Canada's Birthday

Happy Birthday Canada!

You are 143 years old today. Thank you for being a safe home for our family.

I'm sorry we are not the patriotic type that will be running around the city in red shirts with our faces painted. We're just not like that.

We do like the fireworks, though I'll be sitting them out this year. The kids are too little to be up so late, so I'll stay home while Husband takes his mother to see them on the boat - or so he hopes. I'm worried that he'll capsize the boat and sink to the bottom of the Gorge in the pitch black of the night. I'm worried that he might get in trouble for being in the harbour, which is so stupidly ridiculous I would never even say it out loud. I don't know if it will rain. I think the rain is done for the day, but you never know. We do live on the coast!

I know that there are many years of fireworks ahead of us, so I don't mind sitting this one out. Hopefully I'll be able to see some of them from the sunroom window. We did last year. Besides, I can continue my love affair with Wii while my husband is away.

School's out!

It was yesterday that my Bear finished his first year of preschool. It has been amazing to see him grow and flourish from a shy 3 year old to a very sociable 4 year old.

I had my reservations when I first enrolled him in his preschool. I wasn't sure how he would do in a setting where I, Husband or my Mom weren't involved in being his primary caregiver. I wasn't sure how he would do around other kids either.

A few years back in our playgroup Bear was picked on and seemed to be singled out by one particular boy. He would charge at Bear and knock him down. He once put him in a headlock and tossed him to the ground. It got to the point that if ANY child came near him Bear would put up his hand and say "No, No!" and run away. It was heartbreaking to see my little boy so afraid of other children. So I told myself that if he wasn't ready, we wouldn't go and we'd only be out the $30 enrollment fee.

When September came and he seemed ready, I told myself that if he didn't like preschool then we'd just be out the September fees, and would find other things to do on the days that he went to school. I didn't even have to come close to making a decision like that because he loved school so much.

He has made friends, and plenty of them. The kids he is drawn to are wonderful, and all the kids love him too. Its sweet to see him doted on by a sweet little blonde girl who always insists on wearing dresses. He rough plays with her older brother. His best buddy is a shy, quiet little guy until you get to know him. Once he warms up to you, he is the sweetest little man! There is a little girl that is as cute as a button that he absolutely adores - and wants to have over for a bounce on the bouncy castle. He's only 4 and he's bringing girls home! Lord help us when he's a teenager.

He's definitely won a place in the hearts of those kids with his sense humour. He is such a ham. One day he came home with a really stiff chunk of hair. It was like he took a handful of gel and slopped it through his shaggy blonde hair. I asked him what he had been into, fearing in was glue or something crazy like that. He proudly told me "I wanted to make Hannah laugh, so I put yogurt in my hair!" I was not surprised in the least.

I'm going to miss seeing him in his puppy slippers, running around the preschool playroom. I'm going to miss the random pieces of art that I don't have the heart to throw away or recycle. I'm going to miss his stories of who did what, and so and so said this or that and it was really funny - you know the type of humour that only a preschooler appreciates?

Our first year of preschool was a success. I am so, so happy that it worked so well for my Bear. Next year I'll be in worse shape though. At least we have one more year til we venture in to kindergarten territory.

Can't Blog! Playing Wii!

We got a Wii. I haven't been this excited over video games since Christmas 1988. That's the year my Grandparents gave my brother and me the original Nintendo system. I can once again feel the same rush I felt as a 11 year old girl figuring out how to save the Princess.

I already feel addicted. As of yet we only have the games that came with it: Wii Resort and Wii Sports. I love the table tennis. I love that when I play the Wii Mii I always get Cole and I can always smoke him in the head with a ping pong ball. I love the background characters too. There are some really freaky looking ones - like super goth chick and angry Chinese man.

Then, there is the sword fighting. I love the intense violin as you're being chased by 50 Wii Miis. It's really, really easy to kick Cole's ass. Not so easy with Jackie. She is one tough Wii Mii!

At the risk of sounding like a complete gaming nerd I'm going to cut it off here.....

But I love my new Wii!

Hello new hair!

Hair! You are short and I am glad. You look good! You feel good! You are smooth, yet choppy. You are brown again. That skunk stripe is gone - or at least covered up. You are no longer ragged. I couldn't pull you into an ugly ponytail if I tried. I promise to take better care of you. I feel better just knowing that you are cut.

I feel like me again.

To my hair....

Goodbye, long, ragged Hair. You haven't been cut since November. I am sorry to tell you this, but you look like crap. You are too long. You are too thick. You don't want to be curly or straight. I should take better care of you, but I can't. I can't take 45 minutes to blow dry you straight. If you knew what happened to my house you would understand. My kids go bonkers when I'm out of the room. They are like savages. Today, while out of the room, my child pooped on the window sill. Well, he didn't actually do the squat and drop, but he was IN the window sill and had a great, big, explosive crap in his diaper, while standing on my sill.

Hair, you have decided you don't want to be brown anymore. You have decided to grow a big, fat, chunk of gray out the back of my head. You must be mistaken. I am not a skunk. It is not nice to be 32 and have an old lady hair colour as your natural colour.

You have been through so much. You were blonde in your early years. I wanted you blonder so I sprayed you with sun-in. That was what you did in the 80's when you wanted blonde hair. I'm sorry I fried you. You were very nice when you were that golden caramel colour. It was great of you to grow that way. I permed you when I was 16. I'm sorry about that. You went through a lot with all those chemicals that lady poured onto my head.

You've been dyed many colours hair. Remember when I dyed you burgundy, and then purple? Remember the green streaks. They were supposed to be blue. Remember when I cut you super short and then bleached you? Then dyed you dark brown?

You've been hacked and grown out, bobbed and razored. You've been permed and straightened. You've been bleached and hi-lighted and dyed. I've covered you with scarves, braided you and covered you with embroidery thread. I've even put beads in you and once tried to mat you into dreads.

Tomorrow you are going to be cut again. I hope this means that I'll have more time to take care of you and make you look pretty. I want to do you justice, Hair! You will also be dyed. I'm too young to be gray. Or maybe not confident enough. Whatever it is, I don't want to be gray. Not yet.

Tonight is the last night that you will be pulled into a messy, scrunched up, rat's nest of a bun, or ponytail, or whatever it is that you call what I do to you. It's horrific, but tomorrow that will change.....

So long, Hair!

Fix it with a coke

Squirrel's separation anxiety is peaking. He wants to be held all the time. Not worn. I tried to get the backpack on so I could wear him on my back and he screamed and chopped it to the floor. I put him on the counter when I was chopping vegetables and he promptly stuck his foot in the barbecue sauce that I had made. He's had a cold and his nose is perpetually snotty and he does not want to be wiped.

So, I handled it like any mature adult would handle it. I had a great big Mommy meltdown. With dramatic exasperation I threw myself onto the couch, put my head in my hands and let out a loud "Ahhhhh!" I don't normally like conducting myself like this in front of the kids. I mean, I'm supposed to be teaching them how to deal with their frustration without kicking and screaming and yelling.

Bear was sitting on the love seat drinking a cup of milk when I did this. He looked at me and said "I know what you need Mommy? You need a great big sip of my milk."

