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.

four, part II

Ahh, birthdays. Tuesday night this week was a late one as I prepared for my Lady M's fourth birthday celebrations. We had 11 people for dinner on Wednesday night to celebrate the big day, so I had cake to bake, food to make, presents to wrap and decorations to hang.

Thankfully, I also had the US election results to watch, making for some great (yet nail biting) entertainment. This is in no way, shape or form a political blog, but yeah for Obama! It's funny because I can recall watching the elections on November 4, 2008 when I was (im)patiently awaiting the arrival of my little girl, and excited about the political milestone that took place days before her birth.

Lady M's cake...covered with M&M's because she thought
it would be fun to have her initial all over her cake! 

But, back to the birthday... Everything was set to go, all tasks were complete and we had even hung decorations in her bedroom doorway so she would see them instantly when she woke up. Mission: accomplished.

At 5:45 am on Wednesday morning (very early for my little lady who normally likes to sleep until at least 6:30/7:00) I felt her tiny little self climb into my bed and say "mummy, there are decorations in my doorway!". I responded with "why do you think they're there?", to which she replied "BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY"!!! Let the celebrations begin.

We had promised her a present in the morning, so I had placed it on my night table for the instant gratification of a first-thing-in-the-morning-birthday-present. Buried within the bag and tissue paper was a new Hello Kitty shirt to wear to school, Hello Kitty socks and a Hello Kitty bracelet. (Can anyone identify the pattern?!)

Of course I thought it would be more exciting to open a new toy, but the thought of giving her a new toy and saying "now put it away, because we have to eat breakfast, get dressed and get you to school where you won't be able to play with your toy" just seemed unkind! So, things she could wear to school were the plan, and she was thrilled.

I had sent a note to school the day before asking if there was any way to celebrate the kids' birthdays in class, seeing as the school has very strict rules about treats and sweets. The teacher let me know that we could donate a book to the class library on behalf of Lady M's birthday, and that they would read the story and sing happy birthday to her during circle time. So, I selected a story called Wild About Books and Lady M and I read it together the night before her birthday so she would be familiar with it. I added a little inscription to the inside cover, packed it in her 'important bag' in her backpack, and she was set to go. She tells me, however, that they already had that book in their collection, but oh well! It was a really cute story, so why not have two?!

So she'd had her morning celebration, her school celebration, then she was off to daycare where they had another little party for her. Whew, what a day for a four-year old, and it wasn't over yet!!

As I mentioned, we had the immediate family over dinner for her special day, and with contributions from the whole fam, it seemed everyone was well-fed and happy. But, nobody was happier than little Lady M who was delighting in all of her gifts - clothes, toys, shoes - and best of all, a beautiful new doll house. What little girl doesn't want a dollhouse that's taller than her, with three floors of fun?! And as it turned out, it was a total hit with both my girls, and my nephew Mr. F. They happily played together rearranging furniture, checking out all the rooms, and bringing more and more dolls and toys to the house to play. It was perfect.

All in all it was a wonderful day, and Lady M went to bed one year older, and happily exhausted. This weekend will be her dance party with eight little girls and my nephew, so the fun isn't over yet! I love a birthday that lasts all week...

four

Four years ago today, I was preparing to become a mum. I was eight days overdue with my first little bundle, and barely had the energy to walk for more than 10 minutes at a time thanks to the little person who had seemingly taken up permanent residency in my stomach. Thankfully, I had been to the doctor the day before, and when the ultrasound indicated that the baby could be as big as 10 1/2 pounds, my doc agreed to induce me. I was due to be at the hospital the following morning, at the crack of dawn.

One induction, two epidurals and fourteen hours later, I was a mum. I was also in shock, because I thought I would only ever have boys (given the track record in Cal's and my families), but in my arms was an 8 pound, 8 1/2 ounce beautiful baby girl. (Thankfully, the ultrasound tech's weight assumption had been quite off!) I was a mum, and I've never looked back.

