Last weekend, we had the distinct pleasure of not only attending Derek's little brother's wedding, but of being part of the wedding party — we were all part of it: Derek as best man, me as a bride's maid, and Maïa and Solanne as flower girls. Maïa had practiced and talked about the whole thing for weeks, which is an eternity for a four-year-old. Solanne wasn't too sure what was going on, I think.
When we were preparing, I was keeping my expectations low. I figured if at least one of them made it down the aisle without any major catastrophe, I would be satisfied. Well, Solanne never made it down that long aisle, with all those eyes staring at her. But Maïa...
With all due respect to the bride (who looked lovely and radiant), my girl stole the show, at least in my eyes. She went down that aisle in her beautiful little white dress, carrying her little basket full of rose petals. And she carefully lay handfuls on the floor as she went. She obediently sat down with her Nana in the front row and watched the wedding, legs crossed at the knee. And when the time came for the bride and groom to sign the register, on came the music, "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" and out went Maïa in front of the altar, dancing. I guess the beat was too hard to ignore. She danced the whole time, and I laughed and laughed. Who was this little girl with the great sense of rhythm, without inhibitions?
And she kept surprising me. I barely saw her the entire day. Of course, I was busy helping the bride and getting pictures taken, etc, but even when I had some down time, Maïa was busy, working the room. She was showing off her shoes to anyone who would listen. I think each person at the wedding got to see them at least three or four times. She even went up to the dj and shouted out to him to take a look at her cool new footwear.
She sang songs at the microphone to get her Uncle Pat and Matante Julie to kiss; she visited with her cousins, many of whom she only sees once or twice a year; she twirled around and showed the guests her ballet moves. She shone.
The little shy girl I used to know has disappeared and been replaced with this amazingly outgoing and self-confident child. I've watched her grow into this person, of course, yet I sometimes wonder where she came from. And I realise that even as her mother, I do not know her entirely, cannot know her completely. She has parts of her self that are just for her self. It's incredible; my daughter is an independent human being. And I get to continue to discover her, every day.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Milestone: Big girl bed
Well, it's official, I guess. No more babies in our house. Today, Solanne graduated from her crib to a toddler bed.
Maïa and Solanne were never serious climbers and never tried to get out of their crib as babies. But in the past few days, both girls have been clambering to get into Solanne's crib to play. Now Sol can't get in on her own, so Maïa has been boosting her in (read: tossing!). Derek and I were afraid of head injuries, so we decided that it was time for the switch. We removed the side of the crib, and voilà!, in true IKEA fashion, it was a toddler bed.
She slept just fine during her nap; in fact, she slept an epic 3+ hours, so I imagine she feels comfortable with her new sleeping arrangement.
The move from one era to another is always harder on mom.
Maïa and Solanne were never serious climbers and never tried to get out of their crib as babies. But in the past few days, both girls have been clambering to get into Solanne's crib to play. Now Sol can't get in on her own, so Maïa has been boosting her in (read: tossing!). Derek and I were afraid of head injuries, so we decided that it was time for the switch. We removed the side of the crib, and voilà!, in true IKEA fashion, it was a toddler bed.
She slept just fine during her nap; in fact, she slept an epic 3+ hours, so I imagine she feels comfortable with her new sleeping arrangement.
The move from one era to another is always harder on mom.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Virus number 5
Since September and back-to-school/daycare, our family has suffered from and survived four different viruses, and we're currently dealing with Number Five. By some miracle of vitamines and immune systems, we don't all catch every virus, but there is always at least one child and one adult infected. Viruses One through Four didn't worry or bother me much, but Virus Five has me considerably annoyed. The timing is completely wrong: not only is Derek's little brother Pat getting married on Saturday, we're all in the wedding party. I guess the girls can be Rudolphesque flowergirls... it's in keeping with the Christmas theme, right?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Four entries for the price of one
It's been a good long while, in bloggerworld, since I have posted here. And it's not for a shortage of things to discuss or ruminate over. Au contraire! The truth is, I've been rather busy with a number of projects/activities/responsibilities. And I've written at least half a dozen blog entries... in my head. Here's the abbreviated version of some:
It seems that so many people around here take child care for granted. By around here, I'm saying Montreal, but perhaps Quebec in general. Our daycare is currently in upheaval (long story) and some families have chosen to leave. Some complain of the supplemental $5 per day we have to pay, for a grand total of $12 per day for high-quality child care. Those same families have chosen to put their children in very expensive preschool programs that cost upwards of $500 per month, for half days (if you're counting, that's about four times more than the daycare system). Why is it that we, as humans, are willing to pay through the nose (if our nose is sufficiently filled, that is) for something that is expensive but balk at paying more for something that is already very cheap. It seems the cheaper something is — like child care — the less we think it's worth. Maïa's experience at this daycare has been invaluable, and I can't believe that her educators, who are so competent and loving and resourceful, get paid somewhere around ten bucks an hour. It's robbery.
————
Snow, snow, the beautiful snow. Its arrival this year was a little less dramatic than last year's but exciting nevertheless. Solanne and Maïa stick out their little tongues to catch snowflakes, they put on their snowpants long before it's time to go out, and they squeal with delight to see their little world, which consists of our house, yard, and street, transformed into a magical land right before their eyes. I used to hate to see the snow arrive. Now I love it.