"No I don't." I told him. "I don't want any milk."

"Juice? Would you like some juice?" He smiled.

"No Bear. Please. I'm really, really frustrated." I told him.

"I know what it is. You need yucky drink. That's what you want." He said this with a nod and a great big grin.

"Yeah, that would be nice." I said.

"Then go on, get one." Bear exhorted.

So I did.

Nothing is fair at the fair

I learned a lesson this weekend - Never take a child under two years to the fair.

They are not allowed to go on rides. This made Squirrel really sad. He sobbed and kicked and screamed. He doesn't understand why he can't go on the rides. He doesn't understand when I say to him in a gentle voice "I'm so sorry, I know it's not fair."

Bear had a blast. He went on the roller coaster twice - once with me and once with Nana. He went on some cars that went round and round, and a minuscule version of the Dumbo ride at Disneyland - except the containers (is that what you call them?) were fish or ducks instead of large eared elephants.

I can't wait til next year Squirrel. You and me are doing the roller coaster baby!

Chaos

This morning was one of the lousiest mornings I have had in a long time. Take both of the really "good"things about being 4 years old and 20 months old and that was the mood of the boys today.

It is very nice to have two full blown tantrums in the street. It's even better when you can see your neighbour standing in his living room window watching the tantrums. It feels great when your child runs across the front grass and attempts to butcher your camellia with his light saber even though you warned him once to stop.

When I was driving Bear to Sunday School both Bear and Squirrel were screaming and crying in the back seat. Bear was angry because he lost the privilege of using his light saber. Squirrel was angry because the shoes he wanted to wear were so small I couldn't get them on his feet. I was on the verge of tears, and of laughter. That crazy, psychotic, holy-shit-I'm-going-to-lose-my-mind type of laughter. I had images of accelerating as fast as I could and slamming on the brakes, just to relieve some tension.

By the time I reached the church Squirrel was asleep, snot smeared across his face and tears glistening on his long eyelashes. After a humiliating attempt at parallel parking and a good hug Bear, happily suited up in his bee costume, made his way into the church like nothing had happened.

If I could cut out the morning, the day would have been nice. Life has just been stinking hard lately. Husband is working 10-12 hour days. He didn't work last Sunday afternoon, but he's been gone late every. single. day. since June 1st. He was out of town for 2 nights last weekend. It wears on a mother that is trying to balance the needs of two very different boys, care for a mammoth fur baby, and take care of the household chaos as well.

The chaos makes my brain hurt, and it makes me pissy. I almost imagine myself cleaning up my house in a forceful rage, to Bulls on Parade by Rage Against the Machine. It makes my kids and Husband pissy too. Husband says he thinks he married an impostor because when he met me my house was as neat and tidy and organized. That, it was.

I was also single. I got up every morning alone. I only had myself to cleanup after. There was no other adult leaving wet towels on the bed, or downstairs on the dryer. There was no hair stuck to the sink from one shaving his head. I didn't have to get up and make any one's lunch, or breakfast for that matter. I only had my own clothes to wash. Not my own, Husband's and two very active boys. Sometimes they go through 3 outfits a day. That's a lot of clothes.

Then, there are the toys. I try really hard to keep up on their playroom. Really, I do. You would think after stepping on army men or hotwheels with my bare feet that I would have learned my lesson. Anyone who has stepped on one of these knows what I mean. Not this mama, she hasn't learned her lesson. Their room is my absolute last priority. Bear has zero interest in helping - no matter how fun I make it. So if he wants to play in chaos, so be it.

I didn't have a dog when I lived alone. Here we have one gigantic behemoth of a dog who sheds hair 24-7. I swear I could make a small terrier out of all the hair that boy drops around the house every single day.

I also only had to feed myself. Cookbooks excited me. I'd get off on meal planning. Now, thinking of what to eat is just one more task I must complete. Is it healthy? Will the kids eat it? Will Husband eat it? Trying to make food that pleases three other people isn't easy. Especially when four year old tastes are involved.

Most importantly, I didn't have anyone else to entertain. I spend most of my days making sure that Bear and Squirrel are content and not bored. I could have a house that would make Martha Stewart seethe with jealousy if I just stuck my kids in front of the idiot box all day. It's important to me that we go places, see things, do things. I want my kids to remember their childhood that was full of adventures, climbing, swinging and sandcastles. I want them to take joy in having a picnic in nature, or french fries on the wharf. I know my own Mama did the best she could, but I remember cleaning, and more cleaning and Sesame Street.

So, my house is chaos most of the time. But it's clean, sanitary chaos. There may be toys strewn across the floor and jeans hanging off the kitchen chair, but baby, you can eat off my bathroom counter. That I make sure of!

My kids go a bit loopy when they're stuck indoors, and now with summer coming I can see many long sunshine filled days. I can't wait! And as a friend of mine just said to me last week "C'mon over. Just don't expect me to do the dishes or wash the floors for you."

Smashed

Today my beloved Curious George mug was smashed to bits, and it's my fault.

I had given the mug to Bear to drink from. He had been sad, and had wanted some milk, so I put the milk in the mug to cheer him up. Once he was finished I asked him to put it up on the counter so that Squirrel wouldn't find it and try to carry it around the house.

Bear is 4 and he forgets things. He left George on the pleather cube in the middle of the living room and moved on to play in his room. I was engrossed in whatever I was doing, and Squirrel toddled in and found his prize. He carried the mug to the sun room and with great gusto dropped in on the floor, where it promptly broken into 3 large pieces, and a zillion dusty shards of porcelain. I say with much honesty that I wasn't mad. I was sad. I pointed at the mug and gasped and Squirrel knew immediately that what he had done. He came to me and threw his arms around me as I bent down for the hug that he was offering. He gave my back a rub. Bear entered the sun room and when he saw the broken pieces he burst into tears. He thought it was his fault. He said that he was crying for the mug, crying because he was sorry, crying because I could never, ever bring it back again.

I cleaned up the mess and the 3 of us had a cuddle on the couch. I explained that even though the mug had been left where Squirrel would get it, and Squirrel had thrown it, I was the Mommy and I should have checked to make sure that the mug was safe. I know that in reality at his age Bear is going to forget to take the mug to the counter. He's a kid.

It seems pointless to get angry about the mug. What good would that do? I know that Bear, and to an extent Squirrel, had felt the upset over the broken mug. How could yelling at them be effective in any way?

When we sin, we feel guilt. We feel remorse for what we have done. God doesn't answer back to us "That was a pretty stupid thing to do. How could you do that to me? After all I've done for you? Shame on you!" God forgives us. I have committed so many wrongs against my God. Yet he forgives me. The least I can do is emulate that grace to my kids. Even if it's just a broken mug.

My Grandma

My Grandma has been with Jesus for six years. It's been six years since I sat with her at her table in her kitchen. It's been six years since we've played Yahtzee and then had a cup of tea while watching Everybody Loves Raymond.
I miss her every day. I miss her when I look at Squirrel and see her in his eyes. I miss her when I'm lonely. I miss her when I feel like there is no one left to talk to. Because she always understood.

