the big girl bed

Tonight my little Lady A is snug as a bug in her new big girl bed, but the day did not go down in history as just a simple transition; nope, she added a little spice to the day to make it extra memorable for all of us...

In less than three weeks Lady A will be celebrating her second birthday, and having gone from a little girl who was ridiculously easy to put to bed at night, to one who cried unless you stayed with her until she was completely out, we decided the time had come to move into a big girl bed.

We had been storing a queen size mattress at my parents' house for some time now, so thought we should pick that up and get her little girl room set up. Yes, I did say queen size mattress. That may seem like a bit much for a 28 pound child, but my girls are both in them now because they just happened to be the mattresses we owned. The queen offers an extra buffer before they'll fall out of bed too, which is always good!

Anyway, we had planned to go pick up the mattress later this afternoon, after nap. But, in a ironic little twist of fate, Lady A chose to make her final sleep in her crib the most memorable. I put her down, and she was crying a little, so I went downstairs to have a peek at her on the monitor while she settled. However, I didn't even have an opportunity to turn the monitor on before I heard the giant THUD from the floor above me; Lady A had gotten her leg up high enough to dive right out of her crib. In about 2.5 seconds I flew up the stairs and into her room, checking on my little girl who was laying on her back and crying. Thankfully, apart from a bit of a sore hand, her big jump had a relatively soft landing. It scared the heck out of me, but all was well.

So I scooped her up cuddled my little munchkin to sleep before laying her back in her crib for her final 'baby' nap. This afternoon we set up her big bed in her room, and she is now peacefully slumbering in it tonight. A successful transition so far!

With her growing vocabulary, increasingly expressive manner, growing independence and now her real bed, my baby is growing up so quickly! I'll always remember the day she moved into her big girl bed, both because of her nose dive out of the crib, but also because of how sweet and small she looks laying on her big mattress.

~Kristin

move over, mary poppins

Medicine + Lady M = nightmare.

About a month ago Lady M came down with a bladder infection that had to be looked after with antibiotics, and oh what a challenge. My poor little girl was rather uncomfortable, and after a trip to the doctor, she knew that medicine was in her future. And we're not talking about penicillin (aka. banana medicine - your childhood favourite, and mine!), my little girl had to take a fruit-flavoured liquid concoction.

Night one was a success - she took her spoonful of medicine like a champ, no issue at all. The next morning, however, was a completely different story. Though she told me 'it didn't taste so bad' on night one, a mere 12 hours later she was telling a new tale. Judging from her reaction, overnight it had begun to taste like a mixture of marmite and arsenic. It  eventually went with her to daycare that morning, and our wonderful caregiver convinced her to take it somewhere along the way.

That night I thought I'd be clever, and I mixed the "horrible" medicine in with a small bowl of chocolate pudding. She couldn't taste it at all, but feeling the need to be an honest mummy, I fessed up to what I'd done. At first she thought it was great, declaring "I can't taste it at all!" But, the novelty soon wore off, and she gave up on the pudding.

The next 10 days presented a series of battles, creative thinking and clever hiding places. Because Murphy's Law is always right, on the second day of the Medicine Escapades Cal had to head to Florida, leaving me to fight the medicine battle all alone for the next week. That weekend we visited my parents and they were privy to a very long standoff between Lady M and I as I tried to reason with her and convince her to take the fruity medicine. For the record, reasoning did not work with my little four-year-old this time around. She is a clever grasshopper.

The situation required a new solution, and I had to channel my creative thinking skills and really find ways to mask the taste in foods she was already consuming. And though Mary Poppins sings its praises, I wasn't prepared to give my little lady a spoonful of sugar. I did, however, mask the medicine in maple syrup and cranberry juice quite well. And I had learned my lesson: sometimes you can't be Honest Mummy; being a little deceitful was much more effective in this case.

