Candy on the brain...

Halloween is quickly approaching and we received a "mystery boo" bag of candy on our doorstep. To say that Nathaniel is enamored with candy would be an incredibly large understatement. (We have video of him in the last day 1) doing a rejoice-type dance with his candy bag and 2) melting down in a heap of tears because he wasn't allowed more candy.) His mind is always on candy. To this end, today in church we were praying the Lord's prayer out loud and Natty excitedly blurted out, "Halloween?! WHAT?!"as we were praying hallowed be thy name.

sidenote:

I've been feeling guilty since I've posted about lumping Isaac into the category of behaviour that I earlier depicted. If you know him at all, you'd know that he didn't belong there. The only grief that he gave during that whole doctor ordeal was crying twice: once when Natty hurt him, and the other time when he fell off the ledge and hit his head in the play area. Can't fault a little guy for that.



He's a shining light, that boy. I love them both desperately, but Isaac... Isaac is a different breed that the good Lord above knew that I would need just about now.

Amen.

the root of it all.

I need to get a new doctor. That's the easiest claim that I can make after this morning. I could also say that I need to get a new four-year old, but that isn't possible, and it's entirely too short-sighted. So, I will lay my misery, my heart-ache, my humiliation, frustration, anger and weariness all at my seemingly-incapable doctor's feet.

It was supposed to be a fairly simple appointment. In and out. Just get a referral for the allergist. Had we lived in Calgary, I could have just picked up the phone and gone back to our original allergist we waited a year for, but we don't. We live in a new city. That means taking a whole morning of grief to go ask a doctor I'm not a fan of to make the appointment for us to get back for the one year check-up. It means a 45 minute wait to get in for our three minute appointment. In which, of course, I am feeling quite frazzled due to the extra-long wait with two little boys who aren't a fan of waiting. 45 minutes in a full waiting room of whining, shouting, arguing over toys, shoving, and more whining behaviour (is this really how I've groomed them thus far?). By the time our doctor came in, as always, my ability to think and hear rationally has flown out the window, along with any patience or graciousness I can muster. I quickly explain that we need to see someone for our one-year appointment and for some strange reason, the sentence out of my mouth doesn't enter her ears in the same succinct manner. She is full of questions, "Why? Who is your doctor? He used to live in Calgary? Is -- what is his name again?-- right, Nathaniel, having any reactions? I have this paperwork? Really? You brought it in to me? Oh. I'll have to check the charts." But the whole time this convoluted conversation is happening, Natty chooses this time to demand to be heard: he's hungry. Now. And it doesn't register, for some bizarre reason, that I am trying to talk to the doctor, whom we have just waited so long to see. Telling him to wait one moment, please, does not register either. Not even when I told him flat-out that he was being rude. And it certainly didn't feel good to have the doctor scrunch up her face in an annoyed, quizzical manner and shake her head in a "I have no idea what you're talking about because your child is too undisciplined" way as I'm talking to her. So. I have no idea what I arranged with her, really. I saw her nodding and shaking her head, I heard a disapproving and reproachful tone, but past that--nada, zilch, nothing. I believe we have set the wheels in motion for a referral.

Why is it that every time I enter her office, I am reduced to a second-rate mother who has wildly behaved little boys in tow? Why can't I carry on a conversation in a civil manner? This is why it is easiest to lay the blame at her feet. Not my own. Not seeing the glaring errors of who I am, short-comings a plenty, and how I am raising my children. No, it's easiest to look outwards and try to stop the aching within with an easier out. That is until we arrive back home, after a tumultuous ride home and time-out in his room, and over lunch Nathaniel proclaims:

"Mom, I would like to move to a new house. All by myself. I don't want to live with you anymore because I need a wife who isn't mean like you. I don't want to live with an angry one. I will live all by myself."

Oh, there's the root of it. Torn out and laying bloody in a heap on the floor. Right. Got it.

A Norman Rockwell Morning...

The powers that be knew how badly I needed one: and I had one. The morning started with a quick errand into a store with narry a complaint or reprimand, then off to bid our farewells to good Ol' Blue 737 at the Museum Airport. She's getting closed up for the season. And there were no tantrums or tears in leaving. Just resolved acceptance that this is what needed to happen. Then we loaded up into the car and drove to our favourite cemetary for a walk in all the fallen colourful leaves, hide and seek, and shouts of joy. Again, no reprimands, tantrums, or tears. Next stop was home for lunch. A messy soupy lunch that everyone ate to the last drop. And the pièce de résistance? Natty went into the bathroom and pooped all by himself on the potty. Wiping up included. Glory be.