I think of the way she was when I was a little girl, sitting at her organ. When she was a little girl she wanted to play an instrument. It was war time, and in those times there was no money for an instrument, let alone music lessons. Her only doll she ever owned was sold to feed the family. The ration cards were never enough.

She was born at the start of the depression and her childhood ended when she married, a few months after the war was over. Her grandmother suffered a stroke on her wedding day, and died a few days after. She was only 17 when she sewed her most valuable jewelry into the hem of her dress and came to Canada as war bride in 1945. The marriage didn't work out in the end and she went back to Belguim. She would return to Canada again to stay, when she met, and married my Grandfather.

She had five children, her only daughter is my Mama.

My grandma made me feel special. She once told me that I deserved a man that would hold me in his hand, like a delicate little bird that I was. She knew me better than anybody. I could tell her anything.

My heart hurts when I think that she didn't live to see my wedding day. I'm sad that she will never meet her great-grandsons in this lifetime.

My heart rejoices though, because I know that she is rejoicing with our King. She is with the grandchildren she never got to hold because they left us before they were born. She is safe, and she is warm. The horrific memories that would torment her throughout her life have died with her body.

She is healed, and full and new again.

Simone Marie Sully
February 1, 1929 - June 6, 2004

Bear and Squirrel

Bear and Squirrel....... how did they get names like that?

Bear is the nickname I bestowed upon my son when he was less than 2 years old. I'd call him honey bear, or baby bear, and it was shortened to Bear over time. I probably call him by his first name Aaron 1/2 the time, and Bear the other half. It suits him. He tells me he likes it when I call him Bear, and it's special, because no one else calls him Bear. Just me!

When I started this blog I wanted to retain some anonymity with the general public. I already had a nickname for my oldest son, but nothing has really seemed to fit for my baby. At the time we were reading a book called "Friends and Pals and Brothers too!" by Sarah Wilson. The brothers in the books were buddies, like I tell Bear he and his brother will be. This of course will be once Squirrel gets old enough to be more than the pain in the butt that knocks down museums and takes his toys without asking. The characters in the book are nicknamed Bear and Squirrel, which Bear loved.

I have actually never called my baby 'Squirrel.' He is known only as Brendan, except when I'm lazy and I call him 'B'.

So those are my boys. They're sleeping right now, side by side in my bed. Bear was out first. He had a rough time after we got home from the park. He cut his thumb on a pokey book, and now has his thumb wrapped in a Toy Story band-aid.

Squirrel didn't feel like sleeping at first. He sat in my lap for awhile, had some big feelings about not being permitted to take binoculars to bed, and finally collapsed in my arms an hour later than he usually sleeps.

I'm hoping this means I get to sleep a bit tomorrow.... but chances are I'll be up with the birds......

Museum

My Bear built me a museum today. Nobody has ever built me a museum. He was so proud of it too. He lead me by the hand from our living room, to the sunroom, making me swear I'd keep my eyes closed. He stood as tall has he could and with his arms sweeping the air he shouted "Ta-da!" Squirrel squealed with glee and swooped in to tear the museum down. This of course did not bode well.

So my museum found a home on the tea cart, next to the kalanchoe that I never water. I didn't even know that Bear knew the word museum.

Gibby in the Garbage

One of my favourite sayings is "Grace is for Mamas too." It's also for dogs.

Here's the thing - It's very, very hard to show my dog grace when he gets into the garbage. I let him stay upstairs and trusted that he wouldn't make a mess, when I was leaving the house for just 30 minutes. He seemed tired and lethargic. I thought at worse he'd jump up on the couch and steal a nap on it. WRONG.

I came home and the stench hit me. My house smelled like the dump. I ran up the stairs and there he was, laying on the the area rug in the living room. His brow furrowed over his big brown eyes. He gave his tail a slight wag, with his ears hung back and his head ducked down. The pathetic "I'm so sorry, I was so so bad" whimper escaped his throat as I drew a sharp breath. He knew he was in it deep.

Garbage is gross. Garbage on your kitchen floor is worse. Even worse than that is garbage on your sunroom floor on a hot day. At least it was papers and some scrapings from the previous night's dinner. I shudder when I think of the time he found some raw chicken breast in the garbage and left them on the floor of the boys' playroom.

It's also hard to remain calm when you have a 19 month old boy who wants to inspect every single piece of trash on the floor. He wants to help pick it up. He points to the carnage and says "uh-oh". Then he innocently tramps through the mess and I can feel the panic and the anger in me rise. I am trying so bloody hard no to explode.

Gibson; poor sweet Gibson gets the brunt in my frustration. I yell at him. I rage at him. I want to kick his furry butt out the door. Instead I open the gate and he takes the walk of shame to the basement. My boys are looking at me, wide-eyed and full of concern. "I'm sorry Gibson got the trash Mommy" says Bear.

I clean up the mess, with the help of my boys. They sit on the couch engrossed in a DVD as I disinfect the kitchen. Then I open the gate and whistle for Gibson. It takes a few times until he slowly makes his way up the stair and flops down in the middle of the living room. I sit next to him and he politely wags his tail.

"I'm sorry Gibson". I say. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." He looks up and licks my hand which means "I'm sorry, and I forgive you."

I don't know what it is about life that makes it so hard to keep my temper in check. I sometimes feel like I have set this impossible ideal for myself. I feel like a complete failure every time I am human and lose it. Again, I find myself thankful for the grace that God has for me.

Market Melt

As mothers we have all experienced it. The public meltdown. I normally have a little mental checklist I go through before entering the grocery store:

Has Bear gone pee lately? Is Squirrel dry?

When's the last time they ate? Should I be anticipating a low blood sugar crash?

Have I told Bear what I expect - don't wap the price tags, don't leave my side and no, we are not getting Fruit Loops.

The other day, I had answered:

Yes, yes

Right before we left - they're good for a couple of hours

AND

Yes!

So, the shopping trip should have been a success, yes?

No, it most certainly was not. It was the most horrific, painful, rip my stupid gray streaked hair out and burn in on the floor type of trip.

It started in the parking lot. For some reason I couldn't figure out Squirrel started to cry. He kicked his legs against the shopping cart, knocking off his rubber boots and exposing his bare feet. He was wailing, lamenting, wringing his hands. At this point the need for food trumped the need to abandon ship. If I didn't come out of the market for something, we'd be eating noodles with butter for dinner. Against my better judgement I entered the store, attempting to comfort my baby while fending off the nasty glances of senior shoppers.

Squirrels shrieks turned to gravelly groans. His face turned red. He started to rock the cart. He was one step away from projectile vomit and a spinning head. I hate not knowing what my baby wants. It is so sad when he doesn't have the words. I can't explain to him that we need food, that I'm a neglectful mother to let the food situation in our house get so dire. I wanted to pop a cookie in his mouth to shut him up. I wanted to run across the parking lot to Spinnaker's and grab the first bottle of hard liquor I found on the shelf and down it right there in the store.

I rocked him gently, and he still wouldn't stop crying. He twisted and dove for the cart, the basket part of the cart that contained his boots. He pulled out the boots, threw them on the ground and wriggled out of my arms. He jammed his feet into the boots, took my hands and smiled.

That's it? It was about boots?

