goodbye, home

The temperature dropped below zero outside as we closed the door to our old home, and began a new season in our lives. We moved into our townhouse in 2008 when I was 37 weeks pregnant with Lady M, about to begin our parenting adventure. I spent hours waddling through Home Depot as we prepared the house for our new arrival. A couple of weeks ago we had her 7th birthday party at the house, and then began to pack our lives away in preparation for our move.

It's funny the amount of memories that linger in a home. Seven years may not seem like a terribly long time, but we've seen a lot of firsts in that house, and it's shaped many of our memories as a family of four.

We brought both of our girls home from the hospital to that house and watched them begin to crawl and take their first steps in the hallways. We must have walked six thousand laps around the kitchen island while trying to soothe the babies back to sleep. We've bandaged scraped knees, had thousands of family meals together, ridden bikes, drawn countless chalk pictures on the driveway and snuggled up for many family movie nights. We've celebrated 25 birthdays there, spent seven Christmases decorating, baking and celebrating.

Thinking back on all of this started to make me a little emotional as we gathered up the last of our things. Thankfully, we squeezed in a final visit to our first home, complete with a moving box picnic dinner and an impromptu dance party in our bare living room. After that, we shut the door for the last time. 

I know that our new home will provide the setting for new memories, and the ones we've created in our townhome will always be special.

Thankfully, the new house we're now settling into is just what we all wanted. After a long journey to find it we are thrilled to be in our new town, closer to the girls' schools and in a lovely neighbourhood with a lot more space to play.

Paramount Drive will always be a special part of our lives, but we're all excited to shape new experiences, make new memories and ride our bikes on a brand new street.

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. 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 and 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 ingrained in my head. Thanks Mum.

french braids

I have a pretty fabulous husband. I probably don't tell him nearly enough, and with kids in the house I think sometimes taking proper care of each other gets swept under the rug while we place so much of our energy into taking care of our children. So, I thought that today I would pay a little homage to my fabulous hubby, Calvin.

But, I must begin with a tale about Lady M.

One night, a few months ago, I offered to braid Lady M's hair after her bath so she could sleep on her plaits and wake up with a head of wavy hair. For us straight-haired girls, having a little wave is pretty awesome. And for the record, if crimping was resurrected as a popular style, and somehow made appropriate to showcase in the office, I'd totally be on that train.

So, braid her hair I did, and wake up with awesome waves she did. After being 'ooh'd' and 'ahh'd' over by the older girls at school who monitor her lunch room, Lady M was hooked. Braids were the new straight. It may have also had something to do with not having to sit under the heat of a hairdryer on a warm night, but whatever the reason, braiding has become the new norm after each bath. I've waited for a few years for her to really let me play with her hair, so I'm more than happy to braid away, and always shocked at her willingness to sit still while I do.

Fast forward now to this past Sunday night. Cal and I finished giving the girls their baths, but I was heading to a fitness class, so would not be participating in the full bedtime routine. We had hit a small snag in the plan, however, as Lady M wanted her braids. I had a hot date with my weights and boxing gloves, so my hands were not available that evening. But, my darling husband, and Lady M's loving Daddy said "I'll do it!".

But, you have to french braid, I said. "Well, what does that mean?", he asked. I explained that french braiding was the fine art of starting the braid right at the top and adding the hair in bit by bit as you go along, making sure that her waves went from the top of her hair to the bottom, not having straight hair on top, curls at the bottom. He confidently said "no problem', and I was off to my class.

When I got home that night, I snuck into the slumbering Lady M's room to give her a kiss, as I always do. I just about melted when I saw the four sweet little french braids that her daddy had lovingly put into her hair. Were they perfect? No. Were they well done? Yes, you bet they were. More importantly, I know he did it with love, and made his little girls' night.

The following morning I pulled the elastics out of her hair, though I noticed that the braids didn't go all the way to the bottom of the hair; instead, each braid ended with a small ponytail of loose hair. "What happened there?", I asked. "I ran out of hair", he told me. But, even with the lack of bottom braid, our little girl left for school with wavy hair and a twinkle in her eye.

I suspect not all dad's would be willing to learn to french braid, and I'm happy to be married to one who will. Cal's a pretty fabulous guy for many, many reasons, and this is just one of them.

miss manners

I wholeheartedly believe in instilling proper manners in my daughters. I am a big fan of both 'please' and 'thank you', and believe that there is nothing sweeter than a child with nice, genuinely good manners. I like to think that Lady M even remembers to say these little pleasantries without prompting when I'm not around.