Grey days.

I'm tired. Oh, so tired and heavy-hearted. The countless days blur by me in one struggle after another: consequence and discipline after consequence and discipline. They say it's a phase. Really? I'm all done with this phase, thank you. I'm all done with feeling like the biggest nag in the world. For feeling embarrased and ashamed at how angry I get some days with these little people. Who in the world do I think I am storming around like that when I'm angry? Get ahold of myself. I'm tired of looking at other mothers and thinking that they have all their shit together, and only if they knew who I was, or how I yelled that morning... What a failure I feel like sometimes.

And then I have a good moment. A Norman Rockwell moment. All is right with the world. Everyone has fallen in line with the expected norm. There is laughter and sunshine. Oh, my soul. I need more of these moments.

Parenting 101.

Odd, I know. I've taken four months off of my blog, and what is it that drives me back? Another crazy day in the world of Nathaniel. Heaven help me now.

Natty has switched to a new preschool and is now into his second week there. I absolutely adore the place, and am hoping that Natty will also come to see all the positive in it like I do. (Yeah, I do remember he's just four...) Today I happily picked him up from school, started up the stairs to leave, and the teacher was shouting, "Wait! No, wait a moment please. I need to talk with you!" Turns out Nathaniel had been spitting in class. Yes, you read it right. Spitting. He was spitting his snack out on the other children, whom, the teacher informed me, were not impressed (and rightly so), and then once exiled to a table by himself, laughed a manical laughter at the teacher. If that weren't bad enough, he also spat all over the bingo cards when it was time for Bingo right after snack. Spitting? On kids and cards? What the hell is this? I was absolutely mortified. Still am.

Needless to say, Natty got a stern talking to. And sent to his room. And got TV and computer taken away. And any tasty snacks. Anything fun. And he has to apologize to the teacher before next class. I am so angry, and want to be such a good, reassuring, enabling parent. All I can think is that he needs to learn respect and how to function properly in society, and if I don't do a good job now, he's going to be a little monster. I know it will all come and it's boundaries and all that, but still. I'm beside myself. Seriously.

I did feel bad for him though. He honestly felt bad for all of this. Or at least felt bad for all that happened as a result. I hope this isn't our new game in life. This parenting gig is way too hard some days.

Oh. And you, little Isaac. There you are. Happy second birthday, my sweetness. Your day will come.

the damn swinging pendulum

The sun was shining, my spirits were high, and Isaac and I had our whole morning ahead of us. I love these mornings, as I can do whatever I want, really. He's such an amiable little sidekick that I can go in and out of stores without nary a complaint. The sun glistened in his blonde hair, the radio DJ on CKUA was my favourite (Baba), and we were getting lots done. In Costco, I admired my mothering prowress as I sang "If you're happy and you know it" to Isaac and he giggled and did the actions, like a perfect little child. In Rona, he babbled away and charmed the cashier. In the Baby & Beyond store, he played happily in the kids toy area so that I could browse the treasures at my leisure. The pendulum was definitely in riding high, and I was on top of my game.

We pulled up to the preschool and got out to get Natty. Isaac toddled up to the door, garnering an aw-isn't-he-cute look from another mother. He is, I agreed in my mind. So, so cute. At the top of the stairs leading down to the preschool room, I heard Natty yelling. I never hear Natty yelling like that at preschool. The pendulum started to come down.

I spotted his highly markered-up little arms, face and new shirt at the same time that another gloating mother was telling me how awful Natty behaved with the marker at craft time.

"And he got marker all over his clothes, and look at how he drew all over the table! And he even coloured Arimus!" Her grating voice was immediately turned down by my mind as a sort of self-preservation defense as I tried to come to terms with what I was seeing. I didn't even respond to her--after all, who would really want to hear what would come out of my mouth at that point--and went to Natty to quietly remove him and take him away as quickly as I could. No go. He ran and hid. Then he ran and dumped a toy with a million little pieces all over the floor, all the while smirking at me with that "what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it" look on his face. (nothing lights my fire more than that.) I told him, as calmly and evenly as I could (though the voice in my head was screaming) it was time to pick up the pieces. NOW. No go. I carried him out crying to a time-out. Then he agreed to pick up the pieces, so back we went. (All the while the gloating mother was watching, of course.) He didn't pick them up. I had to quietly threaten him under my voice. Mother-of-the-year. I know. The pieces got picked up. All we had to do was deposit his indoor shoes in the bin and get the hell out of there.

