Celebrating another union...

I just realised that I never posted any pics from Pat and Julie's wedding, which took place December 16, 2006. Here's one of the only ones that Solanne is not crying in. It was a tough day for her. She never napped; this was back when naps were absolutely necessary for her to get through a day. She was exhausted and a little cranky. But she was still quite good. Apparently Julie's family is still talking about how good the kids were. And I must say, they really were.



And this is another, and you can see that Solanne is starting to fade.
If my mom were in it, this picture would include all of my very favourite people in the whole world.



(By the way, I made those flowergirl dresses. And if anyone is interested in having one or both of them, they are free to a good home; sizes 2 & 4. I'll even throw in the little white shoes.)

Happy anniversary!

Yesterday was Derek's grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. We celebrated with them and the extended family last Sunday. I hope Derek and I make it to 60 years married. Only 54 years and 4 months to go...

Expressions of pain

Maïa's knees are all mangled up. She has fallen four times, on the pavement, in the past week or so. We've run out of Princess Band-Aids, we've run out of Dora Band-Aids, and we're even out of Sponge Bob Band-Aids.

The first evening after the worst injury occurred, Maïa was very... um... whiny. There's no other word for it. I understand that scabs on the knee are painful and uncomfortable, but Maïa was really milking it. She sat in the livingroom, on the floor, complaining that she couldn't get onto the armchair because her knee hurt too much. I picked her up and placed her on the chair; then I returned to the kitchen to help Derek with dinner.

Soon, we heard a plaintive moaning, almost a meowing! "Ow. Owee. OWEE!!" It was Maïa, once again, complaining. It went on and on and on. At one point, I really did think there was an injured kitten outside the livingroom window! I asked Maïa, who had crawled back down to the floor, if I could get her anything. She told me she would like some paper and her markers. Finally!, I thought, maybe this will get her mind off the pain.

And sure enough, it did. The moaning stopped. Derek and I continued to prepare supper in peace.

A few moments later, our sad little injured Maïa scooted her bum into the kitchen (remember: walking was too painful!), and with her best puppy eyes, looked up at us and pointed to her creation:

Laundry

I have a confession to make: I actually like doing laundry. I don't like it above other things, and there are a vast number of things that I would rather be doing, but there is something deeply enjoyable about the task of cleaning my family's clothes, piling them high into a clean white plastic basket, and folding them, carefully, methodically, quietly.

I like the texture of the fabrics, the fresh smell of still-warm tumble-dried shirts, the crisp stiffness of tiny line-dried dresses. I spread them each out, one by one, on our kitchen table, smoothing out the fine creases, folding them with the precision of an experienced hand. I rejoice in stacking up the folded shirts and balled socks, perfect—if only for a moment. And the washer hums its grumbly mumbly tune in the laundry room next to the kitchen.

I don't do much thinking when I'm folding, which is rare since I think (and worry) while doing most things (working, eating, showering, trying to fall asleep...). The task of folding absorbs me completely, and by practicing this very domestic task, I am miraculously taken away from my quotidian worries. I am left simply to feel and to touch and to love.

Surprising headlines

"Pesticides poison 6,000 Canadians a year, report says" (Globe & Mail, June 21, 2007)

No kidding? Pesticides are harmful?

It just sucks

Tears flowed this morning; Solanne cried when I left her in her class, and when I turned toward the door, I began, too, and cried all the way home... If I could have, I would have brought her home with me, whisked her up into my arms and carried her home, comforting her and myself with kisses and cuddles.

But I can't. Too much work, too little time.

And we're all paying the price. And the dust bunnies are preparing a mutiny. And the wrinkles in the unfolded laundry will betray us when we wear them. And I just want to sleep–one full night–and then wake up to those summer sounds of birds and far-off traffic and do nothing but enjoy my girls and my husband.

Reason 784 to smile

This is the transcript of a conversation I overheard Solanne having with her Nana.

Solanne: Hi Nana!!

Nana: ...

Solanne: I goed to dayca' today an I pwayed wiff my fwends an I wike dayca' an I pwayed in de sand!

Nana: ...

Solanne: My fwend's name is Emma!

Nana: ...

Solanne: Emma!!

Nana: ...

Solanne: Huh name is E-MM-A!

Nana: ...

Solanne: Emma! Emma! It sta'ts wiff a "M"!! Wike: "M"-ah!

My clever girl...

An open letter to Derek's Arabic professor

Dear Selim,

I am deeply concerned about the volume of work involved in this second-year Arabic class you are currently teaching at McGill. While I understand that the class is an intensive, 6-credit course jammed into eight weeks, I believe that the amount of work you expect your students to do is completely unreasonable.

Derek attends class every morning, from 9 am to noon. Then he is expected to do about five hours of homework per day. This, I will allow, is an acceptable amount of work, assuming the students have no employment and are dedicating their entire day-time schedule to the class. Derek has gracefully done so. However, he is finding that he has upwards of six to eight hours of homework per night (this, thanks to the extra work assigned, not to mention the final oral presentation and 1000-word essay he has to prepare–in Arabic!!).