In the end, Lady M got her 7-day course of medicine into her, and her bladder infection cleared up. I can't help but wonder though, with all the amazing discoveries that have been made to date, how can antibiotics not have been made into a little dinosaur-shaped gummy or a clear, tasteless powder that can covertly be sprinkled on food?

Seems simple to me, and I'm sure Mary Poppins would agree!

life of crime: follow up

As a follow-up to last night's blog post, and in case anyone feared that I had not yet overcome my youthful theft antics, please see the photo below. I'm happy to report that I returned to the scene of the crime today and paid a whopping $8.98 for the little radio.

The nice girls at Indigo thanked me for my honesty, and we briefly traded stories of accidental theft. It seems that Lady M and I are not alone!!

Have a good night!

and so begins a life of crime...

I need to share something that may shock you, especially those of you who know me well. But, I think the time has come and I need to come clean. Here it is: when I was five, I began a life of crime. Petty theft to be exact. And as of today, I fear my oldest daughter may be following in my troublesome footsteps...

Allow me to take you to my kindergarten room. The year was 1986ish and I spent every day in my classroom that was filled with toys, a piano and chattering children. One day I went to my cubby at the back of the room where we kept our recess snacks. I reached for mine but the vast cubby was empty; no granola bar that I had been eagerly anticipating. Apparently I had a grumbling stomach because at that moment I made the choice to reach into a different cubby, near mine I presume, and take the unassuming homemade peanut butter cookies that sat there waiting for another child.

When peanut butter cookie boy (PBCB) went for his snack, sadly, he found that his succulent goodies had been taken from right under his nose. He promptly told our teacher, who then asked the class if anyone knew what happened to said cookies, and all of the class shook their head 'no'. I shook my head the same way, keeping my deep, dark secret to myself.

That night I went home and told my mum that someone had stolen PBCB's cookies. "That's terrible", she said to me in her best mum voice. "Who would do such a thing?!" "I have no idea", came my weak reply. So weak, in fact, that I promptly burst into tears, and between sobs confessed my crime to my mum. "It was me! I stole PBCB's cookies".

So my mum did what any good parent would do and made me call up PBCB to firstly apologize for my wrongdoing. Then, I was told I must ask him what his favourite cookie was and that night she and I baked a batch of homemade peanut butter cookies and took them to him the next day at school, a clear apology for my bad behaviour. I had surely learned my lesson, my guilty conscience making me feel like a terrible person.

And you'd think I'd tell you that I never did it again...but that would be a lie.

Two years later, now seven years old, I'd had a clean record since the great cookie heist of '86. I was with my mum and brother and we were heading to a little delicatessen that we often went to in our town. After collecting our groceries we headed for the checkout where they had a large jar of small candies and gummies with a clear sign that read something to the effect of "Take Only One Candy, Kristin". As you may have guessed, I covertly took a couple of extras.

Driving home in the car my brother looked into the backseat where I was and said "Mum! Why is Kristin still chewing? How many candies did you take???", disdain (and jealousy) evident in his 10-year-old voice; guilt rising up in my chest. When mum peeked back to see that I had obviously taken more candies than the one that I was supposed to, she once again led me down lesson lane. She immediately turned the car around and headed straight back to the delicatessen, took me inside to the cash and asked me to apologize to the woman for taking more than my appropriate candy allotment. I apologized, and my mum offered to pay for the others.

Now here's the kicker - the woman said ok, and made my mum pay 10 cents per candy! 40 cents later we were out the door again, and I had paid my debt. Well, mum had. In all honesty, I always imagined that they had my head shot up in that little bakery so staff could easily identify me in case I ever returned. I didn't return until I was in my early twenties.

And that's truly the end of my early path of crime. I have never taken anything again in my life, and in fact, I have the most guilty conscience of all time. If I so much as feel like I said something that may have slightly offended someone I just feel terrible. Now perhaps I'm a bit too sensitive, but I like to think that I'm instilling my post-seven-year-old morals into my two children. However that was drawn into question this afternoon.