"Get your hands off me! I want my bag! I want my BAG! I want my BAAAAAAAAAAAAG!"

"Natty, it's time to put your school shoes in the bin. Put your shoes in the bin and you can have your bag. Put. Your. Shoes. In. The. Bin."

"Noooooooo!" (writhing, clawing, kicking and screaming are simultaneously happening) "I want my BAAAAAAG!"

"Nathaniel. If you don't pick up your shoes right now, I will have to carry you out of preschool and upstairs to the car."

"GIVE ME MY BAG!"

I chuck his little shoes in the bin and head up the stairs with a twisting, hitting boy. Isaac greets us at the top of the stairs happily. He had been playing by himself in the gym. (More great mothering skills.) I tell Natty to put his outdoor shoes on, it's time to go. No go. I ram them on his little feet and hoist him over my shoulder. Now I only had to get Isaac who had run away in the wrong direction. Isaac thinks it's a game and runs. Then falls and hits his head. Then screams. Now I have two screaming boys under each arm. (ah--the strength that comes in times like this.) I have a splitting headache at this point, and I'm sure that Natty is aiming his bellowing hole right in my ear on purpose. I make it to the door outside and proceed to drop Natty on the front step as he is in 100% tantrum mode. I don't even look back. Of course, another mother is coming up the walk to witness it all. She gives me the "Oh-my-I'm-sorry" look and passes quietly with eyes averted. A gal's got to cling to whatever dignity is offered her in a situation such as this.

As classy as I feel at this point, I speak loudly to Natty from the car, "If you don't come to the car by yourself right now, I will carry you." No go. I march over, heave him up, and drop (I can't guarantee that there wasn't a bit of a throwing motion) him in the car. He pulls the back-arch/slide out of the seat and I pin him down with my elbow as I struggle to do him up. I win.

All the way home he screams bloody murder about not getting to put his shoes on or get in the car by himself. I leave him literally kicking and screaming in the car when we get home as a sort of "time out." Hey, a gal's got to take advantage of the five-point harness system at a time such as this. After I cooled down, I go and talk to him and we move the party in for lunch.

The pendulum is definitely as low as it can go by this point. And the magic of mother's day is definitely over.

But the best part of my story is during all the exiting mayhem from preschool, there was another mother who was the parent helper in class today, trying to tell me how "bright" Natty was. How he was watching her signing with her daugher and how he immediately picked up everything. So, so bright. In between the screaming, tantrums, markered arms/shirt, and headache, her words were a calming balm for my weary, frazzled soul. But I couldn't express it fully to her at the time, of course. I had to leave a message later (almost crying, of course) about how kind she was. So, so kind.

Of course, as soon as lunch was in his belly, he was a different little boy: laughing, joking, being adorable and heaping love on me as only a preschooler can. It was as if the morning didn't even happen. His little world can change on a dime, but I took a bit longer to come around. I can't keep up with his little moods, but I love him madly (literally and figuratively). And Isaac through it all? Happy as pie. Boy, this mothering gig is quite a ride.

Wow. Now THAT feels good. : )

Fun, amusing, entertaining, though not quite exact. Who am I to argue?! : ) What's fun is loading up different photos of yourself and seeing what it spits out each time. Silly, yet addicting.

an expensive laugh.

Little Isaac can run the printer/scanner/copier by himself. Not that he's allowed. But that little guy is fast. I came into the office to smell an overwhelming ink smell. And here's the creation. And yes, that's black ink that he used.

Wait for it.....

...wait for it....



Surprise!



Isaac is lured in to the action...



...but is not entirely impressed.

If I were a betting person...

...I'd have lost our life's savings this morning to Dan's reaction to the snow fall. Where as I was sure he would short out and lose it, instead, he took the camera and went outside to take some pictures. Just when you think you know someone. And I think he did a wonderful job. And so I share a few of them with you to enjoy. Snow and all.

a couple laughs....

