find it difficult to break old habits. Don't get me wrong, I want to rock being a parent at Christmas, it's just that there are a few things I need to keep in my head for the coming years.
1. It takes a little more advance planning. Before kids, I could get away with a lot more last-minute nonsense. All of my free time was my own, to stay up all night, to spend an entire weekend shopping, to duck out here or pull over there to just take care of this one last thing. Things get a whole lot less flexible once you have a child who has the use of her arms and legs, a raging case of free will, and those pesky eyes and ears coupled with a frighteningly keen sense of logic and deduction. I'm thinking of starting tomorrow.
2. Your kid is still the same kid, even on Christmas. At some point during the festivities, your offspring will act ungrateful/throw a tantrum/refuse to cooperate/illustrate in some way what a terrible job you have done in raising them. Because here you have a day, like any other in its unpredictability, except that it brings to the table a drastic increase in sugar consumption, one or more adults, camera in hand whining "Smile, stay there, stand still, hold up your toy, not the fake smile, hands away from your face, STAY STILL!" in a desperate attempt to capture the perfect FB profile pic, long, drawn out meals involving many foods that may be totally unfamiliar for the fact that they only get eaten once a year, and expectations so high you need to sleep at base camp before even contemplating scaling them. It's a cocktail for disaster, if I've ever seen one. Getting out alive is something to celebrate.
3. There are even more presents to buy when you're 3 people. Because I'm a selfish jerk, I really only starting getting it this year. E wants to give people presents. People love getting presents from kids. E is not able to swing by the mall on her way home from school and whip out her credit card…enter Mom. Who is already confused about keeping her shopping list separate from Santa's. Once upon a time people got presents from Ralph. Heck, he even used to get presents. But we are now those people who forget about the dog until an antler headband shows up and he becomes the star of the show for 3 minutes. Next year maybe E and Ralph will exchange gifts and we'll call it even.
4. It doesn't have to be complicated to be special. But it does have to be special. Anytime I have ever attempted to plan anything, the situation snowballs quickly. I get very excited about planning, and immediately my google searches spiral towards the most elaborately breathtaking examples of human ingenuity and craftiness, the level of which I simply could never attain. It puts a lot of pressure on me, followed by the crushing realization of my inadequacies. I forget that E is not Martha Stewart, my family is not standing by with Better Homes and Gardens on the line, and more than any ornate centrepiece or sky-high confection or elaborate production, what would make everyone happiest is to see everyone happy. Not stressed out and disappointed.
Our holidays were lovely. We had time with family, time with friends and time with each other. If I can just manage a few tweaks from these lessons, maybe this year will be the Perfect Christmas. What was that about expectations?
Happy New Year! I am happy spending the entire month of January wishing people I have not yet seen a Happy New Year. Once we get into February though, you'll have to settle for implied wishes as I have two very important birthdays to worry about, not to mention St. Chocolate's Day.
How were your holidays? Good? Good.
Here are things I'm learning about being a parent at Christmas. You see, I spent 33 years being a kid at Christmas, and I find it difficult to break old habits. Don't get me wrong, I want to rock being a parent at Christmas, it's just that there are a few things I need to keep in my head for the coming years.
1. It takes a little more advance planning. Before kids, I could get away with a lot more last-minute nonsense. All of my free time was my own, to stay up all night, to spend an entire weekend shopping, to duck out here or pull over there to just take care of this one last thing. Things get a whole lot less flexible once you have a child who has the use of her arms and legs, a raging case of free will, and those pesky eyes and ears coupled with a frighteningly keen sense of logic and deduction. I'm thinking of starting tomorrow.
