Category: Kids
Saturday, Oct 18, 2008 | Chores, Kids |
Quick morning post while the kids are occupied with Playmobil and baby CJ is hopping in his gigantic bouncy device. Guess I’ll never discover a better term for that thing. Speaking of discovering better terms for things, the kids and I developed a pithy phrase to shout after cars which have nearly run us down at intersections: “Patience, please!!!!” So far, that’s not been the first thing out of my mouth in that situation, so I will need to practice.
Today we are discovering what it’s like to have one car. So far, I’ve had the car every time I’ve needed it (two music lessons per week, basically), so haven’t exactly felt the loss of the extra vehicle, but Kevin has to work today (Saturday) in Toronto, so the kids and I really are confined to walking/bus destinations. As we walked to swim lessons yesterday afternoon, we discussed all the activities we could do, and there was a general sense of excitement about not having a car at our disposal. Adventures! We decided to go to the library, partly to pick up another book in the Little House series (actually one I didn’t know existed, Laura’s diary account of the Wilder family’s journey from the Dakotas to Missouri), and partly because the big kids never get to come along on our library excursions, since we usually go while they’re in school. Not sure what else we’ll do. Taking the bus to the children’s museum isn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe just invite a friend or two over. Mostly, my focus today is on not doing too much extra stuff. No bathroom cleaning. The barest minimum of laundry. None of the usual Saturday chores. We’ve already had our groceries delivered. Nina’s buying club was on hiatus this week, so for the second week in a row, we needed groceries. Just goes to show how much we’ve been relying on this local source of food–and how hard it is to purchase and eat consistently local without it.
Okay, baby CJ is not the happiest of souls at present. He’s wanting to climb things, now, to pull to a standing position. He can get himself upright on the first step of our back staircase, and has recently made an attempt to climb the stairs. Didn’t make it far, I’m relieved to report. Desire does not match ability at this point.
Uh oh, it’s getting noisy in those other rooms. Looking forward to a day with nothing extra, I shall sign off here.
Tuesday, Oct 14, 2008 | Kids |
Dilemma: to blog or to finish making supper and start the dishes? Hmm.
Kevin’s off fetching our CSA box, almost the last of the season, and the girls are playing “Little House,” and just came into the kitchen dressed in aprons and bonnets and mittens, wondering how they could help. Taking them seriously, I suggested cleaning up the living-room. The sounds of things being dumped currently accompany this task, but here’s hoping things are being dumped into appropriate containers. Boy, with baby CJ on the move, danger lurks in every wretched Playmobil flower abandoned on the carpet. I came out to the living-room today to discover him under the art table, grabbing up fistfuls of broken crayons with evident delight. Oh, F just returned to the kitchen and I see her Little House outfit includes a baseball cap, and beneath the apron a mermaid costume.
We are having leftover surprise tonight (thanks, Janis, for bestowing that name on a supper made from whatever’s discovered in the fridge; makes it sound so cheerful). I put whatever’s in the fridge into a big bowl, added a gravy-ish white sauce, and sprinkled cheese on top, then baked it in the oven. We’ll see if they eat it; after all, everything is mixed together, and my kids, like many kids, prefer some separation upon the plate.
Also roasting a squash and prepping a salad.
Baby CJ is so incredibly on the move that I simply marvel at his mobility. He crawled from living-room through dining-room to kitchen this afternoon, ending near the fridge. Then he suggested I pick him up and carry him around in the sling; he’s spent about three hours in that sling today and my back doth protest. But, really, baby CJ wants to walk. Whenever possible he gets a taller person to help him stand. He can hang on and stand quite ably, and as soon as he masters the getting up part, there will be no stopping him. Apparently, by six months, babies feel big. They don’t care to be identified with those blobby infant-types any more.
Thursday, Oct 9, 2008 | Kids, Local Food |
Dreamed all night about Nina’s buying club … which yesterday hit a snag with the city’s by-law officers. I was afraid this might happen, since anything to do with both food and business seems to grab the attention of authorities. But I’m struck by the absurdity of the situation: living in a city and buying local food, as directly from the farmers as possible, though without actually driving to each farm individually, is suddenly a subversive act. Travelling in a third world country, you’ll see a great mixture of urban and agriculture; chickens and pigs in back courtyards, for example. But we got so sophisticated in our cities that apparently we no longer wished to have any connection to the food we eat, so we legislated such practices out of existence. How bizarre. If the mass-market system of food production collapses, or at the very least is strained … what then? There are very few things we actually need for survival, and food is at the top of the list.