I recently taught Natty the phrase "making all that racket!" It's a common occurance around this house, and so I thought it'd be good for him to have it in his arsenal of words and phrases. Yesterday's comics made me laugh out loud. I just wish Natty was old enough to understand the joke. I think he'd really like it.

As for the snowflake comic, it rely's on a truth that I have not yet come to terms yet: that there will be more snow. I know it to be true, yet every fibre of my soul recoils in horror at the thought. Maybe this year will be the one to prove "them" wrong.

and why not?

Sometimes I feel a little guilty making the boys do, say or wear certain things for my own entertainment. Dance, Monkeys, Dance! Oh, sure, they enjoy it. I think. But I enjoy it even more. I know there's a fine line somewhere. I think it may be when they doth protest. There weren't any protests. Just lots of tom-foolery. And tail grabbing. Poor Isaac. One day he'll be the bigger one.






Isaac finally stands up and tells Natty a thing or two. VERY loudly. I tend to believe him and side with him more oft than not. Funny little clown.

Yippee! It's April!

Here are a few things to be happy about in my little world:

*Dan and I bought tickets for the September performance of Yo Yo Ma with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra! I'm so excited to actually sit in the presence of greatness and soak it all up like a greedy little sponge (a clean one though, as I tend to think of sponges as dirty little objects). Oh, sure, we're sitting behind the stage, because that the only section left with two seats together in it (in less than 2 hours of the tickets being on sale), but we'll still be right there! Close enough to spit on the orchestra! No worries. We'll behave.

*I attended my first-ever deep water aquasize class tonight with Angie and Crystal. Wowsa. Don't ever think those classes are for the "slightly inclined." Oh no. It's hard-core. Who knew? But it sure felt amazing... and equally awful. : ) My favourite was the buoyancy belt that you get to attach to your waist and float upright without the use of your arms or legs. Don't worry though: those legs and arms were busy doing their own things. Fast. And hard.

*Although our vacation south got nixed [budget cuts to Dan's agency], I'm SO excited to have bought our plane tickets for our summer vacation home to my parent's in Ontario! The boys and I fly out first and stay for two weeks at my parent's campground where Natty and Isaac will be treated to swimming, golf-cart rides, gator rides, back-hoe rides, wagon-rides, craft time, very careful motorcycle rides (not out on the road) from Papa, and general spoiling all around from the grandparents... and Auntie Paige and Uncle John! (They live 10 minutes away.) Then Dan will join us for week three and we'll stay at John and Paige's place. I'm so, so, so excited! All but the part where I fly out by myself with Natty in the seat beside me, and Isaac on my lap.... for four hours. Eye-yei-yei.

*We almost got rid of all our snow. It was gone for a few days. And I even saw tulips growing in my garden! I have faith that April will pull through for us all, and those tulips will continue to push up the black earth all over this wintry city!

*Natty has just started actually singing songs out loud with the words, and mostly in tune. Ah, it warms my very heart to hear him perform a solo concert for us of songs like "Hot Cross Buns" and "Swimming, Swimming, In the Swimming Pool..." My little boy is musical! Hurray! He belongs! : )

the power of words.

It's a truth that we have known our whole lives: words are dangerous. Word usage can transform people's moods in an instant. A carefully placed encouraging compliment, or a snide, undercutting remark; both take a person from where they were currently existing to a whole new realm of feeling. And all entirely out of their control. These unexpected words have a great impact, whether they be given by a loved one or a stranger.

We know this. This is nothing earth shattering. We've all experienced both ends of the spectrum. We know how it feels and can empathize, and yet, in so many situations, it's just too easy to let the words tumble out. Engage before truly weighing out the levity of what is about to spill all over another person, be it good or bad.

And so I challenge myself: why can I be so stingy with my praise and compliments for some people? Or why do I just claim to be "observing" something while I full-well know the damage that even mentioning it is doing to someone? Why do I let myself be such a willy-nilly determinable factor in a person's life; someone who demands respect? When I interact with certain people, sometimes the complementary words just sit on the edge of my lips, my heart and humanity ready to make the jump, but something in me greedily grabs hold of them, hoards them, and won't share them. Why is this? Why such a harsh differentiation between recipients? I could lavish encouragement, love and kind words all the day long to some, and not to others. It makes no sense, and knowing that I do it, and yet, can not seem to fix it, is an unnerving problem. I know the absolute sense of worth that these good words can bring. How completely unfair I can be.