When I moved to Sweden for school I was completely taken aback when I learned that there is no direct translation for the word 'please' in the Swedish language. WHAT?! It was one of the first words, after 'hello' (hej), 'goodbye' (hejdo) and 'thank you' (tack) that I felt I had to learn in my newly acquired home. So, imagine my surprise when I learned this news. How would I communicate? How would I express my manners to people I came in contact with?

Well, I supposed I could hold doors for people when entering or exiting a room or building, right? That was a nice idea, in theory. In fact, Swedes find it rude when you hold the door for them because somehow you are robbing them of their general life liberties. So, I couldn't say 'please', I couldn't hold doors...what was left?! Well, traveling to countries where manners were valued, and not stressing about it when I was in Sweden, that's what was left. And that's how I dealt with it.

In any case, back to present day. Tonight Lady M and I went to the Pita Pit to pick up some dinner. It was a no-cooking-kind-of-night, and the pitas just across the road beckoned. Off we went, and we worked our way along the counter, placing our order, then selecting our vegetables, cheese and sauce. Lady M indicated each of her desired toppings, then politely said "thank you" to the young girl behind the counter. The Pita Pit girl didn't hear her, so Lady M politely said it again. "Thank you!" came her sweet little voice, but because of the glass separating them, and her sometimes rather soft voice, she couldn't be heard.

She tried one last polite little time to say thank you to the kind girl who had loaded the peppers, cucumbers and cheese into her whole wheat pita, and kindly put the tzatziki in a little container on the side, to no avail. Apparently she didn't like the fact that she didn't get a response because the next thing I heard out of her well mannered little voice, was "HEY LADY! I SAID THANK YOU!"

I almost fell over. The girl seemed to look up and giggle a little, but I'm not totally sure whether she heard that comment either. But, I did my best to contain my laughter while letting Lady M know that she really didn't need to say something like that. Just one thank you would do the trick.

So, perhaps you can go a little too far with the whole manners thing, but I still believe in them. And I want my girls to believe in them too...we'll just have to work on when to stop saying thank you.

waterproof mascara

We made it through week one, and my budding scholar has had a great first week of school. Wondering how it all went? Well, I’ll tell you!

On Tuesday we went and met the teacher, an hour-long orientation that was geared toward showing the children their classroom, their cubby, washroom and various play stations. Ultimately though, it was a chance for me to fill out an immense amount of paperwork.

Her teacher and ECE were both extremely nice, and made the children's environment instantly welcoming (surely putting parents at ease too). The only small glitch is that the school's new kindergarten room is not ready, so Lady M's class will be in the library until at least Thanksgiving. They did a great job of setting up the important spaces though: the sand table, painting station and colouring table, and more was being arranged following the orientation. Lady M happily visited the different stations, colouring a picture for her cubby hole, and then playing at the sand table until it was time to go see the two pre-existing kindergarten rooms.

In the meantime, I sat down at a munchkin-sized table with a couple other mom's to fill out the necessary paperwork. I couldn't help but wonder as I filled out each colourful sheet whether the things I was writing would follow her until the day she graduates high school. What are her greatest strengths? How do you diffuse situations when she gets upset? Is there anything else we should know about your child? I just answered simply and honestly, and refrained from writing "she's super-awesome" in every blank spot.

Cal put it all into perspective for me shortly after our orientation when he said that sending her to kindergarten seems strange because "it's the first time she's out of our control". It's true...every other step of the way Cal and I have been holding the reins, and now we have to put all of our trust into two teachers we don't really know.

On Thursday morning I woke up with a knot in my stomach. My little girl was officially starting Junior Kindergarten.The day had arrived; Along with half of her class, Lady M had to be at school for a full day on Thursday. She woke up excited and full of smiles. Her new runners, change of clothes, and made-with-love lunch were zipped into her backpack, identified clearly by her Mabel's Labels with butterflies on them. I was trying to reassure my nervous self by thinking about all of my friends kids who had made the leap to kindergarten already. They managed, they were ok, and I knew we would manage too.

But, all of that didn't seem to matter when I was already fighting tears and had the sinking feeling that my little girl was growing up; at three years old, she was off to school full-time, five days a week. It was definitely a waterproof-mascara-kind-of-day.