It was, easily, the best choice I've ever made.

Tomorrow my little Lady M turns four. She is now two months into full-day junior kindergarten, as tall as a first grader, and clever as can be. She's a beautiful little girl who is the perfect combination of kind and silly, quiet and funny. She's a great blend of Cal and I, and is the best big sister I've ever seen in action. She adores Lady A, and acts like a second mum to her, lavishes her with attention and enjoys that they can now play together.

Over the last week we've had a great time counting down the days to her birthday, and this morning was especially exciting because there's only one sleep left until the big day!

I love birthdays. They've always been a big deal in my family, and especially important to celebrate them on the actual day. As I've gotten older I realize that not everyone does that, and it really makes me appreciate our little tradition more and more. My Dad is the real stickler on this one, making sure we not only celebrate on the actual day, but he makes sure that everyone in the fam has a fantastic day, making it special in any way her can. As my brother and I climb through our 30's (Greg's MUCH further into his 30's than I am, for the record), our parents still make our big day's special. Only now we get to celebrate with our kids and spouses, making the party even better.

Tomorrow night most of our immediately family will be over to celebrate Lady M's 4th birthday, and I can't wait to spoil my not-so-little girl. Knowing that she can go to sleep tomorrow night feeling celebrated, loved and just plain exhausted is all I need!

Happy 4th birthday to my sweet Lady M.

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.

giving blood : a virgin tale

I have always felt compelled to donate blood. I'm not entirely sure why, but it has always just seemed important to me. I used to walk past blood donor clinics when  I was in university thinking "I should give blood". Then, years later, I would see signs at the College where I work and think "I should give blood". But, I just never have.

Last year, for my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 Things I want to do - outlining both long and short term goals for myself. In that list of 30, I identified a number of goals that I wanted to complete this year, specifically. One was to give blood. With my birthday quickly approaching, this was one goal that was lingering on my list, and I was determined to meet my deadline. I set an appointment for Saturday, September 8th.

I arrived to the Canadian Blood Services office to be greeted by a very friendly woman, welcoming me and thanking me for taking the time to donate. Upon learning that this was the first time I was donating blood, she gave me a sticker identifying me as a 'newbie'; I was to wear it on my shirt. After a brief wait, I was summoned by the first nurse who checked my iron levels to ensure I was okay to give that day. Three points above what was needed, I was cleared. Onto the next station where I had to enter a 'privacy booth' and fill out a short questionnaire.

Following that, my next stop was to visit nurse number two, a very friendly blonde woman with a warm smile. She led me into a private room where she took my blood pressure and temperature, and then proceeded to ask me a number of more personal questions ensuring I was right for a donation.

This particular nurse asked me what made me decide to donate blood, and I told her about my list of goals. On my form she could see that my birthday was just 8 days away, and said something that struck me. "Wow, what a great birthday present", she said. "And even better, your blood will likely be infused into someone on your actual birthday, allowing them to have another birthday". Well, if I wasn't happy to be doing this already, I certainly was now.

Before I left that private room, the nurse handed me a piece of paper containing two stickers, one labelled 'yes', the other 'no' on the page, but containing only a barcode on the actual sticker. The nurse explained to me that I could choose one or the other, and place it on my donor form when she left the room. Once the sticker was taken off that page, there was no way to tell which I had chosen, just a barcode that would be scanned after my blood was taken to be processed. The nurse informed me that this was for people who knew for some reason that their blood should not be used, but enabled them to go through the process without fear of stigma. For example, they have a number of workplace groups who come through, and it allows a staff member to go through the motions of donating, but perhaps having a reason that their blood should not be shared, ensuring that it is never used. I was very impressed with that option.