2. Your kid is still the same kid, even on Christmas. At some point during the festivities, your offspring will act ungrateful/throw a tantrum/refuse to cooperate/illustrate in some way what a terrible job you have done in raising them. Because here you have a day, like any other in its unpredictability, except that it brings to the table a drastic increase in sugar consumption, one or more adults, camera in hand whining "Smile, stay there, stand still, hold up your toy, not the fake smile, hands away from your face, STAY STILL!" in a desperate attempt to capture the perfect FB profile pic, long, drawn out meals involving many foods that may be totally unfamiliar for the fact that they only get eaten once a year, and expectations so high you need to sleep at base camp before even contemplating scaling them. It's a cocktail for disaster, if I've ever seen one. Getting out alive is something to celebrate.
3. There are even more presents to buy when you're 3 people. Because I'm a selfish jerk, I really only starting getting it this year. E wants to give people presents. People love getting presents from kids. E is not able to swing by the mall on her way home from school and whip out her credit card…enter Mom. Who is already confused about keeping her shopping list separate from Santa's. Once upon a time people got presents from Ralph. Heck, he even used to get presents. But we are now those people who forget about the dog until an antler headband shows up and he becomes the star of the show for 3 minutes. Next year maybe E and Ralph will exchange gifts and we'll call it even.
4. It doesn't have to be complicated to be special. But it does have to be special. Anytime I have ever attempted to plan anything, the situation snowballs quickly. I get very excited about planning, and immediately my google searches spiral towards the most elaborately breathtaking examples of human ingenuity and craftiness, the level of which I simply could never attain. It puts a lot of pressure on me, followed by the crushing realization of my inadequacies. I forget that E is not Martha Stewart, my family is not standing by with Better Homes and Gardens on the line, and more than any ornate centrepiece or sky-high confection or elaborate production, what would make everyone happiest is to see everyone happy. Not stressed out and disappointed.
Our holidays were lovely. We had time with family, time with friends and time with each other. If I can just manage a few tweaks from these lessons, maybe this year will be the Perfect Christmas. What was that about expectations?
Monday, December 10, 2012
Hands down...
…the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me. Ever.
"Mama, I promise I will never, ever, ever not hug you. I will always give you a hug you if you ask."
Thursday, December 6, 2012
No. Sleep. 'Til Nighttime!
That's right folks. It's been a long, luxurious road these past 3 and 3/4 years, but on Sunday it came to a screeeeeeching halt.
No more naps.
At least not daily ones.
I know, I know. We've had it good. I have absolutely no right to attempt to garner any kind of sympathy at this stage. Most of our friend's kids dropped their naps before 3, some by 2 and 1/2. And yet we've coasted along, napping it up for a minimum of 90 minutes every day. Without fail, and without resistance. We all needed that naptime, and we were all grateful for it.
And now. Sigh. The jig is up.
No more collapsing on the couch at 2pm with a coffee and something chocolaty that I wait to eat while she's not around. No more catching up on laundry or dishes, or getting a jump on dinner without interruption. No more mid-afternoon naps or mom blog binges.
But also, no more splitting each day into distinct halves, factoring in travel time to and from home. No more stressing about late naps causing late bedtimes. No more remembering to bring home nap stuff, wash it, and return it to school on Monday morning.
As with everything, you take the good with the bad. I'm a little bummed about it, but also proud of my little muffin for graduating to a new phase of childhood. The non-napper. So far she's handled it without any meltdowns or fiascos of any kind. Just the odd "I'm tiiired", but that's nothing you don't hear from mom and dad ten times a day anyway, so we welcome her into our little chorus.
It'll make for some less peaceful car rides, I imagine, but on the upside Ralph can whine all he wants in the back seat without waking anyone up. Fantastic.
No more naps.
At least not daily ones.
I know, I know. We've had it good. I have absolutely no right to attempt to garner any kind of sympathy at this stage. Most of our friend's kids dropped their naps before 3, some by 2 and 1/2. And yet we've coasted along, napping it up for a minimum of 90 minutes every day. Without fail, and without resistance. We all needed that naptime, and we were all grateful for it.
And now. Sigh. The jig is up.