When we arrived at school, Lady M was excited, though clinging tightly to my hand (or maybe I was the one holding on so tightly?). We had decided that just I would take her so she wouldn't  be overwhelmed by also having to say goodbye to her dad and her sister, so it was just she and I. We headed to the kindergarten area to find her class line-up, and she was almost instantly greeted by both of her teachers. Most kids were calmly standing with their parents, or sweetly posing for their first-day pictures, but there were a couple little ones who were having full meltdowns on the blacktop. And since I was already on the verge of tears, they were really bubbling to the surface then as my heart went out to both those children and their parents, silently thankful that my little one was calm. But, I took a deep breath, held back the tears, and just clung to my little lady's hand a little tighter.

When the time came for her to follow her class into the school, she walked in the door and stopped to peek back at me. She then took her teacher's hand and in she went. Calmly, amazingly. It was in the hands of the teachers now, and I walked away from the school just hoping she would have a fabulous day.

That night, when I went to pick her up from daycare I stepped out of the car and her little voice rang out - "Mummy!!! Kindergarten was AWESOME!!" Well, what more could I ask for? She was all smiles, so proud and I was overwhelmed by an amazing sense of relief.

Later on, at home, we were sitting together when Lady M said "Mummy, I don't call it school. I call it school-errific"! Amazing.

So, I think I can confidently say that she had a great first day. She was very tired by the time bedtime rolled around, and soon snuggled into bed. And I was off to packing her lunch for day number two.

soccer star

This summer, Lady M took her first crack at organized sports. You may recall me talking about her experience as a Tiny Tumbler in the springtime; a gymnastics class at our local rec centre that found the kids sitting and waiting their turn more than being active. After that experience, Cal and I thought it might be better for her to try something with more constant activity. Enter: Timbits Soccer.

Back in May, the marathon season began for Lady M and her teammates, all aged 3-5. She, at 3, was on the younger side of the team, but as a little girl who can really hold her own, we had no concern about her participating right alongside the other kids.

We had heard lots of things about little munchkin soccer before starting the season; the way the kids chase the ball around the field like a swarm of bees, the frequent game stoppage when a plane flew overhead, and the desire to pick grass at somewhat inopportune times. Our experience? Much the same...it's pretty darn cute.

Lady M was really keen to start the season, and very excited to 'be the fastest runner on the team' as she kept telling us. From day one, she was excited but always a little tentative. She played every Saturday morning for one hour; the first half hour was practice, and the second was a game.

During the skills practice she would normally be pretty engaged, but after a typically hot half hour, when game time rolled around she was ready to do her own thing, and being a team player wasn't really on her agenda! I think she may have been a little put off by the swarm of running bees, and tended to stay on the outskirts of the group of kids running for the ball. Granted, sometimes she was so far out on the outskirts that she was standing with Cal and I while we tried to convince her to re-join her team. Often, this was slightly painstaking, but I was raised to finish things, and Cal and I both thought it was important that when she was having an 'off' day, she still had to stay, cheer on her team and give high-fives at the end. Of course, though we thought we were instilling good values, and encouraging her to commit, she may have really been committed to the snacks she knew were forthcoming, but the lesson is still good, right?!

Surely, it was better than the lessons offered by the crazy parents who were screaming from the sidelines, yelling at their child like he or she was playing in the world cup. Thankfully most of the really obnoxious ones we came across this season were from the opposing team; we were lucky to have a really great group of parents on Lady M's team. But seriously, how tough can you be on your child at this age? They don't even keep score yet! Some parents are a-holes...but I digress!

Yesterday marked Lady M's last day of soccer for the season (that's right - it ran from May to August...quite long!). In our city we have a great soccer program, and the day was set up so kids played just a short, 15-minute game, then received their trophies and could go get food, their face painted, and enjoy one of the four giant bouncy castles. Lady M just wanted to bounce, and so she did. And she is so proud of her trophy; she got out of bed this morning, and brought it down from her dresser to display in the family room. It may travel with her for a few days, and it's really cute - it makes her beam with pride.

Her first soccer season may not have indicated to us that she's a future Mia Hamm, but I think we'll try it again next summer if she's still interested. Though lately, her team sport interest has shifted to t-ball, so we'll see what happens! Whatever makes her happy. This fall I think we'll be exploring dance, and some more swimming lessons; so many activities, so little time...

tiny tumbler

This winter, Lady M took a little gymnastics class at our local community centre. My husband and I thought it was something she would enjoy, and we were definitely right. However, it came with a little bit of apprehension on our part. You see, it was the first time that she would be taking a class without one of us, everything to this point had been a 'parent & tot' set-up, but this time the rule was clear: 'no parents allowed'. Though she goes off to preschool on her own, and we know she's completely ok on her own there, its still difficult to see signs of your little baby growing up.