So, I placed my 'yes' sticker on my form, and moved along to the next stop on my donor journey: the actual donation! Laying in a relatively comfortable bed, the next nurse came to greet me and ask me which arm I would like to use. I chose my right, seeing as Lady A likes to be carried on my left side, and we were off to the races. It took me only 7 minutes to complete the one-pint donation, and it felt like mere moments as I was chatting with the people around me, and the nurse looking after me. There was music playing, tv's on, smiling people and friendly staff making the whole environment seem very civil and casual.

I had to hang out in my bed for a few more minutes than the seasoned donors; thanks to my newbie sticker, they wanted to make sure that I was ok, not feeling faint or nauseous. I had a delicious apple juice drink box delivered to me and instructed to drink it while still there. I felt great; both physically and emotionally. Once I convinced them I was ok, I was off to the refreshment station where I chatted with some lovely volunteers who were there to fetch juice, speak with people and to complete the already pleasant experience. Of course they're keeping their eye out for fainters, bleeders, etc., but thankfully I wasn't one of them. As I sipped my apple juice I decided that one of the best perks of the experience were the guilt-free oreos I ate!

One of the sweet volunteers brought me a first-time donor pin, and a pin pad where I can collect my pins moving forward, should I choose to give again. I'm told you get another pin on your 3rd, 5th, 10th visit, and so on. I think I'll be quite happy to continue collecting those pins.

You can donate blood every 56 days, so I have already scheduled my second appointment for the first weekend in November. Now that I have taken the uncertainty out of the experience, and finally taken the leap to give my first donation, I know that I'll be doing it again.

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.

t-ball

This spring, Cal and I started playing 3-pitch in a rec league with my brother and a bunch of his friends. Admittedly, we were one of the worst teams in this beer league (aptly named "Team Fun"), but the important part was that we had a great time playing. After more than ten years together, this is the first time Cal and I have played an organized sport together, and it was such a fun opportunity. So much fun, in fact, that when the spring season ended we signed up for the summer session and just kept on playing!

Role modelling is obviously an important job for any parent, and when it comes to physical fitness I wholeheartedly believe in its importance. Seeing Lady M mimic many of our activities in my stroller fit classes this past year demonstrated very clearly to me that it's important to always let my kids see me as an active mum. (She would bring her own yoga mat to class and lay it beside mine; grab one-pound weights to do the weight training; get into a plank position, and race me up and down the gym, just to name a few.) Over the summer, bringing the girls to our softball games on several occasions sparked frequent conversations about baseball.

At daycare she has been introduced to t-ball and that started to add to the conversation we were already having. The other day I popped by my parents house at lunch (I work around the corner from my childhood home) and in my dad's trunk he had two t-ball sets; one blue, one pink. The blue one was heading to my brother's house for my nephew, and the pink one was coming home to entertain my budding t-baller and her lil' sis.

Today we pulled the adorable pink set out of the box, took it out back and started playing. Lady M is a natural, and kept getting better with a little bit of coaching from Cal. (Aside: I told Cal I was having visions of him coaching her future t-ball team; believe me, it'll happen. I have also had visions, though,  of us one day living in a small town, and him being Mayor. But I digress. End of aside.)

Lady M wasn't the only one getting in on the t-ball action today; Lady A (celebrating her 16-month birthday) was certain to get in on the action too. Her technique needs a little work, but she never missed the ball!

However, Lady A may have been a little bit closer to the action than she would have liked when Lady M bopped her square on the left cheek with the big, pink plastic bat. Yikes. That, of course, came right on the heels of the conversation that went something like this: "Lady M, always be sure to check the space around you before swinging the bat to make sure nobody is there!" Lesson learned.

Despite the small altercation, both girls carried on to have a blast hitting balls, playing catch, and as any normal children would, playing with the box it all came in!

When we came back inside, Cal and I did a little research and discovered that there is, in fact, a t-ball league in our town. Even better, it starts at the age of 4, so Lady M will be the perfect age when next summer rolls around. There is still a good eight months between now and then and interests could surely change; So for now, we'll just enjoy our little pink t-ball set. Thanks Grandad!