No more collapsing on the couch at 2pm with a coffee and something chocolaty that I wait to eat while she's not around. No more catching up on laundry or dishes, or getting a jump on dinner without interruption. No more mid-afternoon naps or mom blog binges.
But also, no more splitting each day into distinct halves, factoring in travel time to and from home. No more stressing about late naps causing late bedtimes. No more remembering to bring home nap stuff, wash it, and return it to school on Monday morning.
As with everything, you take the good with the bad. I'm a little bummed about it, but also proud of my little muffin for graduating to a new phase of childhood. The non-napper. So far she's handled it without any meltdowns or fiascos of any kind. Just the odd "I'm tiiired", but that's nothing you don't hear from mom and dad ten times a day anyway, so we welcome her into our little chorus.
It'll make for some less peaceful car rides, I imagine, but on the upside Ralph can whine all he wants in the back seat without waking anyone up. Fantastic.
This is what I would call "sleeping hard".
Being a hooker just makes me feel good.
Yesterday I had a difficult day. It was a jumble of stressful events, schedule mix-ups, frantic emails and general SNAFUs. But the moment that stood out for me as the precise instant you realize you really should just go back to bed and try again tomorrow was the moment I was standing at the counter of the bake shop I've been wanting to try for over a year, a glistening sticky bun placed ever so tantalizingly before me, an unimpressed employee poised impatiently at the cash register, and my brand new motherfunking $8 Old Navy clearance purse would. not. open. The fabric was jammed real good into the zipper. Wouldn't budge. After an embarrassingly long attempt at wriggling it free, I finally had to apologize profusely and back out of there with my tail between my legs. And, as I was stuck waiting for a ride and the air had turned rather frigid and the snow started flying, I ducked into Bridgehead and sat at a table for about fifteen minutes, wriggling and pulling and trying not to scream profanities. When I did finally get it free, I ordered a cappuccino, which was delicious, and a scone, which sucked, and lamented that coffee shops really should have liquor licenses.
Say it with me now: FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS much???
Sometimes I'm really ashamed at the stuff I complain about. Why, just earlier that morning I had chastised E for being so picky at breakfast time ("I don't know what I want, but I want to decide, but I don't know what I want, but I don't want that, no I don't want you to decide, no I don't want that either, but I want to decide, but I don't know…"), explaining that lots of kids have to go to school without any food at all, so perhaps she could spend a little more time on "thank you" and a little less time on "I don't want that". And you know, she totally got it. This was her response:
"I have an idea mom. What if I took some of my money and you took some of your money, and we gave it to a family who doesn't have any food so that they can buy groceries!"
These are the moments, along with the unsolicited snuggles, that really sell parenting as a solid lifestyle choice, am I right?
The absolute beauty of this whole situation is that the day before I had sent an email to a Rants from Mommyland, a mom blog that I'm sure I've mentioned my fondness for in the past, asking to be involved in their annual Gift Card Exchange (previously called the Grand Hooker Experiment, because fans of RFM are called Hookers for reasons I can't recall but very much enjoy). People who need help this Christmas email them with their names and addresses, and they get matched with people who can offer help. The helpers then buy gift cards to stores like Target and Walmart and ToysRUs in whatever denomination they can afford and send them to the address they've been matched with. Great idea, right? And I had asked to be matched with a family with a little girl if possible so that E could buy a gift card for a little girl like herself.
And now, E has come up with the same idea! I really love this girl.
If you would like to get involved, check this out. I think there's still time to submit your name to either give or receive help. I promise, it'll make you feel better than you thought hooking ever could!
Monday, December 3, 2012
And the Grammy goes to...Dr. E!
I love kid brains. When you can manage to turn off the go!go!go! mulitasking mom brain long enough to tune into them, they can provide endless entertainment. E asked me a very interesting question the other day. A simple question, but it just made me realize that they really are thrown into this world with no user's manual, no cheat sheet, and they can't even speak the language. They have to figure things out for themselves. Mind blowing.