However, as soon as she familiarized herself with the trampoline and balance beam, she was enamoured. The smile on her face put us at ease, and we knew she was just fine.

At weeks five and nine of the class, parents were invited to sit in and watch. Week five quickly rolled around, and we were excited to see our little girl in action. However, like many other children in class, she was all over the place, struggling to listen to the teachers, more interested in the fact that their parents and siblings were in the gym. On top of that, my parents had been by earlier in the day and had brought her a pair of light up shoes. She was more interested in making her shoes light up than paying attention to her class! It was pretty entertaining, and we certainly spent a lot of the 45-minute class laughing.

By week nine - the final week - our little Lady M was once again very excited to have us in the room, and literally just wanted to run laps around the gym, rather than fall into line with the other kids. I felt a bit embarrassed by the fact that my child was the one being reckless, and not listening, but it helped us come to a realization. Knowing she has no issue sitting still and focusing at home or at school, it was  apparent that she needed a more active extracurricular activity - not one where the kids had to spend much of the time sitting, waiting to take their turn on the equipment. After a quick discussion, her summer plans were clear: swimming and soccer.

Swimming, as far as I'm concerned, is essential. At three, she is now old enough to take lessons on her own, so will be starting that class rather soon. We also wanted something that would allow her to run and run and run some more, so soccer seemed to be the obvious choice for the summer, and there's a league in our city that starts kids at three, so there we have it. She can run up and down the field all she wants, and I think she'll have a great time doing it.

Maybe we have a future soccer star on our hands. Maybe she'll want to return to gymnastics. Maybe she's on her way to working every summer as a lifeguard, or being an Olympic swimmer. Whatever it may be, as long as she's having fun, she'll be doing the right thing.

birth order

Have you ever considered where you fall in line with your siblings, and how that affects every aspect of your life? The role of the middle child seems to be the sibling status most frequently studied, often considered the most difficult sibling place to occupy. In my house, everything comes in two's...no middle children here.

I have an older brother, three years my senior, making me the youngest child. My husband is one of two, his brother is 5 years younger, so clearly, he's an eldest child. Now, continuing the tradition of siblings coming in two's, we have our two little ladies as part of our family, Lady M is the oldest by 2 1/2 years...Lady A the little sister.

Last semester I took a class called "Socially & Culturally Situated Learning", and as part of writing our educational biographies we talked a fair bit about birth order and how that has affected where we are today, professionally and personally. I have always enjoyed being a little sister, and being one of two siblings. From time to time the thought of having several more siblings crossed my mind as being desirable, but I've always been happy having just the two of us. My brother on the other hand has likely given more consideration to having only child status more times that I know.

Now that we have the lives of two children to manage, I'm amazed by the frequency with which I think about birth order. I'm also amazed at how my second child status affects my parenting, quite unintentionally. As soon as Lady M tries to stop Lady A from doing something - not wanting to share with her, trying to gently push her out of the way, whatever it may be - I come quickly to the little one's defense. Whether that is simply because she's smaller, more needy, or because I connect to being the youngest, I really don't know. However, on the flip side, my husband, forever bonded to his older child status, can understand the plight of big sister Lady M in a way I can't. Don't get me wrong, our munchkins are treated as equally as possible, but there is an obvious connection to our corresponding sibling statuses.

Frank Sulloway, a researcher who studies birth order says "the personalities of siblings vary because they adopt different strategies in the universal quest for parental favor". Apparently those strategies are also used when it comes to parenting, whether intentionally or not!

so long, old friend

We knew the time was coming.

It had to arrive sooner or later.

We just weren't sure how it would all pan out.

Lady M and her beloved soother have officially parted ways.

So long, old friend!

Here's how it all happened: From a young age, Lady M has had a tight-knit relationship with her dear little soothers. She hadn't slept without one since she was about 6 months old, so I found myself considering various ways to get her out of the habit of having it, as I felt she was getting just a little bit old to rely on its comfort.

There are plenty of methods out there for helping kids say goodbye: passing the soothers along to a new sibling when they are born, leaving them for Santa's reindeer on Christmas Eve, or cutting it out cold turkey. No matter how you slice it, taking something precious away from your sweet little child is never easy. However, with her third birthday looming, I felt the time had come.

We decided not to take it away from her when Lady A was born; I had this terrible feeling that passing her soothers along to her sister would just breed some sort of resentment, and I just didn't want their sisterly relationship to begin in such a way. (I know, dramatic, right?!) I thought Christmas was a little too far away, and the thought of cutting it out cold turkey seemed a little harsh. (Secret's out, I'm a bit of a pushover!)