But sometimes, being on the receiving end of non thought-out words leaves an impact greater than the sum of all the well-placed sentiments. I still have sentences echoing around in my head from my youth that someone else didn't think twice about, but have literally scarred me for life. Oh, how we internalize things that are so personal to us. Wouldn't you think the accolades would be the better choice memories to hang on to?

I was recently in emergency for a twisted ankle (silly me rushing down the stairs and falling sideways on a stray toy) and the nurse attending to me made an extremely disparaging remark about the shape of my legs. I felt absolutely humiliated, and immediately felt all hot in the face and ashamed. Three days later, and I would rather have the pain of the twisted ankle be the thing that I continue to carry around with me, than those haunting words of ridicule. I pray to God that I remember, yet again, how it feels to be on this end of a seemingly innocuous remark. Words can haunt people for years, debilitate them, create a looming aura, and we would never be the wiser. Conversely, a well-placed sentiment can rejuvenate, inspire, motivate, or influence people in ways we could never fathom. Oh, how I hope that I can be reminded of this often, and that my words be well appointed and bring about the latter outcome as often as I can.

Busy little boys...

These pictures simply make me happy. I could look at them again and again and laugh every time. This was Isaac's first time out of the house in something other than Robeez shoes. Ah, the new-found freedom. He couldn't get enough of it. And quite frankly, neither could I.

more email?

I'm sure most of you don't want more email coming into your inbox, but this is very cool. It was written about in my latest REAL SIMPLE magazine:

Sign up at daily lit and browse through hundreds of classic book titles. Choose one that interests you, and they will deliver it to your mailbox, in short installments, daily, just weekdays, or three times a week at your designated time.

Isn't this a cool way to tackle a book in a non-conventional way? I'll let you know how my attempt goes. I've started Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter." I've always meant to read this one. And why not, when it's delivered into highly anticipated little nuggets every day for me?

joyeux anniversaire à moi

Yesterday, that is. The big 3-5. Half done my thirties. Closing in on 40. Boy. That sure happened fast.

We had a fairly low-key day yesterday, on the whole. Went out as a family for a brunch at ye olde Smitty's. (I know better than to push my luck over the supper hour with my dinner companions.) No major melt-downs by anyone, so that's a bonus. Previous to lunch we walked around in the toiley store (a.k.a. Home Depot) playing with the toilets, sinks, and door displays. Doesn't get much better than that for a birthday celebration. ; )

The real fun started when we got home just after lunch and realized that our garage had been broken into and many of Dan's tools were stolen and carted away in our double Chariot stroller. Frickers. This marks the fourth time in our marriage that we have be violated in such a way. Why can't those low-lives leave other people's things alone? Why do they think they have any right to be rooting around someone's garage and personal belongings in broad daylight? (Well, in any light, for that matter.) It absolutely infuriates me and leaves me with an equal helping fear. I refuse to be made a prisoner in my own home, for fear of leaving and letting the thieves have at her, but yet, I am terrified to drive away, worry about it while I'm gone, then obsessively re-check things when I'm back. Our home is very easy to break in to and so I also worry about an intruder while I'm here with the boys. One of life's shitty experiences to be sure. Bonne fete.

I had a reprieve in my afternoon, between discovering the crime, and having the police over to our house (which Natty thought was super cool): Angie and Kassidy picked me up for a walk around the mall. Probably saved the day for me. Cleared the ol' noggin, if just for a while. And scored some awesome deals at the Children's Place. : )

Aaaaaaand, the most fun news of all (though it isn't related to my birthday) is that Dan and I are planning a little vacation for ourselves in March (cross my fingers!!) in a sunny, warm destination!! We are looking to do an all-inclusive sun-spot like Cuba or something. I am so excited I can hardly breathe at times. We have yet to reserve, but I'm pretty stoked about the whole deal. I am a bit anxious about leaving the boys for a whole week, but I know that they will survive just fine without us. I know they will be a frequent topic of conversation for the trip. I'll have to keep you posted on the details of that one. So, so, so excited.

Only two more days of February. Phew. Almost to March.