There’s a meeting tonight at Nina’s, and perhaps some creative ideas will be forthcoming. I just want to keep eating the food she’s making available to our family! It’s hard to imagine going back to the same old, same old.
And now: writing day. Our babysitter has a cold, but hopefully will come anyway. We all have colds too. Baby CJ is now crawling!!!! Yes, moving himself forward across the floor, usually in hot pursuit of a toy or book. He loves books. Yesterday I discovered him gnawing a library book (no, I can’t and don’t keep my eye on him every second!), but snatched it away before he’d dissolved the cover. Watching him so impressively motivated to Move, I think there’s an inborn human restlessness, a desire to be getting somewhere else, reaching a little further, something that compels us toward our futures, and toward accomplishment. It’s a kind of optimism, too, that something better awaits, just out of reach. But there’s a flipside to that urgency to move; and that’s our great difficulty appreciating the present moment, chewing on that toy contentedly, even for a second or two. I know I’ve visited those moments of inner stillness when I realize later that I wasn’t thinking about something else. Those moments exist because I inhabit them wholly, and in an odd way, they exist because I’m not marking their existence.
Sometimes, I get those moments on writing day. Sometimes hanging laundry. Sometimes playing piano with the kids. Sometimes walking outdoors with them too. I am always grateful for them, even while I recognize and celebrate the necessity of that other impulse–to plan, and to Move. Yay for baby CJ!
Tuesday, Oct 7, 2008 | Kids |
The run-on sentence keeps on running. Late start this morning, with everyone sleeping in (baby making up for late-night screaming; parents making up for sleeping with restless, snuffly baby), and I literally ran the children to school. We’d just about made it out the door, already on the fine line between okay and late, when it was discovered that baby CJ had blown out his diaper. Whoo-hoo. By the time that was resolved, we were really and truly late, and so, “Run, children, run!” I encouraged, all the way up the hill, and most of the rest of the way. We walked a block, then ran, then walked, then ran, then just decided to run, and made the playground as the bell was ringing. Then I ran home again, upon meeting up with some mom friends who were going for a real run. I was tempted to keep going–maybe next time!?–but was wearing jeans and a coat and hadn’t prepared the kids in the stroller for a long-term outing. Anyway, just had time at home to hang laundry (beautiful sunshiny windy laundry-hanging day) and drink a cup of coffee (“Are you done your cup of coffee yet, Mommy?”), do a puzzle with F, feed and change baby, before we were off again and running to storytime at the library. We arrived as they were singing the greeting song, and F was hysterical to be missing it, yet refused to go in on her own. Fortunately, once in, she was able to sit beside a friend, otherwise storytime was heading toward dead-loss territory. “But I not shy, Mommy.” Storytime ran a wee bit short this week. Maybe she was discouraged by the screaming children, though this seemed no worse than usual. Then we walked with friends to the little park and played in this gorgeous sunshine for ages, arriving home quite late for lunch (no watch, and apparently sense of time passing completely out of whack with actual time passing). Lunch with Kevin, hung more laundry, read some stories, got baby to sleep in sling, then started supper while F had quiet time. I’m pleased to note that she herself turned off the quiet time monitor (read TV), and started her own art project, though it’s impetus was a TV show, I think (a picture of a toothbrush), and that led to a request for an “ice-lolly.” Guess it’s a British show. “My name is Squiglette … I like to drawr.” We found on old half-finished Freezie in the freezer and she put on a pair of mittens and ate it at the counter. Yes she did. Meanwhile, I chopped and sauteed veggies for a bean-and-grain-based soup. I had about fifteen minutes between that and needing to leave for school, so F and I folded some laundry and brushed her teeth. I was feeling a cold coming on. Ate a few vitamin Cs too. Didn’t need to run to school pick-up, thankfully, and AB had a playdate, so it was a peaceful, cookie-filled walk home again. Supper was a breeze to make, since I needed only to turn the burner on, and make biscuits; but the school lunches remain a thorn in the side of my late afternoon. No matter how I try to simplify and plan ahead, it still takes me a good twenty minutes to throw the darn things together. Fruit sliced up, check. Sandwich, check. Egg peeled, check. Cut-up carrots that no one will eat, check. Something extra, check. A takes dried fruit and seeds, and AB gets cookies because she brushes her teeth at school. It sounds like it should be so easy. Maybe racing back and forth between kitchen and living-room to check that baby CJ hasn’t rolled/crawled himself into grabbing position for something small and potentially hazardous slows me down. He’s on the move, that baby. He’ll be speed-crawling within the month, and the good lord preserve us all then–especially him.