This particular trip reminded me of a trip I took with Bear, while heavily pregnant with Squirrel. Bear was 2 1/2 at the time. He was not toilet trained yet. It was near dinner time - the stupidest time to grocery shop. I don't even remember what set him off but as we were leaving and he was screaming he grabbed at a rack of pamphlet as he stretched out of my arms. I hadn't realized that he actually had a grip on the rack and the whole thing came tumbling down. There were pamphlets and papers everywhere. The rack made such a clatter that the entire store seemed to stop for a moment, like a restaurant will when someone breaks a dish. I felt like every set of eyes in the store was watching me. The judgemental middle-aged woman. The 80 year old grandfather that made his own children choose their switch off the backyard tree. Young women who didn't yet have children, but by golly would never have a brat like that. It was then that I truley wanted to spontaneous combust.

I found myself pushing the shopping cart out of the store in a daze. I got to my car and I feel apart. A woman appeared and asked me if I needed help. I let her load my groceries for me as Bear screamed in my arms. I thanked her and she went on her way. I sat in my car and I cried. A few moments later there was a knock at my window. The same woman said "I am so sorry you had to go through that. We all do. My kids do it at Walmart." Those words, they were the most comforting words of my life. She asked if she could hug me, and for the first time in my life I let a stranger hug me, in the parking lot of Save On Foods, and I sobbed.

For me it is always a good reminder not to judge other Mamas when we see them having a tough time with their children. Maybe the babe is under fed, tired, or wet. Maybe they really want something they can't have and are having a tough time accepting that. Chances are the Mama is handling it the best way she knows how.

And for the record, I am positive the woman in the picture above has a bottle of scotch in her purse.

No rest for the weary

I have a friend who posted on her facebook status "There should be a big, red, dot on my wall with the words 'Bang head here'."

I hear you dear, sweet friend, I hear you.

Today was one of those days. We have a nest of sparrows living in our roof. Of course it's the part of the roof right by our bedroom window. Of course they start chirping at 4 am. Put that together with the sunlight streaming through the curtains and you have two wide awake children at 5 am. That makes me very short on patience.

It doesn't help that Squirrel doesn't let me sleep in. He needs me in the morning. He doesn't give a fiddler's fart about me for most of the day - but come morning he needs me. The odd time husband will try to get up with him. It only ever lasts about 10 minutes before Squirrel is pounding the door calling "Mama! Maaaaaama!"

So I'm sleep deprived.

I'm yelling a lot.

I feel like a horse's behind.

I'm so glad that grace is for Mamas too.

Me and my idealism

I'm going to be blowing off some steam tonight......

I was at Gymboree the other day with Bear and Squirrel. I love Gymboree. I hate their prices, but I manage to land a good sale now and again. Besides, I had word that they had some pirate stock in, and Bear loves pirates.

Bear and Squirrel made a bee-line to sit on the coloured plastic chairs in front of the TV as usual. There sat a dark haired little boy, watching Yo Gaba Gaba alone. After a few minutes of TV watching Bear asked me if I'd sit down, so I did. I gave the little boy a wave, and a hello. He instantly burst into tears. He ran to a middle aged woman, jumped in her arms and sobbed "I want my mama!" The grandma snapped back "Oh, cut it out." She proceeded to shame him, stuff him into the stroller and tell him he was scaring everybody with his howls. I stood there in disbelief. Her grandchild wants his Mama and she is a complete bitch to him. It was so incredibly sad and rude and unkind. I'm glad that one lady told the woman "He's not scaring me." What sort of thing is that to say to a child? He didn't look much older than 3.

As they were leaving the woman looked at me and said "I don't know what his problem is." Pardon me? Didn't you hear him? He wants his Mama! So I said "It's pretty clear to me, he said he wants his Mommy. He's sad and needs a hug." The woman puffed and left the store. She left me wishing I had said more.

I just don't get some people. Why would you not hug a crying child? Why are feelings of sadness, of loneliness, or even just being hungry and done with the mall something to be so mean and angry about? It breaks my heart. How can we stop a hurting world if we don't embrace our kids when they hurt? How can they learn empathy and compassion when big feelings are pounded back inside?

If a friend called us in tears, would we tell them to call back when they were ready talk without crying? Of course not. The thought of it is ridiculous. We listen, we may empathize. We may even offer prayers, a cup of tea, or something else tangible. We'd take care of our friend in need.

I may think this because I am an idealist to the core, but I am so sure, so confident, that if we love our children through the tough times, their little hearts will grow strong. They will grow to be compassionate people. That's what this world needs. More care, more understanding. That's the world I want my children to grow up in. It's the legacy I want for my grandchildren. It's certainly the world that God wants for His children.

Say What?

Two nights ago, while we lay in bed finishing up our stories, Bear and I were talking about all the new things that Squirrel could say. We then started to ask Squirrel to say them.

I asked him to say cookie, and he replied, with a huge goofy grin "kiki". I asked him to say Big Bird and he replied "Bee Bir". I asked him to say bath and he giggled and said "baff". Bear started to wiggle and bounce and said "I have one, I have one. Squirrel, say Darth Sidious". Squirrel smile slowly spread to a gigantic grin and he said "Dar Seh-e-us". We laughed so hard we could hardly breathe and Squirrel just sat there grinning.

That night as I watched them fall asleep, I fell in love with them again. I can't believe how much they have both grown. It seems like just a few nights ago I was nursing Bear to sleep, as God knit Squirrel together in my womb. Time goes so fast. Why can't I pause it?

Thinking about being pregnant reminds me of something Bear asked me a few months ago. He asked "So Mama, how'd Squirrel get inside you anyway? Did you swallow him?"

Out of the mouth of babes!

Kiki

Squirrel is beginning to speak. He's stretching is vocabulary past Ah-wa, Mama, Dada, Gi-sen, hi, bye-bye, this way, ball and my favourite; see-hot. He walked up to me today and said "Kiki." I didn't understand. It didn't sound remotely like anything, or anyone we know. I said "I'm sorry baby, I don't understand!"

"Kiki!" he said again, more urgently this time, with a tug on my shirt.

"I'm sorry! I don't understand." I told him again. This time he took my hand, led me to the fridge and pointed to the tupperware container sitting on top.

"Kiki!" he insisted.

Ah.....COOKIE! How can you NOT give a little one a cookie when they ask for it by name for the first time? So out came the cookies: one for me, one for Bear and one of course, for Squirrel.

Fast forward to tonight. He was one sad little man when it was time for bed. He wanted Bear's remote control Hummer in the worst way. This unfortunately is off limits. He already sorta broke it today. He's too little to play with it. I carried him screaming into the bedroom, his arms outstretched for the car. I had to think of something, and fast.

This last week or so, Squirrel has be into Sesame Street. Elmo and Cookie Monster have definitely caught his interest, more than any other characters. I ran to his bedroom and quickly found Bear's stuffed Cookie Monster and brought him back to our bed. Squirrel's eyes lit up and he held out his arms when he saw him.

"Kiki!" he exclaimed. He clung to Kiki as he nursed to sleep. When he was done nursing he drowsily rolled over and Kiki slid out of his arms. Squirrels eyes popped open and he called out "Kiki?" I tucked Kiki under his arm as Squirrel closed his eyes, falling back into his slumber.