C'mon Spring. 22 more official days.

out of my comfort zone.

"Do you need a hand out today?"
"Oh, no. I'm fine thank you."

Why is it that as good Canadians, we don't want to bother others? Even though others are offering their help, we are too polite to receive it? Or perhaps, I should hone the statement down from the generalization of Canadians (because if I think others do it too, it's easier to accept) to just myself?

Here it is. My confession: I am absolutely horrible at asking for help. With anything. Even at nine months pregnant, lugging around a toddler and whatever else, should the offer arrive at my feet, I would decline it. "No. Me do it. All bys mineself." Gee. Wait a minute. That sounds vaguely familiar.

Today, I accepted the offer for carry out for my groceries. (Actually, it was the third time the cashier asked.) Not in two pregnancies did I do that. But today, lugging around Isaac, and the cold... I just did. And it felt wonderful. As the fine young lad loaded up my trunk, I was able to strap Isaac into his seat, and then off we drove. Just like that. Easy-peasy.

Why do I think that by not accepting help I am "helping" the other person out? Don't want to put anyone out, or bother them. Yet they are offering. This doesn't just happen at the grocery store. It's all over in life. Earnest people offering a hand. I'm really not doing anyone any favours. Only cheating myself out of a more pleasant, fulfilling experience.

I promise to do my best; to accept help whenever and wherever it's offered.

Or at least once in a while.

anyone?

I laughed out loud, while scratching my head trying to figure this "fooler" shirt out. I asked Dan, and he, too, had no clue. Sure, I understand the one on the left. Anyone have any suggestions as to what the one on the right could possibly mean? I can only think of disturbing answers. None of which should have a silk-screened t-shirt made for a child to wear.

No word of a lie.

Angela and India gave us this plant this past weekend that is growing so fast that the container it is in actually vibrates at times. (And no, it's not where it's placed as other lighter things on the table don't shake.) Its buds were shooting up at about 1 cm. an hour! Seriously. It may seem slow but have you ever watched a plant grow before?

This little plant with its green and dirt and flowers has brought me immeasurable happiness with all the ice and snow and cold. There is hope.

Bloom little blooms, bloom.

Big Boy Days

So, Natty's heading out the door this morning to go to his field trip for preschool (field trip?!) to Boston Pizza. Dan's taking him for the first half, and then I'll go pick him up. I wave and call out, "Have a good time! Love you!" And that stinker... reduces me to a quivering pile with the innocent call out: "Bye, Mom. Love you forever!" And away he flew. I still can't even complete reading that book to either boy without getting all choked up at the end, let alone having Natty off-handedly call it back to me. Who knew parenting a three year old could be so emotional each and every day: I run the spectrum for absolutely frustrated and angry to adoring and doting. Usually within minutes.

Natty moved to a big boy bed Monday night. Big day. BIG. Whilst the bed isn't my dream bed for his first bed, he seems to quite like the futon/single mattress combo. Here's him on the first night:




Two nights in a row now, straight to sleep: no prowling around the room or running out. Don't get me wrong, I'm not naive enough to believe we're in the clear. There will be battles yet. As for daylight nap time... well, that's a different story. We've got our own little Rainman on our hands. Or better yet, if you've read The Bee Season, he's the eclectic mother with her piles of stolen objects. That's our Natty's fine handiwork. Guess he's been itching to get that closet/hanger work done for some time:




And just so Isaac doesn't get left out (again), here's a couple fun shots of him loving a pair of Natty's rain boots. He asks for them on his little legs all the time. Those busy, busy little leg-il-bees.

First day down...

...and roughly 2500 more to go before grade 12 graduation. But I'll zero in on today and report that we had success! No tears, pee in the toilet, listening to instructions, doing a craft, gym time, sitting through one of the story times (and playing quietly by himself for the other group time), playing with all the boys and girls... He was talking about going from the minute I opened his bedroom door this morning, and as we got closer to the church where it's held, he was quietly saying, "excited! excited!" I was more anxious to leave him than he was for me to go. Of course. A big thank you goes out to Karen who gladly received my last-minute call for a playdate this morning and who helped me pass the morning by, and kept my nervous little mind focused on more enjoyable topics of conversation--and for a change, on Isaac! It was so delightful to just be able to enjoy being with him and to watch him play with/near Lucas. Natty was one content and engaged-in-play little boy when I picked him up. And the best part is, that he can't wait to go back! I think I could get used to this. : )


Nathaniel at home, more than ready to finally get out to the car and GO!