We had a birthday party to attend for my friend's daughter today, and being the self-professed procrastinators that we are, Cal and Lady M headed out to pick up the birthday present at Indigo near our house while I packed up everything we needed with Lady A at my side. After traipsing around the store, getting what they needed and paying (yes, paying), Cal & Lady M headed back to the hockey store where Lady M's new skates were being sharpened. (Did I mention it was a skating party?!) As they headed to the next store Lady M said "oh no! Daddy, I forgot I had this!". Enter: the stolen radio, clutched in her little hand.

It's probably about three inches wide, and two inches tall, and my little lady walked right on out of the store with it. Oops! Thankfully, she quickly told her daddy about her mistake, but as I mentioned we had procrastinated a slight bit and were due to leave immediately for the birthday party. This is why I have a picture of the offending radio. They didn't have time to go back and return it, so that's on my agenda for tomorrow.

So I don't think she's really headed for a life of crime, and I'm clearly not since I'm planning to return it as soon as the store opens again, but I hope you will heed my tale. Don't steal...it's bad.

Clearly that moral has been well engrained in my head. Thanks Mum.

cutting the curls

This week my baby girl, Lady A, hit her 20-month 'birthday'. She has a vocabulary that is growing by the minute - baby, mine, no, mama, da-yee (daddy), up, more, bum, bubbles and "ho ho ho" being some of her favourite right now. She's starting to string small sentences together - mine baby, no gaga (our dog, Dakota) more bubbles mum (for the show Bubble Guppies) and juice peas! With her combination of sign language and vocabulary she's starting to communicate really well.

She thinks she is absolutely hilarious, and she truly is. She makes us laugh all the time with her silly faces, extended games of peek-a-boo and her endless laughter. For a little one her age she has hit all the appropriate milestones. But, there was one big thing we've been holding out on - her first haircut.

You see, my little Lady A has these beautiful curls and as a mum with straight hair I'm completely hesistant to cut them for fear that her hair might lose all it's natural bounce and turn straight. But, I knew the time had come - she was getting a little shaggy all over, and I've always felt terribly for girls whose baby pictures look like they had a genuine mullet. I swore when I had my first daughter that I wouldn't have a baby girl with a mullet!

Lady M had her first haircut when she was about 366 days old, immediately after her first birthday becuase her straight locks were quickly heading the way of the mullet. However, I let Lady A go quite a bit longer. But this week we bit the bullet and took her to the salon for her first trim. Thankfully, I trust our family stylist 100% and knew that she would ensure some curls stuck around.

So here's the before hair; a little shaggy, with her beautiful auburn curls:

And here's the after, all trimmed up!

In truth, it doesn't look terribly different! The curls are all still in tact, she just looks a little tidier; still cute as a button.

We've made it through one more milestone, and Lady A sat in the chair like a champ. (She had a little coaching from her big sister who showed her where to sit, the dinosaur cape she'd be wearing, and how the chair swiveled, of course!)

So, my little sweetie is all trimmed up, and I'm happy that we finally had it done. Onto the next milestone!

winter wonderland

I tend not to be a big fan of winter - the daily grind of getting bundled up, cleaning snow off the car, and struggling to get hats, mitts, boots and coats on the girls - each of these things make the winter a little less fun. Granted, here in Southern Ontario we don't seem to have a winter filled with five months of snow these days, but staying warm on the commute to work, or turning the kids into tiny little snowmen for a quick trip to the store makes it feel like winter is never ending.

However, there's one thing that simply makes every chill, every frozen nose and every salt-stained pair of dress pants worth it: the delight of my children when they get to play in the snow.

With the chaos of Christmas behind us, we headed up to Northern Ontario to visit some of Cal's family for a couple days. Apart from a small dusting of the white stuff that fell on Christmas morning (beautiful!) we hadn't seen much snow around here, so needless to say Lady M was very excited at the prospect of getting decked out in her snowsuit and taking her sled for it's inaugural run this season.