My baby has adopted his first Lovey!!

Brotherly Love

Bear got angry the other day. Really angry. I have never seen him so angry in his whole life. He's 4, big feelings are pretty normal. Why he got angry is something that made me so incredibly proud of him.

We were on a play date at a friend's house. My friend has two children, I'll call them Emma and Jack. Emma is about 5 1/2 and Jack is nearly 4. Bear, Squirrel, Emma and Jack were headed to Emma's room to play. Jack was having a particularly bad day, and had it out for Squirrel. My friend and I were enjoying a nice cup tea in her living room when our tranquility was shattered. We heard Jack shout "No! No Squirrel you CAN'T come in Emma's room!" Squirrel shrieked and then Bear shouted "He can so. You stop it. You stop it now. He CAN come in. Don't you tell him that!"

My friend and I jumped up. I have never seen my Bear so beside himself with anger. His face was red. He was spitting while he screamed at Jack. I seriously thought that Bear, for the first time, would pound the crap out of another child. Bear then looked up at me and told me Jack had said that Squirrel was not allowed in Emma's room, and that Jack had pulled on Squirrel's shirt to keep him from entering the room.

My friend stepped in told Jack that yes, Bear was right. Squirrel was allowed to play in Emma's room. Emma, Bear and Squirrel, who was sporting a pair of pink sunglasses, entered Emma's room. Jack dragged his feet, sulking behind them. We hadn't even sat down when Bear shouted "Hey, don't take those from him! He had them first." I ran down the hall again, to find Bear taking the pair of pink sunglasses from Jack, and putting them on Squirrel's face. Squirrel beamed and threw his arms around his brother. Big brother sticking up for Little. It was one proud day for this Mama.

Summertime

Summer is coming. I can feel it. Spring has definitely been here for awhile, but summer.... I can feel your warmth already! It is so amazing to wake up to the birds chirping, the fresh morning air smelling of bluebells and the cool sunlight streaming in my window. Its definitely motivation for this lazy lie-abed to get her butt out of bed.

We had our first boat trip of the season on Sunday, Mother's Day. It doesn't really count as Squirrel's first trip, but it's the first he can remember. Last year he was still an infant as we putted through the Gorge to the inner Harbour. This time he was really freaked out at first, but after a few minutes he was babbling at pointing to "twees", and comfortably scooting to the back and front (or is it bow and stern?) of the Zodiac.

The one thing that I couldn't believe as we motored along was how we are so blessed to live in this beautiful city. Really, who can launch a boat at the end of their street and go downtown for ice-cream? It's amazing to walk along the Harbour, cone in hand, doling out change to buskers like Dave Harris, or Bear's beloved Plaster Man.

There is a park that we stop at along the way. It's on the beach. The beach! For someone who grew up in Surrey, a park on the beach is truly wondrous. You can swing on the swings and see patches of water through the trees. A welcome contrast to a busy street and unkempt houses, I tell you!

I haven't been this excited about summer in a long time. Beaches, even when half the beach come home with you in your car. Parks, water parks, picnics and the smell of coconut sunscreen smeared all over your body. Living barefoot in my flipflops. Dinner on the patio at Milestones on the rare date that we get. Barbecuing every night - burgers, hotdogs, chicken, ribs. Sweet potato salad. Beers or ciders on the back porch after the kids have gone to bed. Makes one want to crack a beer, listening to Janis Joplin's rendition of Summertime, and relax the night away.

Never Violence

Never Violence
by Astrid Lindgren

Above all, I believe that there should never be any violence. In 1978 I received a peace prize in West Germany for my books [Pippi Longstocking], and I gave an accepting speech that I called just that: "Never Violence." And in that speech I told a story from my own experience.

When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking - the first of his life. And she told him that he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, "Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock that you can throw at me."

All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. And the mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because violence begins in the nursery - one can raise children into violence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was recently shared on a Gentle Christian Mothers, a message board that I belong to. The poster who shared this also said that she had found in a blog a suggestion to put a rock on our window sill to remind ourselves that violence is not the answer. What a beautiful suggestion!

It also made me think about my own thoughts on spanking. Spanking was so engrained into who I was. I was spanked as a child. It might have been for disobedience, for sass, for lying, for fighting with my brother..... I don't remember. I did learn that it was best not to be caught, so I learned to be deceitful.

I always assumed that I would spank my children. Right up until Bear was born. I thought that if I didn't spank my children then they would grow up to be bad people. I thought that the problems with our society came from children who were never disciplined.

I am so grateful to be blessed with a different outlook on things. I am so blessed to be surrounded by women who are wise, that can mentor me in my parenting. I am so blessed to be loved by a God who is full of grace and mercy. Grace and mercy are what I want my children to know, not violence or shame.

I have a rock on my windowsill in my kitchen. It's a rock that Bear found me. When I feel like grace based discipline is not working, when I feel like I am failing and that I just need to smarten my kids up with a spanking I look at my rock.

Kim Taylor

I'm not very good at writing reviews. Scratch that. I've never written a review. I was supposed to write a review for my college creative writing class. We went to some jazz club or something. I can't remember. I do remember that I got incredibly drunk and flirted with my teacher's son. I am still embarrassed, though I'm sure the incident is long forgotten by everyone else. Anyway, the review was never written because I didn't remember anything but the ciders and the cute drummer (teacher's son) from the jazz band.

I did want to share some music I've been into lately. Her name is Kim Taylor, and her music is simply beautiful. Someone I know said "if you don't know who Kim Taylor is, you're stupid." So check this out - so you're not stupid anymore.

www.kim-taylor.net

Oh, and my favourite song is Days Like This. You can listen to it on the music option below!

Who am I?

I think that everybody freaks out when they find their first gray hair. I know I did. Then I dyed my hair and went on my plucky little way. A few days ago I drew my hair back into a stubby ponytail. It's at the just long enough stage to draw back and keep out of my face. For the first time in, I don't know, 4 months I looked at the back of my head. I didn't see one or two gray hairs. I saw a clump. A large clump. Gray and fat and long, just like Pepe fucking La Pew.

I've come to realize that I've gotten old the last few years. I used to be so light hearted and fun. I've become a stormy little rain cloud the last few years. What the hell happened to me? I don't expect myself to be all sunshine and lollipops. It's just that lately I've become cold rainstorm and mosquito bites.

I've also realized that I wished away a good portion of my 20s. I was so insecure. Security for me, was staying at home. I didn't have to worry about what I wore, how I looked, and who I impressed. Home was comfort. I remember I couldn't wait to be older, so I could have kids and stay home. Now I miss going out.

I feel like I lost myself somewhere along the way of wishing I was older. I think I tried so hard to find myself that I still don't know who that is anymore. I know who I'd like to be. I know what I wish I was like. I sometimes don't feel comfortable in the shoes I've put on. I know I'm not a knee high boots kind of girl. I'm a flip-flops girl. And I love my cloth gong-fu shoes that my brother found in Fan-Tan Alley.