We were driving along, E singing along to her favourite song, when she suddenly stopped and asked:
E: Mom, can people change what they do?
M: What do you mean?
E: Like, can they be doctors and then sing on the radio?
M: Of course. Mama and dada have had lots of jobs. Most people don't just do one thing.
E: Oh. Because I want to be a doctor first, and then I want to sing this song on the radio. Can I do that?
M: Sure. Or you could even write your own songs and sing them.
E: No, I want to sing Taylor's song. I like this one.
M: In that case, we could just call up the radio station and I bet they'll let you sing it on the air right now!
E: No, I'm not ready yet. I want to be a doctor first.
How cool would that be to be a doctor and a singer? Why didn't I think of that?
Which of course got me to wondering what kind of singer my daughter will be. It appears that we don't listen to enough music, because she doesn't really know all that many songs, and an unsettlingly large proportion of them are...fairly inappropriate. Well, let's go through the songs she knows.
First there are the basics:
Happy Birthday
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
ABCs...you get the idea
She's got a good hold of a few Christmas tunes:
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Rudolph
Frosty
Baby it's cold outside
From there we get into the Top 40 selections:
We are never, ever getting back together
We are young
Kiss you inside out
Blow my whistle
I'm sure there are others, and the vast majority of them make me cringe when I hear her sweet little voice delivering her unique interpretation from the back seat. Thank goodness for Taylor Swift. If it weren't for her, my precious three year old would still be reciting step-by-step instructions for performing fellatio. I think it's time to listen to a different radio station, and perhaps - oh, I don't know - remember to pop in one of the dozen or so children's cds we have around here somewhere once in a while. Because I don't mind a Taylor wannabe, but a mini-Britney I can do without.
We were driving along, E singing along to her favourite song, when she suddenly stopped and asked:
E: Mom, can people change what they do?
M: What do you mean?
E: Like, can they be doctors and then sing on the radio?
M: Of course. Mama and dada have had lots of jobs. Most people don't just do one thing.
E: Oh. Because I want to be a doctor first, and then I want to sing this song on the radio. Can I do that?
M: Sure. Or you could even write your own songs and sing them.
E: No, I want to sing Taylor's song. I like this one.
M: In that case, we could just call up the radio station and I bet they'll let you sing it on the air right now!
E: No, I'm not ready yet. I want to be a doctor first.
How cool would that be to be a doctor and a singer? Why didn't I think of that?
Which of course got me to wondering what kind of singer my daughter will be. It appears that we don't listen to enough music, because she doesn't really know all that many songs, and an unsettlingly large proportion of them are...fairly inappropriate. Well, let's go through the songs she knows.
First there are the basics:
Happy Birthday
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
ABCs...you get the idea
She's got a good hold of a few Christmas tunes:
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Rudolph
Frosty
Baby it's cold outside
From there we get into the Top 40 selections:
We are never, ever getting back together
We are young
Kiss you inside out
Blow my whistle
I'm sure there are others, and the vast majority of them make me cringe when I hear her sweet little voice delivering her unique interpretation from the back seat. Thank goodness for Taylor Swift. If it weren't for her, my precious three year old would still be reciting step-by-step instructions for performing fellatio. I think it's time to listen to a different radio station, and perhaps - oh, I don't know - remember to pop in one of the dozen or so children's cds we have around here somewhere once in a while. Because I don't mind a Taylor wannabe, but a mini-Britney I can do without.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
She's never heard of a SANTA CLAUS PARADE??! *shame*
While putting on a little girl's boots this morning…
"Mom, I don't want you to ever die. Because I just love you so much. You are the sweetest mom ever."
This is the moment I choose to remember when questions like this crop up from the back seat:
"Mom, what's a Santa Claus Parade?"
I'm a good mom…I'm a good mom…I'm the sweetest mom ever…
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Perfect Mondays?