Tomorrow I’m considering introducing him to the joys of Kidsplash at the Rec Centre. If the head cold passes and if I can reconcile myself with getting into a bathing suit again. A couple of big ifs.
Friday, Oct 3, 2008 | Kids, Swimming |
Yesterday was a day in chapters; many of my days feel that way, and Friday particularly so.
Chapter One, All-Nighter: Baby CJ, under the weather, would not sleep unless held, so he stayed in the bed with us all night, and nursed off and on, too. Woke feeling drained. Literally.
Chapter Two, Pediatric Dentist: After race-walking AB to school (she is the only child with “good” teeth), Kevin and I hauled F and A, plus fussy baby CJ (no teeth yet, thank God) to the pediatric dentist. Then we waited, and waited. Kids losing minds, though perhaps Kevin moreso. Finally. Dental assistant was capital W wonderful, kids behaved in chair. Then we waited and waited to see actual dentist. F in full-on three-year-old mode saying repeatedly, and sternly, “We go home now!” We were literally there for two and a half fun-filled hours. Dentist seems nice. Of course, we’ll get to know each other really well in the coming months. This was just the consulation. Result of consultation: A, eight cavities, needs to come back for four consecutive visits, starting in late November, and F, who only got her teeth a little over a year ago, has five, which thankfully will be taken care of in a one-time special extravaganza. We’re going to be selling one of the children in order to pay for this; haven’t chosen yet. Stay tuned.
Chapter Three, Home: Race to drop A at school, we wander the halls searching for his class (not in classroom) after being told by the Very Happy and Always Pleasant school secretary that we are Late. Feeling like criminals caught on the lam, we discover A’s class in the computer lab, hand in pink late slip. Kevin drops the rest of us at home, dashes to work without eating lunch. F so hungry she consumes two and a half bananas. I eat copious amounts, too, feed baby, change soaking cloth diaper, hang laundry, et cetera. Quiet time. Blessed, blessed quiet time. Except baby CJ refuses to sleep during quiet time, now, so I no longer nap during the day. Which isn’t the end of the world. I seem to be surviving just fine. Baby CJ finally goes down for a nap. I start editing a story. Yah, great timing. Can hardly tear myself away in time to feed F a quick snack, pack up gear for swim lessons, wake baby to change and feed before hiking off to school. It’s hairy.
Chapter Four, Swim Lessons: Pick up kids from school and walk briskly to Rec Centre–so briskly, kids are jogging. It’s a finely timed operation, no room for error or unexpected bathroom stops, but everyone rises to the occasion. We’re cheerful, we’re conversational, we encourage each other. Push stroller right into Rec Centre, park, throw baby into sling, grab swim gear, head for changeroom, change, use bathroom, out on the deck with time to spare. Kids meet teachers, get wet, I go upstairs and watch with baby CJ, who is not going to be content hanging out in the sling much longer. He wants to get down and move. But yick. That floor. I’m not ready for that. He’s not really, quite, either. Children shower and change, everyone still cheerful, downright enthusiastic. Now this is a good Friday afternoon.
Chapter Five, Home again. Happy walk in brisk blue-sky fall afternoon, wet heads protected by woolly hats. Cross at our dangerous intersection, nearly get run over by an older woman in a nice car who sees us and just does not care. She’s in too much of a hurry. I shout expletives and wave my fist at her bumper. Expletives sound dumb. Need better expletives. Take suggestions from children–nice pat phrase to shout after cars that nearly run us down (this happens often enough to be worth developing). Come up with nothing quite pithy and scathing enough. Feeling rattled, cart bags and gear into house, along with children. Thankfully Kevin’s home not long after, and he takes baby. Quickly chop potatoes (CSA), throw into oven to roast; sausages thawing (Nina’s).