I know that I no longer like blouses, or things like that. I don't think I ever did really like them. I like t-shirts, mostly with a little capped sleeve. I like jeans. I like skirts too, but it has to be the right skirt. I love hoodies. I love that you can hide in them. I love that you can find hoodies that you can still be girl in. I hate shorts. My legs are so nasty in shorts. My legs remind me of a chicken, turkey drumstick. Fat on the top and skinny on the bottom.

I want to re-pierce the second holes in my ears and replace them with white gold hoops. My ears turn green if I don't put good stuff in them. I love my nose ring and I will never take it out.

I have two tattoos. I have one on my lower back, of a Celtic knot. I have a flower on my shoulder which I hate. I want to cover it with two flowers, a daisy for Bear and a chrysanthemum for Squirrel. I haven't found the perfect look, but I want it to be sort of 1940s style.

That a little bit of what I know about me. It seems to be such a shallow depiction of who I am. I don't really get to the core of who I am. I thought I would have figured it out by now. I guess I haven't.

He's Crafty....not

I'm trying to convince Bear to colour more. I realized that he never really colours, or draws. I can't say he likes it. Sometimes he'll paint. Not often.

We go to a Toddler Art programme before playgroup every Wednesday. Sometimes I can get him to glue stuff, but most of the time he just wants to play. He's probably inherited his lack of interest in art from me.

I've always hated art. I think it came from Grade 1. I remember this stupid woven apple that we had to make. Teacher gave us apples she had cut from red construction paper. We were to take regular white office paper and cut it into strips. Then we had to make horizontal slits in the apple. THEN we had to weave the white paper through the horizontal slits. Easy right? WRONG!

There were three or four of us who couldn't do it. We tried and tried. I remember feeling anxious and stupid and wanting to cry, and then the time was up. Art was over. It was on to gym. On to gym for those who finished their apples. Lights off in a dark room to finish the apples for those of us who didn't get how to weave that paper in and out. We sat on the floor next to the classroom door for light. I don't get why Teacher thought that turning out the lights and leaving 6 year olds alone and unsupervised to finish the project alone was a good idea. We nabbed an older kid in the hallway who knew how to make the apples. We convinced him to "help". I don't know who he was but I am so thankful that he finished that apple for me.

I have a friend who's children like crafts. They will sit and work on their crafts for hours. They will draw or paint or glue or string beads. This friend can't believe that my son doesn't like crafts. She asked what was wrong with him. Like he was defective for not liking crafts. I wanted to tell her that NOTHING was wrong, thank you very much. That my Le Leche League leader thought that kids who sat in silence diligently working on their task for hours on end were creepy. I did point out that focusing on something for about 10 minutes was normal for his age and that he was right on target with that. Who cares if he doesn't like to draw? He likes to make up stories. He likes his playmobil. He likes to tumble and jump.

Squirrel is a scribbler already. He likes to leaf through the colouring books and scribble on random pages. He loves cars. Give him a couple of cars and he'll play for 20 minutes, driving them along the baseboard, up the walls and under the table. He has even started to make the sound effects, which is really cute. He knows which ones make noise and when they don't he brings them to me and says uh-oh. I know that when he discovers that playdoh is not food and is fun to squish that he will like playdoh more than Bear does.

I love that all kids are different. And my Le Leche leader WAS right.... if all kids were quiet and diligent and focused on a task for hours on end, it would be creepy. I sort of picture a group of girls with braided black hair, pale heads bent over their paper, vacant eyes watching their hands draw red circles, round and round and round and round and round.....

Ramblings......

I was thinking today about the course my life has taken. I have wanted to be a wife and a mother for as long as I can remember. When I was in Grade 3 my teacher once asked me "Amanda, what on EARTH do you dream of all day?" I looked up at her with stars in my eyes and said "My Wedding Day!" That of course was followed by a classroom of hysterical laughter. Then teasing and speculation of who this boy in my dreams was....

There were so many other things that I wanted to be:

I wanted to be a nurse, until I realized this also included bedpans and barf and being responsible for somebody's medication, changing the dressing on wounds, weird smells, long hours and shit pay.

I wanted to be a teacher but I don't think I have the patience for other people's kids.

When I was 9 I saw an episode of Private Benjamin and wanted to be in the Army. Yep, the Army. Combat did not occur to me because in my mind WWII was the last war the world would ever see.

I wanted to go to school to be a chef. I like to cook. I'm good at it. I'm not so good with pressure.

I had a cop phase, when I wanted not only be a cop, but an undercover cop. Thank you 21 Jump Street! The thought of me being a cop is hilarious. I'm short, don't weigh a whole lot, am pretty sensitive, never kicked anyone's ass in my life and I am completely out of shape.

I of course never became any of those. I am a stay at home mom. A domestic engineer. A homemaker. A housewife.

I cook, clean, fold laundry (or make a sad attempt at doing so). I vacuum less than I should, mop even more less, and try to stay on top of the bathroom. Some days I don't do much of this. I would make June Cleaver cry. The role of "housewife" has changed so much.

I sometimes wonder if it was really so much like it was portrayed on Leave it To Beaver and other shows of the era. I'm thinking the 1950's stereotype of a woman waiting by the door, pipe and sherry in hand for Husband Dear. Was she really all neat and tidy? Were the kids washed and patiently waiting for their dinner, which was already made? When the kids wanted to go out and play after dinner did they really say "Ah Gee!" when Pop said no? Really?

When Husband comes home the kids are rarely clean. One of them will have the recent snack smeared across their face. They're tired. I certainly am not waiting by the door with a pipe, and if I had a glass in hand it would be empty, because I drank the sherry, or more likely rum and diet coke, that was inside. I am not neat and tidy - my hair probably hasn't been brushed in hours. Bear doesn't blurt out "Ah Gee!" when we tell him he can't play Star Wars after dinner. I can't imagine what June would think when she saw his reaction.

If my family was anything like a 1950's TV family they wouldn't be mine. Husband finds my disorganization and messiness frustrating and brain scattering. I find it imperfect, yet endearing. It's not that I don't care. I do care. I'd love to have a clean house at all times. I do care that the fridge stinks because something is rotting in there and I don't know what. I care that there is dog hair on the floor. Yes, it is weird that there is a bottle of perfume with a missing cap on my counter. Messy faces - meh. It's part of childhood.

I do care that my kids experience life. I love to take them out to the park, or the petting zoo. I like going on walks and telling them the names of flowers. I like taking them downtown to experience urban culture - street performers, tourists, cool stores, good food. How can you NOT go to the beach at least once a week when you live as close to the ocean as we do? The thing is, if I was stuck at home with a duster in hand we wouldn't do these things. These things are so much more important than a clean house.

Besides, most stay at home Mamas know that the monotony staying home all day, day in and day out only ends in a trip to Rancho Relaxo. Or a sanatorium, if you lived back then.

Anya Josephine

I'm sitting at the computer tonight, drinking tea, and thinking of my best friend, Anya. She calls me Panday. She lives far away. I haven't had tea with Anya in 3+ years.

She has been my friend for 15 years. I was her Maid of Honour when she got married. She would have been my Maid of Honour too. She wasn't able to come to the wedding because she was pregnant, and not allowed to board a plane. I opted not to bestow the title of Maid of Honour on anyone, because only Anya deserved it. We also knew that she was a Matron, not a Maid, but Matron made her sound like a prison warden, or some mean old woman, like Katherine, Catherine Brooke.