Natty standing in front of the preschool doors ready to embark on a great adventure.


Natty at the rice table; digging right into the action.

Movin' on.

His bag is packed. He might as well be moving out. He's moving on. Bigger and better, Mama. He's got things to do, you know.

His bag isn't full of the usual fare: no, he's got a juice cup marked with his name (it's red); a pair of indoor shoes with new personalized name labels pressed neatly in the soles; and an emergency outfit of pants, shirt, socks and a pull-up should the rigors of preschool be a bit too overwhelming at any point. He's as ready as they come.

I wish I could say the same for me. As I was writing the post-dated cheques, I saw all the months passing me by: January to June. Six of them. That's a lot of time away. In an environment I have no control over. Oh, sure, I know he'll be fine. He'll flourish. (Or at least that's what I'm telling myself to justify his enrollment.) But this is it. The end of Natty purely as having a sense of self and belonging in his family here at home. The end of an era, albeit a short one. But a great one that I have loved with a passion.

This is the end of Dan and I being the sole care-givers to our little boy. For 1278 days, I have watched him learn all the important milestones: how to roll over, crawl, cruise and then walk, jump and run; how to eat (and mighty well for a small person!); how to learn how to sleep properly, to function on a routine; how he found joy in finding his hands, his body, his capabilities; to watch himself begin to establish who he is and to be able to communicate it to the rest of us, who for so long have been trying to tell him who we thought he was; to watch the light bulb go off in his eyes when learning something new or enjoying a great story or joke; to watch his developing sense of self-esteem, especially when mastering potty-training, saying something thoughtful to someone else, or doing someone a favour since he knows that they'll appreciate it.

He is a force to be reckoned with, my boy. I just hope that those who work with him will see that too--will see his sense of wonder and excitement over the simplest things. Will know to push him to the best of his ability; but not too hard please, he's just a little person who needs so much patience, encouragement and understanding. Who will listen to the kind, generous, funny, observant, questioning little words that come out of his mouth. Will see him like I do. Which is entirely impossible. They are incapable of this viewpoint as they are not his mother.

So, Nathaniel, as you bounce off to preschool in the morning (or pretty-school, as you have deemed it), I wish for you so many things. I wish that you have fun; that you find a sense of belonging and purpose within the group; that you enjoy the activities, and are challenged as well. I wish you to make friends, to play nicely, to share and use kind words like you've been taught; and I wish for those friends to do the same in kind to you. I wish that you further nurture a love of knowledge, that you will continue to develop it for many years to come.

But mostly I wish that you could stay my baby forever, and that I could protect you from all the cruelties and unpleasantness that life has to offer, that I could continue to watch you blossom and flourish right here. But that would be selfish of me. And I want the world for you. So, although it is just preschool, the world awaits you, my special little boy. Go out there, stand tall, stick to what you believe and were taught, yet question what you need to, and play hard. I am so proud of the polite little gentleman that you have become thus far in life, and I'm so proud to support and guide you as you develop into who you are going to be.

I love you, my Natty-bum.

Mama.
xo

the little ladies...

A big, hearty thanks to Ms. Shannon, who has all the expertise in this area, for styling both Natty and India's hair this morning. They were delighted that they both matched (thank goodness there are not any real stereotypes that they are aware of yet!) and had fun bouncing along all day--even when we went out to the Muttart Conservatory! hee hee. It was a twisted, fun thing to do. (And, I'll add, Dan thought it was hilarious too. But, probably not if I kept doing it.) They make a pretty little pair.

new profile picture:

Just thought I should point out that Natty took it. He's getting quite an eye, that little fellow. I thought it was a great shot (as great as you can think of a picture of yourself)... including all the "laugh lines." Ah... almost 35. Look at what you look like.

Happy 100th post to me

... and to "the hours go shorter as the days go by."

100 posts. You don't say. I did say, I guess. Who knew there was that much to say? Thanks for sticking with me. I owe it to you too.