Chapter Six, Buying Club: Back out the door, despite disastrous house and unopened bags and swim gear leaking on floor. Three children insist on coming along (fourth offers no opinion). Bags in stroller, children running madly down sidewalk to Nina’s buying club. Gather food. Stick bags in stroller. Gather more. Children have come only for the treats. F clings to legs upon seeing a “Dad” she’s scared of. This goes on and on and on. F in hysterics. I’m trying to add up numbers, make out cheque, not forget anything (which I do just about every week). Head home, pushing stroller absolutely laden with fresh, local food. Children racing down sidewalk. Haul approximately forty pounds of food into house. “Why are you so stressed, Mommy?” asks AB. Stir potatoes in oven. Nurse baby. Set table. Put fresh local food away, empty school bags, start load of laundry. Supper eaten. Teeth flossed. Dishes washed. It’s so very late. But there’s still another chapter!
Chapter Seven, Book Club: Didn’t think I’d get here. Once arrived, don’t think I’ll be able to go, as find self dozing while nursing baby one last time. Don’t bother to brush hair. Grab cellphone, re-tie running shoes, bid husband goodbye. Run. Run down the block toward book club, but as running realize lungs are opening, muscles are relaxing, feel suddenly loose and energized and delirious with oxygen. Decide to run a little further. Finally, turn back and head into book club, otherwise known as “book club.” This month we didn’t even have the pretense of a book, though we did have a topic: politics. Lively conversation ensues. This is a good chapter, a fine one to end on.
Now today, Saturday, has been one long run-on sentence. Cleaning, organizing, errands, work. And I’m going to can a 1/4 bushel of tomatoes tonight–the remnants of the romas–which I’ve already turned into plain sauce. But first, Kevin’s taking the kids skating and I’m ignoring the dishes and going for a walk with baby CJ. Mental health moment, here I come.
Wednesday, Oct 1, 2008 | Kids |
Was going to post muffin recipes, since that’s become a Tuesday tradition with me and F–drop the big kids at school and race home to bake (and eat) muffins. Except today’s muffins turned out just a tad too healthy for my taste. The kids do seem to like them, but I think they’re overtly healthy, even for muffins. A cup of flax meal, for starters. Two cups of grated carrots. F fought heartily against the carrots. She was positively dictatorial in her rejection of them, even though I assured her she would never notice, had eaten beets in cake very recently, and would appreciate the added moistness. I must have said, “But they’ll be so moist, with the carrots!” about twenty times, to which F said, in so many words, “I’m not buying it.” In the end, the carrots went in. And the muffins weren’t especially moist. So we both won, sort of.
It was a dictatorial three-year-old morning, frankly. Today, she started “school,” her school, that is, which is the Beckett school’s early childhood music programme, a 50 minute, once-per-week extravaganza of drumming and singing and learning quite an impressive amount of music theory (the big kids are graduates). Upon arriving back home this morning, after dropping the big kids off, she raced inside and packed her backpack for “school.” She then went to the door, and demanded we leave NOW. I explained that class started at 2pm. “When we go?” she asked. “Around 1:45,” I said. She heard me say, “Now. We leave now.” “We go now?” “Not for about [check imaginary watch] four and a half more hours.” “We leave now, Mommy.” [Stern tone.] This went on. This went on and on. Distractions were only semi-useful. It always came back to: “Now we leave, Mommy!” Not a question. Time, to three-year-olds, is clearly of little conceptual interest.
I’m just back from two hours “off.” What am I saying? No quotation marks necessary. Two hours off. Two hours out of the house, with sibs, no children in sight. But the frantic effort that precedes those two hours must be seen to be believed. I was over-seeing home reading, facilitating a playdate, cooking supper, preparing lunches, breastfeeding, shoving essentials into backpacks, storing CSA food, all while listening to the radio and doing the day’s dishes (so as not to leave Kevin with too many). I cleared the supper table before Kevin was done eating (sorry, hon). And then, suddenly it was 7pm, my bro Karl arrived, and we walked out the door to … quiet, to no one requesting, suggesting, demanding or tattling upon. Ahhh. I enjoyed those two hours. But here’s the thing. I enjoy just as much getting back home, and being Mama again. Okay, maybe I’m especially enjoying this because Kevin got everyone to bed, and the house is perfectly silent now, just the sound of peaceful, breathing children, and my own fingers typing.
Shoot–that title is now better than this post. My apologies. If I ever make a really good muffin, I’ll let you know. Or let me know if you’ve already cracked that particular code. Wanted: Muffins for (small) dictators, please.