She was my friend when I was anorexic. She yelled and screamed and cried at me to eat. She loved me through my recovery. When my home life wasn't good she'd drive 45 minutes to come and see me, just to make sure I was OK.

When my first love shattered my heart to pieces she brought me daisies, took me to lunch and then on a drive to Chuckanut Drive. She didn't even seem too mad that I fell asleep after all that driving either. Did I mention that if fell asleep because I drank 3 Long Island Iced Teas in the middle of the day? Chuckanut Drive is a lovely road in Washington that is nothing but farms and trees. Beautiful.

We went on crazy trips to Bellingham to go for Taco Bell, when Taco Bell was only South of the border. Taco Bell when you're 19 is heaven. Taco Bell when you're 32 is totally overrated.

We'd go to the tea store at Park Royal and buy all sorts of delicious tea - earl grey/jasmine, jasmine on it's own, and one incredibly lovely one called Cream. Yummy. Sometimes we'd drink tummy tea, which was some sort of variation of peppermint, for sore tummies.

She didn't get mad when AF came in the middle of the night, ruining her cool dinosaur jammies. I was horrified. She was all "whatever" about it.

Once we went out after midnight and wreaked havoc on her neighbourhood. We took For Sale signs from people's yards and placed them on unsuspecting homeowners half a block down. The thought of someone getting up in the morning, looking out the window with the morning coffee in hand, going "what the hell?" drove us into hysterics.

We would go to Kmart and laugh at those creepy half doll bodies, or doll heads, that old ladies knit lavender skirts for. You know the type? Some were even made up to look like hookers. We named one Vera. If we were feeling really sassy we might move stuff around - put some underwear in with the chocolate bars. Yes, we were very mature for our age.

My favourite thing was listening to Modest Mouse, or Hayden under a blue light, or surrounded by multi-coloured Christmas lights in June. There is something so warm and comforting about that thought, still.

She has a great husband, and a beautiful little girl who I had the privilege of meeting 3 years ago. Her little girl is nearly 5!

Anya is patient, kind, funny and a beautiful example of a woman following Christ.

Anya Josephine. My best friend.

His Grace is Sufficient

Wonderful the matchless grace of Jesus,
Deeper than the mighty rolling sea;
Higher than the mountain, sparkling like a fountain,
All-sufficient grace for even me;
~ Haldor Lillenas ~

Today I'm thinking about the incredible grace that has been given to me, from my Savior. It is so important to me to share that with my children. We've been dealing with some frustrating issues with Bear right now. It is less than easy to show grace right now, far harder than I ever thought it would be. I've had to ask myself over, and over - Am I acting like Jesus would want me to act? Would he be proud of me? Too many night these past few weeks I've gone to bed feeling like a fool.

It is important to me that my kids know I love them. Not in a "Mommy loves me because I'm her son" type of knowledge, but I want them to know from the deepest parts of their hearts, that I love them fiercely.

I want them to know that there is nothing they can do that will change that love. There is nothing they need to do, nothing they need to be to make me love them more. I love my kids so completely. I want to be a walking, living testimony to Ephesians 2:8-10

8For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9not by works, so that no one can boast. 10For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

My love, sweet babies, is unconditional. I am so sorry that I fail at showing you that some days. Thank you Bear, for always forgiving me when I ask. Thank you Squirrel, for whispering in my ear today "la law loo", and following it with a big smooch.
You both most certainly have my heart.

Just a little Respect?

Today I had one of those days where I felt like I did everything wrong. I'm letting the stress of this party get the best of me. Really, who yells at a four year old who doesn't put their jacket on the instant they are asked? I guess some people do, but it's not my thing. I know what I should do. I could have made it fun. We could have had jacket races, or put it on backwards and pretend to not notice. I could have taken the fact that he was playing a really cool computer game into consideration.

Instead, I behaved like a child who wasn't getting what they wanted and the wanted it NOW. I yelled. I threatened. I begged. Then I yelled loud. That got him moving. Ick.

I'm trying to figure out why I want instant obedience so badly. It infuriates me when my kids don't comply. I *know* at this age it isn't about defiance. He's engrossed in a game. He needs more time to transition. Instead of expecting him to march to his shoes and jacket like Friedrich VonTrapp I could have given him more warning. As an adult I don't like to be told to do things. It's nice to be asked. And it's nice to be asked nicely.

I like to ask myself how I would like to be spoken to. Why can't we show kids the same respect? What makes them any less different than me? Really, when I order my kids around they get this message - Biggers order littles around. It's OK to be rude if you're a grown up. It doesn't mean that I have to ask in a sickening sugary sweet voice to put on his jacket. But I could make the request and wait. Ask again. Ask if he needs help? Assist if needed.

Matthew 7:12 states "Do unto others, as you would have others do unto you."

I don't think that I was very obedient to those words today. I failed, and I failed miserably.

Bear, as usual, accepted my apology with a great big grin and a "I forgive you Mommy". I know that God forgives me too.

Birthday Planning Blues

I am having house guests in 48 hours. I have 48 hours to deep clean my bathroom, clean the playroom, vacuum (and stay on top of the dog hair) wash the floors, fold about ten loads of laundry, clean the spare room and wash the floors in the basement.

I also have to buy all the stuff for the birthday party - plates, cups, napkins, balloons, a Buzz Light Year Pinata, all the crap to put in the pinata, plan and prepare the food and the loot bags and the games..... the list goes on and on and on. And the cake. HOLY CRAP. The freaking cake. I just remembered I have to order the cake.

Bear's birthday party is on Saturday. Today is Tuesday. Well, its Tuesday night which means that I really only have tomorrow and half of Thursday to get my house is presentable shape. Mother in Law arrives from far, far away sometime on Thursday afternoon. Thank the Lord the party isn't at my house. I don't know how I would have fit 12 bouncing 3-5 year olds in my house, plus their parents. I am ever so grateful that my Mom is hosting the party at her house.

I used to be so organized. I would write lists, and sub lists and I'd have it all squared away at least a week beforehand. The rusty wheels are turning in my head. I thinks I have a plan.....

I'm going to buy loot bags, but I'm going to turf assembling them. Once the kids are done beating the crap out of Buzz and all his guts spill out they can collect said guts and put them into the bags. I can find cool stuff to put in there - pencils, stickers, whistles, and candy. Can you really go wrong with candy?

I'm starting to feel like I can do this. I really think I can. I honestly wish I had more confidence in myself. It would eliminate so many tears, so many fistfuls of hairs being ripped from my head. Sure, the BC Liquor Board may see a decrease in sales in April and October but I would have my sanity intact.

Happy Birthday Bear

Bear is four years old today. I can't believe he's four! We've had a great day so far - chocolate cereal for breakfast, presents, and McDonald's for lunch. Nana and Papa are coming for dinner, which is hotdogs. We'll be detoxing for a week but you only turn four once, and you only have one birthday a year. Happy Birthday my sweet Bear.