I know enough to say that I don't have anything earth-shattering to say today (except that I'm so excited that India is coming over for the weekend, that I am going out to make the ready-prep 12 meal package with SHANNON tonight, and that I will be going to the gym sometime this weekend with ANGIE). Weekends don't get much more fun than that! : )

I will leave you with a photo of my own personal Roomba 3000. Set him up and he'll cover the whole floor whilst you sit and wait. Sweet.



Oh--and Happy Birthday today to my brother, John, my great friend, Steph, and my cousin, Ricky, who all share this wonderful day.

the 1st time.

...and I'm certainly not naive enough to believe that it will be the last.




Thank goodness for a mop-top that will easily receive and conceal multiple cuts.

(One of) The Sweetest Sounds:

One small boy tinkling on one big toilet.

True Story

Dan and I were cooking up some supper (his first of the night, my second). I playfully took our plastic spatula (that has been with us all glorious eight years) and slapped it across his ass as I moved to the stove. Dan's ass proved no match for me: the spatula snapped like a wet towel in a locker room. Laughter and nods of approval were shared. Now thems what I call buns o'steel.

Who knew the vacuum was so much fun?

dust jack-rabbits.

That's for you, Angie. : )

In a riveting conversation on dust and cleaning this morning, I mentioned that we don't have dust bunnies around this place: we have dust jack-rabbits. And boy, do they multiply. Stinkers. Ah, a positive-downfall of the hardwood floors... I still wouldn't trade them though.

I actually have a fire in my belly to clean today! Sweet Jehoshaphat, I know. I've been down in the basement sorting out our "storage" rooms. The cleaning feels great, but having the boys be entertained by that much TV doesn't. Sometimes a gal's got to do what a gal's got to do. No more TV after naps though. So, I should get a move on so that I get the most of the cleaning done before they get up!

And, Angie and I are going to go and exercise in the evenings together. I'm so excited about that! I hope I can keep up with it. Please, chastise and make fun of me if I don't. It will only sting for a moment.

This entry is really going nowhere. Fast. Gotta run.

Well hello there, little firefox.

Whilst Mac is heralded as being the best of the best computers to get, we are finding little glitch after glitch in our daily computering needs making computer-life more difficult for us. Blogging for one. When I used to post on a PC, I had all the options for font, links, etc, at the click of a pretty little button, but on a Mac, I have to enter in all the changes by html...until today. I've downloaded Firefox as our new internet browser and I have many new little easy-use buttons to do such fun things that I took for granted before. Mind you, not all of the ones afforded to the general PC public, but more than Safari offered. Ah, Mac. What ever will become of you in our household?

Aaaaaanywho. Enough computer talky-talky. Happy New Year dear friends. 2007. Man. I remember 2000 like it was a couple years ago. Definitely not seven. Remember wondering if the world was going to grind to a halt for Y2K? That was surely something. Time, time, tickin'.

Did anyone make any resolutions for the new year that you care to share? I'd love to be as prolific as my friend Shannon but my apathy far outweighs much else in life. It's like I've been working like crazy for five months to keep my life together, and now that we've arrived, it takes everything in me to just look after the boys' needs, not to mention any of my own. Cleaning myself? Cleaning the house? Cooking? Paying the bills? Momentous.

But to join the millions of others who have made the same resolution, I would like to be more active. I realize I have a certain level of activity running after a 1-year old (that can climb 12 stairs faster than it takes to wonder hmm, I think I'm missing a child here...) or a 3-year old that is mid-potty training and piddling around like a little puppy. I want to be active outside. For me. To get rid of the mommy-tummy. Frankly, it's embarrassing at this point. C'mon, Jod, you can do better than that. Pull yourself together. Your husband is training for a frickin' marathon: don't you think you can manage to do something outside yourself? Good question. Like the other millions, I'll get back to you with the answer. No promises.

Other resolutions? Ok, I'll try:

*making our bed every day (or at least pulling up the douvet)
*having a shower at least every other day
*unpacking the 25 boxes in our office space. Or maybe one.
*not eating a piece of left-over Christmas chocolate every day
*to cut down on internet shopping (they make it so damn easy!)
*thinking about substitute teaching or theory/harmony tutoring (I'll probably need a 6-month buffer of doing nothing after the move. You know. For wallowing.)
*not to wallow.

That's all for now. Inspire me with some of yours. Anything. Challenge me. Make me think. Inspire me. Anyone?