So, for a couple months leading up to her third birthday we began to prep her for the parting. "Three year olds don't need soothers" we told her, "you're going to be a big girl!" She would repeat the same thing back, surely not realizing that she was actually going to be rid of her sleepytime pal once and for all in a short time.

However, she had preschool the morning of her third birthday, and when I went to pick her up one of her teachers asked me, "is Lady M losing her soother today"? I answered "yes" (feeling a little sad for her before she had even tried sleeping without it), but I guess my little girl was prepared because she had told her teachers that she wouldn't have her soother anymore, because she was three.

We got home, had lunch, and it was time for her nap...the time had come. Deep breath. I put her to bed without her trusty companion with only a small fuss. (I was amazed). She fell asleep relatively easily, but woke up a short time later extremely grouchy and clearly still very tired. So, I decided we had made a big stride by her going to sleep without it, so I let her have it to finish her nap. (It was her birthday, after all!)

That night, same thing...only a mild fuss before she fell asleep without her soother. However, waking up about halfway through the night sobbing, we chose to give it to her for the remainder of the night. For the next day's nap and overnight sleep, we placed the soother beside her in bed after she was asleep so if she woke up at some point, she would find it, and comfort. I guess it worked, because she slept through without issue. (Yay Lady M!)

Then on day three....the breakthrough! No soother through her whole nap, and no soother all night! She asked for it before bed, often told us she 'didn't want to be a big girl', and for a couple of days, she would come crawl into our bed in the middle of the night, but that was ok. It was a pretty big transition after all. And just a few short days later, she was soother-free and sleeping through the night.

After all is said and done, Lady M may have some negative memories of her third birthday, but I suspect all the presents, balloons, cupcakes and the farm party will alleviate some of the pain we caused her when she reminisces about her third birthday in the future!

night vision (or lack thereof)

I'm blind as a bat. Without my glasses or contacts I really can't see a thing, but I can see shapes enough to make my way around the house enough at night, so when I have to get up (frequently with a four-month-old in the house) I just lead myself somewhat blindly. This had never been a problem, until last night.

Truth be told, I don't like to put my glasses on in the night for two main reasons:

1. It makes me wake up too much; having groggy vision lets me fall back to sleep more quickly when the time comes.
2. I don't like to know the time at night, and don't have to worry about it when I can't see the clock! I always want to pretend that I still have several hours more to sleep, not that the alarm is due to go off in 14 minutes.

However, last night I probably should have put my glasses on. 

Why? Well, in the morning I handed Lady A to Cal so he could change her, telling him that her pyjamas seemed to be a little wet. I continued to get ready, and moments later he came to me saying "ummm, maybe this is why she is wet?" and showed me her diaper...that I had put on inside out in the middle of the night. 

Not backwards, inside out. Absorbent material facing out. Brilliant. 

Please feel free to send the Mother of the Year award to my home address. You'll find me here in the middle of the night, wearing my glasses. 

Have a read...and make a difference!

My friend Kirsten had a rotten experience on the train the other morning where a new immigrant mum from Ireland, and her three little girls, were made to feel like they didn't belong by some horrible, unkind man who should have chosen a different train car that morning.

Please have a look at the post Kirsten wrote entitled "Let's Do Something Really Wonderful", and if you feel so inclined, you can leave a message for this mum and let her know that's she's awesome, and didn't deserve to be treated the way she was. It only takes a moment!

It's appalling to me that people think its okay to treat a stranger so poorly. Everyone deserves to be treated with kindness, and that's just the point that Kirsten is trying to convey. Please take a couple minutes to read her post, and leave a comment.

Thanks!!

roughin' it

There comes a time in everyone's life where you just can't help it. You just won't make it in time. You just have to do it right now. There's no other choice. 

Well, the other choice is having a very wet carseat. 

The other night, after a nice dinner out, and perhaps a little too much fluid at the dinner table, Lady M could not hold it any longer on the drive home, so like any good parents we contemplated our options: 

• suggest she hold it until we got home, risking the wet carseat
• find the nearest public restroom as quickly as possible
• or, the inevitable...

That's right; we pulled over to the side of the road, and let our baby girl pee in the grass. I always thought her first moment of roughin' it would be on her first canoe trip, or while experiencing some fabulous outdoor adventure. But no, it was on the local expressway, a mere five minutes from our home, with cars zipping by. No cottage scenery or waterlilies dancing along the water here...just a patch of grass, my little lady, and me holding her up. 