Brothers

Squirrel came up from behind me, put his arm around my shoulder, and said "Hi See-hot" which means "Hi Sweetheart" in Squirrel language. My heart nearly exploded when he said that. I can't believe how full of happiness and joy my boy is. He walks around with a great big grin ALL THE TIME. He cries when he's been hurt or scared but all in all he's one happy kid.

He kissed me today too. A real kiss, not one of those open mouthed, slobbery, only appreciated by Mama type kisses. Bear was proud, he said "See, I kept showing him how to really kiss." Bear hugs and kisses his brother to no end. The credit is his!

One thing that was vitally important to me was to foster a good relationship between my boys from the start. There is a mom in our playgroup who's kids are twenty months apart. As long as I've known her the older has always beat the crud out of her younger sibling. The hair pulling, arm slapping, karate chops are rampant around those two. Their mother said to me "Someday your boys will be the same, you wait."

Sure, they'll fight. I'm not that delusional. I just feel like they already have a deep connection that will prevent them from picking on each other the way those kids from the play group do. Bear already feels bad when he's wronged his brother. He'll come to me with tears in his eyes and say "I was bad. I hurted my brother." I have him offer a hug, an apology and Squirrel will always hug back. Sometimes Squirrel will even assure Bear in a high-pitched voice that sounds a teeny bit like Mommy's "I forgive you brother". That brings on the giggles, a request to make Squirrel talk again, and the incident is forgotten.

How did I do to try to get them off to a good start? I had Bear talk to Squirrel when he was still in womb. When Squirrel was born we made a big deal about Bear's new role as Big Brother. Sometimes Squirrel would talk to Bear and say "I can't wait til you can show me how to play hotwheels" or "when I'm as big as you can I go on the slide?" When people would ask how Bear liked his brother I let him be honest about how he felt. When our play was interrupted by Squirrel I'd ask Bear if he could help me comfort him. If he didn't want to that was cool. He was happy for the most part, though he did bounce a car off poor baby's head one frustrating afternoon.

Like I said I know they'll fight. I just hope that I've planted some good seeds so that when they do fight, they'll also be able to make amends with ease.

Squirrel is seventeen months old. I asked Bear the other day if he remembered life without his brother. He doesn't. He also told me last night that he loved his brother, and we should never get rid of him.

Good plan!

My Jedi

I told Bear that I couldn't believe he was turning four in two weeks. I told him it almost made me want to cry.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you're not a baby anymore" I told him.

"Mommy" he said, cupping my face "Don't you want me to grow up, be a Jedi and get bad guys?"

"I think it would be good if you could catch bad guys" I replied.

"Then you're going to have to let me get big." he said, with a kiss.

Where does the time go? This time four years ago I didn't even know him as Bear. He was just "the baby". Now he's four and he is going to be a Jedi Knight?

And Squirrel.... Squirrel said "No" today. I handed him some food, I can't remember what. He shook his head and said "No". He's seventeen months old now. He's my last baby. He takes my hand and leads me to their playroom, points to the light and says "this" for me to turn it on. When I turn it on he says "ta koonk" which means thank you. He leads me the colander we keep the bananas in and says "this anana?" Next thing you know he'll be wanting to pee on the toilet like his brother.

I have to admit sometimes I wish they were older so I could have a bit more independence. I forget what it is like to go for dinner and not sit on pins and needles waiting for the dreaded "he's screaming and screaming and will die from the screaming if you don't come soon" phone call. I forget what it's like to go for dinner AND a movie. I don't think I've had a solid night sleep in four years. I don't bother with dresses as they are impractical when you are nursing. I MISS dresses. I love nursing, but sometimes I'd really love to have my boobs back. I know it's not about me, but sometimes I want it to be about me.

Conversations like I had with Bear tonight make me want to suspend time forever. I don't care about me, or wearing dresses or having a peaceful night out with Husband. I just want to love every stage as it comes.

OK Bear

So I did it. I picked an album and I went with OK Bear. I'm just listening to the first song and it's all I expected and more. There is something about Jeremy Enigk's music. It's like the after part of coming home on a shitty day, soaking wet because you forgot your umbrella, and chilled to the core because that's what the West Coast rain is like. When you get home you put on the familiar warm sweater and comfy pants. You drink some peppermint tea, maybe plug in your Christmas lights, or light some candles and eat some gingersnaps.

I like the title too. OK Bear. I say "OK Bear" several times a day.

He had his feelings hurt today. There is nothing like the gut punch of seeing your child crushed by the meanness of another child. To most people the situation would have been minor. There were two boys at the top of this big fort at the playground. They were probably about seven. Attached to this fort was a tube slide. One of the boys was sitting in the slide. Bear looked up the slide and said "Hi!" and the kid snapped back "Don't". It was pretty mean and harsh and stung me. Bear looked at me with his tear filled green eyes. He wanted to go home. I wanted to shake my fist at them and yell "Why I oughta!" Hmmm. Probably not the best thing I could do, but I sure felt it. Mom says once she was so upset at some kids teasing me she chased them down the street with a can of tomato soup. She says she had no idea what she thought she would do with the soup. I'm sure those kids still sit around and talk about it. "Remember that psycho on ABC Street that chased us with that can of soup?" I snicker to myself as I think about it. Mom always stuck up for us kids.

Bear lay on the grass emotionally defeated. He wanted to leave. It's hard to explain to a four year old that some people are grouchy, or don't know how to use their words, or just plain jerks. It's hard to watch your boy slowly realize that not everybody is a friend. It sucks.

It was such a beautiful day and Squirrel nor our play dates were ready to leave yet. So I did the first thing that came to mind. In our friend's stroller a special woolen baby bunny was sleeping. The bunny arose with dismay because her new friend Bear was sad. She lovingly pecked all the yucky feelings off Bear, til he was laughing and ready to play. We played for another hour and stopped by a pond to feed some ducks. It was a lovely afternoon. It even made me forget for a short while that I crunched the front bumper to the family car earlier that morning.

I want my Cesspool

I have an itunes card that Husband put in my stocking this past Christmas and have decided that I am hungry for some new music. I've tossed a few ideas around my head. I've thought Gershwin, or maybe that old Nirvana unplugged album I lost so many years ago. I stumbled upon a new Jeremy Enigk album called OK Bear. Intriguing, and I am so close to buying it.

Out of curiosity I looked up Blenderhead. I haven't heard Prime Candidate for Burnout in about ten years. I had it on tape but my tape deck broke. Then I lost the tape. I would LOVE to hear the song Cesspool. It was my anthem in Grade 12. Every morning I'd clip on my baby barrettes, hide my fake nose ring in my compact and lace up my army boots to the song. Stop, rewind and listen. Repeat, and repeat and be late for school because I had to hear it one. more. time.

Tonight I FOUND that album on itunes. I nearly jumped out of my chair in excitement til I was deflated like a popped balloon. It was on the itunes US site. Fat lot of good that does me living in Canada. Does the Canada site have it? NO. No, they don't. They have other Blenderhead albums, ones I already have on CD. I don't need those. I want Prime Candidate for Burnout. WAAAH.

I'm going to sulk for awhile, throw on some Hayden so I can get really depressed, and make a decision.