I am fortunate that I have a husband and co-parent who refuses to give up his time with his girls. Unfortunately, this has led to severe and acute sleep-deprivation. This lack of sleep, for its part, has caused Derek's cough to remain for the past four weeks, since it is rather difficult to shake a cold when one hasn't rested.

The lack of time and sleep has not only affected Derek. Besides the time we spend together while taking care of the children, I have barely spent any time with Derek since he has started this class on May 1. I fear our marriage is... well, stagnant, for the moment. Furthermore, I have had to pick up the slack by doing all the housework, including meals, dishes, house-cleaning, laundry, groceries, ironing, watering the plants, paying the bills, shuttling the children to activities, taking out the recycling, and knitting (okay, this last one is for my own enjoyment, but still). Now I am tired. Soon, I will have to enlist the children to do the work. Then they will be tired, too.

I entreat you, Selim, to ease up a bit. I miss my husband. If not for us, do it for our children (child labour is illegal, no?).

Yours, very sincerely,
Cristina

Milestone: daycare - The outcome

Solanne had a great morning at daycare.

When I arrived at 12:30 to pick her up, the other kids were getting settled in for their nap, and Solanne was standing near the door, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. She was not excited to see me, but she didn't tell me to go away, either. A good sign, I guess.

I had told her teachers that Solanne might be shy and quiet for the first day or two, but after she felt comfortable, she would likely talk a lot. When I picked up Solanne, her teacher Jessie said that Solanne didn't stop talking for a moment! She got along great with the other kids, and even learned some of their names ("I pwayed wiff Emma today!").

Solanne was so excited from all the morning's events that it took her over an hour to get to sleep at nap time at home. She was singing some new songs she had learned this morning ("Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere." "The itsy bitsy spider...").

Momma and baby are doing well with the arrangement. And Momma is, big sigh, relieved.

Milestone: daycare

This time, it's Solanne's turn.

I dropped off both my girls at daycare this morning, leaving, for the first time, with just myself. Me, alone. It took me a while to leave; I lingered in Solanne's class, making sure her teachers knew where all her stuff was, that she was settled with a puzzle, that she knew everyone's name and where the bathroom was. Finally, knowing I had overstayed, I made Maïa give her sister a kiss, then I kissed my little Solanne good-bye. I crossed the hall with Maïa to her class. I held her for a while, lingered in her classroom, made sure she was settled, that she was okay. And she went off to play with her friends. And I was left standing there, alone and rather unneeded.

I got a call last week asking if we would like Solanne to start daycare a little earlier than our anticipated September start. How soon? Next week! Whoa. We thought about it a lot. And then I got three separate emails with three separate contracts, all needing to be done in June. I think that's what sealed the deal. On Thursday, we made our final decision and filled out the appropriate paper work.

Solanne has been talking about going to daycare for months. We told her she would be in the Yellow Room (3-year-olds) in the fall. Every morning, when we dropped off Maïa, Solanne would peek into the Yellow Room and tell me that she was going there soon. So when I told her last week that she could start going to daycare, but in the Blue Room, she was rather annoyed. No way, she was going to go to the Yellow Room. But we talked about it — really talked! I had a conversation with her about it all and that starting earlier meant going to a different class but when the summer was up, she could go to the Yellow Room with all the friends she would make in the Blue Room. And she was onboard!

While we were debating the issue, Derek and me, I felt guilty. That I would be sending my little girl (my baby!) off to daycare and that I would be at home — working, but at home. Alone. I felt like I was betraying that motherhood oath to give up every part of me and of my time to be with my kids, at all costs. I played with Solanne more intensely and in a more involved way the latter part of last week, knowing that it was our last as a stay-at-home pair. We're starting her out slow (three mornings a week for now), but it'll never be the same. This stage of our lives is over. We're not full-time stay-at-home parents anymore, for the first time since Maïa was born. And I felt a little guilty that I didn't feel more guilty.

Because after we made our decision to let her go in earlier, I felt a kind of relief. I felt that I could finally do some work, kid-free and worry-free and guilt-free, while my kids were enjoying themselves at the daycare. And heck, if I finished up early, I could do some exercise, get my nails done, visit that new yarn shop that opened up not too far from here. I had a measure of freedom! Something I haven't had in a long time. Some "me" time, some time to be a grownup, to talk to other grownups.

So I was surprised this morning when I couldn't let them go, when I couldn't leave, when I felt utterly alone. I'm not sad. I miss them.

But I think all of this is good because now I can miss them. I have the option. I won't be so exhausted by their constant presence anymore; I can appreciate them more when they're around, knowing that it's finite. I'm very much looking forward to going to pick up Solanne after her lunch. I can't wait to have one of those great Solanne hugs!