Five hours later we were up north, though it was a bit late - and a bit cold - to venture out in the snow. So first thing the next morning the bundling began - several layers of clothes, boots, snow pants, mittens, neck warmers, hats and jackets on, and two little girls were ready to waddle outside into the snow.

Last year Lady A was quite little  during the wintertime, so she wouldn't remember much about her first toboggan ride. Who knows if at nineteen months this one will remain in her memory, but her smile was awfully bright as we pulled her around in her polar bear shaped sled. Up and down some small hills, and she was thrilled!

Perhaps the cutest part about her was the fact that once she was bundled she could barely more her arms and legs, and walked around with limited ability to bend! It didn't stop her, however, from checking out the white stuff and enjoying her time outside. 

Lady M hit a small milestone on our visit - taking her first snowmobile ride! And boy, was she excited. Cal's uncle pulled out his snowmobile and attached the little yellow GT Snow Racer to it, towing her around their front yard, up and down their very quiet, and snow-filled road. Each time she came past us she was literally grinning ear to ear. Something tells me she'll be talking about this experience for weeks, even months, to come.

Moments like this easily make me a fan of winter; can't say I'll feel the same in a couple weeks when I return to work after the holidays, and have to scrape the ice off my car, but I'll try to remember moments like this to keep it all in perspective.

the christmas elf

Oh, Elf on the Shelf. It seems that everywhere you turn across North America these days that young families have one of these little red-suited, big-eyed elves taking up residency in their home throughout the first 24 days of December.

Our elf came to us last year when Lady M was three years old. We had learned about the whole Elf on the Shelf concept the previous December when visiting family in Florida. My cousins had one for their son and they told me all about it, primarily sharing how excited their little guy became each morning when he would search the house for his elf. This simple concept remained with me all year, so I went out to get one last year when the Christmas season was approaching.

However, in just one short year it seemed to have grown from a small concept into quite the phenomenon because when my procrastinating self went to go pick up our elf on November 30th (yes, the night before he was supposed to hit the shelf), I was very hard-pressed to find one. Thanks to online searches, I located one of these coveted little guys at a mall nearby my home, called to put it on hold, and ran over to pick him up after work that day.

The next morning, that little elf joined our family. Lady A was only seven months old at the time so certainly didin't notice much of what was happening on the elf front, but Lady M was quite intrigued by this magical little cloth man who had inhabited our home, and who moved from place to place each night. Well, most nights. You see it was then that I learned of the seriously annoying part of this sweet Christmas tradition - moving the damn elf every night!! There were at least four mornings last December that Lady M woke up saying "hey mum...he didn't move!", to which I would have to respond "well, I guess he's just REALLY comfortable there", my guilty conscience plaguing me.

This year has brought a totally different elf experience to the table. Lady M, now four years old, is completely enthralled with Jingle, the name we have fondly coined for our elf this year. She finds him quickly each morning, and discusses the finer points of his landing spot. Lady A, at 19 months, surprises me each morning with her ability to spot Jingle and giggle at him. It's nice to see that they're both getting something out of it. And I'm pleased to report that I have only forgotten to move him one time in 16 days.

On the flip side, I think most parents are hard-pressed not to notice the smaller group of parents who go quite above and beyond with the elaborate elf on the shelf set-ups that they seem to be creating each night. The elf making snow angels in the flour laid out on the counter...the elf scaling the Christmas tree like it's Mount Kilimanjaro...the elf having a little tryst with a Barbie doll, or playing cards with the G.I. Joes. Honestly, some ideas are incredibly creative - and I'm all for creativity - but some are extreme! I get a kick out of looking at the many websites dedicated to overachieving elf on the shelf parents - if you haven't already, google it! You can enjoy silently mocking them (not that I do, of course).

In our home, the elf locations may be a little simpler, but the impact is great. Beautiful smiles first thing in the morning, laughter at the funny, smiley little elf, and the happiness that exudes from my daughters. To me, that little elf has become just one of many wonderful family traditions.