It's true. Mondays can be perfect. Especially if you have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off. And especially if you get to hang out with a small child who wants to do exactly what you want to do. Baking and colouring? Yes, please!
First up, chocolate chip pumpkin bread:
Followed by volcanoes extraordinaire:
First up, chocolate chip pumpkin bread:
One of two people I to whom I will relinquish my spatula rights.
Mom is the other one.
Followed by volcanoes extraordinaire:
Whose is whose?
E claims that hers is "rainbowier" than mine.
Nine times out of ten, when I suggest something fun, E decides that she definitely wants to do something else. Today was a glorious exception, which makes those other nine days of pretending that she's hatching out of an egg 86 times in a row much more bearable.
p.s. Here's some advice for her dad, who wasn't able to dine with us, on how best to enjoy his freshly baked treats:
Friday, November 16, 2012
Maybe it's Thanksgiving somewhere
Canadian Thanksgiving was last month. American Thanksgiving is next week. Does anyone else celebrate Thanksgiving? England doesn't. Grenada doesn't. And that's about the extent of my experience on the matter. But I'm going on the assumption that someone, somewhere is celebrating Thanksgiving this weekend and if I'm wrong, well I'm just celebrating on my own, which I can't imagine is a bad thing.
Today I am thankful for the ability to feed my child. Every single day, at every single mealtime and at any moment in between, I can provide my child with the food that she needs to grow and thrive. I don't ever have to hear her little tummy rumble, knowing that I cannot fill it. I have the luxury of hearing her whine about not enjoying dinner, knowing that she will never get hungry enough to have no choice but to eat it. I have the privilege of offering her choices and variety and more nutritious options than I can ever hope to convince her to ingest. All of the food issues that cause us to butt heads are, without question, first world problems.
It absolutely breaks my heart when I think about hungry children. I get a panicky feeling in my chest when I think about what parents must go through who can't provide the basic necessities of life for their own families. The one thing I would do if I was omnipotent for the day, the wish I would wish for if a genie popped out of a lamp and said I could have just one, the cause I will continue to support for as long as I live, is hunger. Especially hungry children. And I am so, so thankful that I'm on this side of the problem.
I've been thinking for a long time about how I can make a difference locally by cooking big batches of something or other and bringing it to where it's needed. I'm thinking about it again today as my stew simmers on the stove and I wish I could feed the entire world with it. I think it's time to move from the thinking stages to the planning stages, because the problem is not going to go away just by thinking about it. In the meantime, why don't we all commit to dropping a box or two in the donation box the next time we go grocery shopping? Every little bit helps to feed a hungry world.
That's all for today.
Today I am thankful for the ability to feed my child. Every single day, at every single mealtime and at any moment in between, I can provide my child with the food that she needs to grow and thrive. I don't ever have to hear her little tummy rumble, knowing that I cannot fill it. I have the luxury of hearing her whine about not enjoying dinner, knowing that she will never get hungry enough to have no choice but to eat it. I have the privilege of offering her choices and variety and more nutritious options than I can ever hope to convince her to ingest. All of the food issues that cause us to butt heads are, without question, first world problems.
It absolutely breaks my heart when I think about hungry children. I get a panicky feeling in my chest when I think about what parents must go through who can't provide the basic necessities of life for their own families. The one thing I would do if I was omnipotent for the day, the wish I would wish for if a genie popped out of a lamp and said I could have just one, the cause I will continue to support for as long as I live, is hunger. Especially hungry children. And I am so, so thankful that I'm on this side of the problem.
I've been thinking for a long time about how I can make a difference locally by cooking big batches of something or other and bringing it to where it's needed. I'm thinking about it again today as my stew simmers on the stove and I wish I could feed the entire world with it. I think it's time to move from the thinking stages to the planning stages, because the problem is not going to go away just by thinking about it. In the meantime, why don't we all commit to dropping a box or two in the donation box the next time we go grocery shopping? Every little bit helps to feed a hungry world.
That's all for today.
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