————
I always used to hear parents talk about how much they had learned about themselves since they became parents, and I thought they were likely exaggerating. I mean really, did they not know themselves before? Well, I guess I didn't really know myself because these little girls make me visit and revisit my assumptions almost on a daily basis. One example: I've become militantly francophone. Rather, I've realised that I'm a militant francophone. It breaks my heart when Solanne only speaks English and that her French words, when I insist she use them, they come out with an English accent. Je suis franco-ontarienne! Et mes enfants le seront aussi! The craziest part of it all is that my French isn't all that great. My accent is fine and my vocab is okay, but my speech is littered with Anglicisms, and I'm often enough at a loss for certain French words. And I'm ashamed of myself. And I realise that I wanted my children to be French-speakers. Not bilingual, but uniligually Francophones. That way, their language would be pure and right... not like mine. I've learned that I am caught between two worlds, in a sense: far more comfortable speaking and writing in English, but wanting to distance myself from the English-speaking world.
————
Before I became a parent, I had a lot of opinions on how children should be raised. One of them involved nightlights. I thought that they were a convenient invention by parents who had scared their children with monster stories and then who had to expiate their sins by putting a light in their children's rooms to keep them "safe." I figured that if a newborn can sleep in a dark room, then surely a toddler, who had never been introduced to the idea of a night light, would simply grow accustomed to the dark. And Maïa proved me right. She was never afraid of the dark. We never talked about monsters, and we never made the night seem frightening to her in any way. We kept it all very neutral. And she never needed a night light or for us to keep the door to her room open. Leave it to the second child to prove mom wrong. Solanne has had a completely different experience. About a two months ago, she started hating bedtime. She would fight with us when it was time to put her in her crib and turn out the light. This was strange because at nap time, she was great, and she had always liked bedtime (I know: we're pretty lucky!). But out of the blue, she changed. She would scream, ask for a drink, ask me to hold her hand or to leave the door open, anything to keep me in the room with her. And she would have night terrors, waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, terrified. I finally clued in one night a couple of weeks ago. I put in a night light. And now, we're all getting a whole lot more sleep. Turns out I was wrong. humph.
It seems that so many people around here take child care for granted. By around here, I'm saying Montreal, but perhaps Quebec in general. Our daycare is currently in upheaval (long story) and some families have chosen to leave. Some complain of the supplemental $5 per day we have to pay, for a grand total of $12 per day for high-quality child care. Those same families have chosen to put their children in very expensive preschool programs that cost upwards of $500 per month, for half days (if you're counting, that's about four times more than the daycare system). Why is it that we, as humans, are willing to pay through the nose (if our nose is sufficiently filled, that is) for something that is expensive but balk at paying more for something that is already very cheap. It seems the cheaper something is — like child care — the less we think it's worth. Maïa's experience at this daycare has been invaluable, and I can't believe that her educators, who are so competent and loving and resourceful, get paid somewhere around ten bucks an hour. It's robbery.
————
Snow, snow, the beautiful snow. Its arrival this year was a little less dramatic than last year's but exciting nevertheless. Solanne and Maïa stick out their little tongues to catch snowflakes, they put on their snowpants long before it's time to go out, and they squeal with delight to see their little world, which consists of our house, yard, and street, transformed into a magical land right before their eyes. I used to hate to see the snow arrive. Now I love it.
————
I always used to hear parents talk about how much they had learned about themselves since they became parents, and I thought they were likely exaggerating. I mean really, did they not know themselves before? Well, I guess I didn't really know myself because these little girls make me visit and revisit my assumptions almost on a daily basis. One example: I've become militantly francophone. Rather, I've realised that I'm a militant francophone. It breaks my heart when Solanne only speaks English and that her French words, when I insist she use them, they come out with an English accent. Je suis franco-ontarienne! Et mes enfants le seront aussi! The craziest part of it all is that my French isn't all that great. My accent is fine and my vocab is okay, but my speech is littered with Anglicisms, and I'm often enough at a loss for certain French words. And I'm ashamed of myself. And I realise that I wanted my children to be French-speakers. Not bilingual, but uniligually Francophones. That way, their language would be pure and right... not like mine. I've learned that I am caught between two worlds, in a sense: far more comfortable speaking and writing in English, but wanting to distance myself from the English-speaking world.
————
Before I became a parent, I had a lot of opinions on how children should be raised. One of them involved nightlights. I thought that they were a convenient invention by parents who had scared their children with monster stories and then who had to expiate their sins by putting a light in their children's rooms to keep them "safe." I figured that if a newborn can sleep in a dark room, then surely a toddler, who had never been introduced to the idea of a night light, would simply grow accustomed to the dark. And Maïa proved me right. She was never afraid of the dark. We never talked about monsters, and we never made the night seem frightening to her in any way. We kept it all very neutral. And she never needed a night light or for us to keep the door to her room open. Leave it to the second child to prove mom wrong. Solanne has had a completely different experience. About a two months ago, she started hating bedtime. She would fight with us when it was time to put her in her crib and turn out the light. This was strange because at nap time, she was great, and she had always liked bedtime (I know: we're pretty lucky!). But out of the blue, she changed. She would scream, ask for a drink, ask me to hold her hand or to leave the door open, anything to keep me in the room with her. And she would have night terrors, waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, terrified. I finally clued in one night a couple of weeks ago. I put in a night light. And now, we're all getting a whole lot more sleep. Turns out I was wrong. humph.
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