The best part of the whole experience was how fabulous Lady M thought the scenario was. Quickly going from grave concern, and a stern face as she tried desperately tried to hold it in the car, to realizing I was actually letting her squat in the grass to empty her bladder made her light up like a Christmas tree - she was thrilled! She started giggling, I started giggling, and Cal was laughing right along with us from the driver's seat. (Lady A was fast asleep in the back, blissfully ignorant to what was happening). 

So, it was no canoe trip, but my little lady's first experience of roughin' it was memorable. In fact, the next day when we were heading somewhere in the car she told me she didn't have to go to the bathroom beforehand. Thankfully, I knew her plan...but there would be no expressway pit stops that day. 

the bug conundrum...

I'm ok with bugs - for the most part. I can find a spider in my house, and have no problem sending it to its watery grave...although it always gives me a little chill when I have to do so. I spent several years of my life working at a summer camp, and bugs were just part of the deal (along with assorted rodents and wildlife). As long as they weren't too big and scary, I was ok with getting them out of the cabin as necessary. Especially when you've got a cabin full of young girls who are scared of them, somehow you just assume the parental role and remove the creepy crawler as needed.

But now, I really have assumed the parental role. Last week Lady M and I were getting the laundry from downstairs while Lady A was slumbering in dreamland. While downstairs, Lady M said she had to go to the washroom so we hustled upstairs to her potty. Once she was settled, I went back downstairs to grab the abandoned laundry basket. I was halfway upstairs when Lady M started screaming "Mummy! Mummy!" and burst into a fit of sobs. Assuming she was stuck in the toilet or had hurt herself somehow, I dropped the laundry basket on the landing and went to her rescue. She was standing outside the washroom, inconsolable and it took a minute before she finally calmed down enough to tell me what was wrong.

After asking 'what's wrong' several times, she finally pointed to the base of the stairs where a little spider was exploring a square inch of our main floor. It had completely freaked her out, and I'm really not sure why! Cal and I are ok with spiders, so she's never seen us react that way. Her Auntie Muff (who is incredibly afraid of spiders) lives on the other side of the country, so she hasn't seen her reaction, and I don't recall her seeing anything on tv or reading a book where someone was afraid of spiders. So, I'm not sure where the fear developed, but suddenly the creepy crawlers that intrigue her outdoors elicit an entirely different reaction indoors.

Today she found a moth type creature in her curtain before nap time and called for me to come up and remove it. She didn't burst into tears like last time, and I tried to make sure she didn't see my little shudder when I removed it from her room. I'm the parent after all, even if I hate it, I have to pretend its not so bad, right? Hopefully she'll get over this little fear in no time.

welcoming lady a

Its been a busy time around here having welcomed our newest little munchkin just two weeks ago. Although my pregnancy was completely different from start to finish, and I was certain I would be welcoming a little man into the family, I was more than thrilled to discover that we had another little girl! 

Lady A made a simple entrance into our lives; with about 6 good pushes, she came into the world, and my doctor almost missed her delivery! I'm pleased to say he made it on time though, because if he hadn't, Cal may have had some more responsibility in the delivery room than he bargained for! 

The entire delivery was much simpler than sharing a hospital room with the loudest snoring new mom I could ever imagine later that night, but that's a story for another day...  

Of course Lady M has been the wonderful big sister we always imagined she would be; she just wants to play with her sister's 'teeny little toes' and offer her love and hugs at every turn. She's even quick to share her favourite stuffed animals and toys, which is really nice to see. Of course its been an adjustment, as Lady M has had all of our attention for a long time, but I think we're all managing the change very well. 

Its funny how quickly you realize that having one baby, no matter how challenging you thought it was, was really quite simple! Managing two is a whole other story. That being said, I'm sure parents who have more than two...or multiples...would say two is a breeze! Its all relative, that's for sure. I think back to how challenging I thought one baby was at the time, but now it all seems so easy. But, this time I don't have the stress of figuring out how to be a parent, and I find I felt like myself again very quickly.

Getting to be at home with my two girls is just wonderful, although Lady M keeps asking when Lady A will be able to play with her; its hard to understand that it will still take a while. But for now she seems happy when her little sister just wants to look at her, and wiggle her toes.

So, after the first two weeks, we're doing rather well. And now that I know I have my two girls, I look forward to everything that we can do together as they grow up, and look forward to seeing the relationship they have with one another and with Cal and I as they grow...