Anniversary

On a sometime rainy, sometime beautiful day five years and one day ago, Derek and I were married. We celebrated our fifth anniversary last night by leaving the kids with their Nana at Great-Gramma and Great-Grampa's house. Thanks to the three of them for taking on a sleepover with a toddler and a preschooler (and Momma forgot to pack the suce!).

In French, the word anniversaire is used both for birthdays and anniversaries. I rather like the connotation that anniversaries are the same as (or at least very similar to) birthdays: on that Thanksgiving weekend five years ago, something new was born. I hadn't really understood what it was or that it was being born or even how fragile the entity was. But I knew that something of great magnitude was happening. I guess that's why we threw that big party.

With a lot of work and a good measure of fun, Derek and I have nurtured the "us" that was born that day. We made these fantastic promises to see each other through all kinds of tragedies and celebrations. Little did we know what we would have in store in the first (and short) five years. Two children, two bouts of depression, grad school, two moves (one to a new city), a near-death experience for one of our parents and the subsequent long recovery, at least ten different jobs between the two of us, Mexico, Egypt, Cuba, Nova Scotia, saying hello to new friends and slowly letting go of some old ones, learning-learning-learning in ways we hadn't even conceived possible, laughing, crying, sighing. And here we are, five years in, and I can safely say that I am completely head-over-heels in love with my husband and best friend. I'll also easily admit that I haven't necessarily been in love with him every day in the past five years — though I have loved him every day — but over the course of the summer and with some effort to make time for just the two of us I have had the opportunity to fall in love all over again.



Ah, the faces of innocence. Beautiful.

More Maïa swimming adventures

Well, I can certainly say that Maïa is not the fastest swimmer in her group. She is not the most agile. She is, however, the most graceful — most times. She just seems to float along gently, either holding onto the noodle or her instructor. Her little legs flutter about in a motion that reminds me of the movement of a seahorse's fins. I remember being in that aquarium in New Orleans with Derek, when I was three months pregnant with Maïa, and being utterly fascinated by the tiny creatures whose fins looked thinner than onion-leaf paper and fluttered slowly and elegantly. And somehow those little fins managed to propel them about. That's what Maïa's little legs look like in the water from my vantage point in the mezzanine overlooking our local Y pool.

Man, is she ever cute.

In retrospect...

Life with children is so often in-the-moment that it is hard to get some perspective on it all. I imagine it's because the children themselves live so much in the here and now. Their pasts seem to be so obscure to them, and their futures are utterly unimaginable, past suppertime.

Living in the moment can be a great blessing. Especially for someone like me, someone who constantly obsesses about what's going to happen next, what our plans are for next week, next month, next century... if we live that long ('cause you never know, you know). I have a zillion maps in my head, all charting out our paths, with different courses, all depending on what happens next...

So living now is good for me. Only, I end up falling into another trap. When Maïa screams at her sister or hits her, I (vaguely) imagine her doing it forever, as though as a thirty-year-old she would lash out in such a way. I often find it impossible to take a moment and think that perhaps things will change. That perhaps we will, at some point, not have a nearly-four-year-old and a nearly-two-year-old. That in fact, we will one day have a ten-year-old and an eight-year-old... and tons of other combinations that I won't bore you with. Indeed, one day, if we keep on reminding her that it's not okay to do X, she will know it (whether or not she continues to do it is another matter altogether). I am learning, however. So I try to see the funny things...

Derek and I went out for dinner at some friends' place. We had our regular sitter come over and look after the girls. It was the first time that she was responsible for putting both children to bed all on her own. We thought it would be all right...

When we got home, our fifteen-year-old sitter Megan told us about Maïa convincing her that we let her sleep with Solanne in her crib. There was much moving around (and jumping, I assume) in the little crib. Finally, after trying to settle them both into the crib without success, Megan took Maïa out. There was another story about bringing certain toys to bed (none are allowed save Clicky). And another story about taking a suce (she hasn't had one since she was 18 months). And another about a drink of water from a cup, which had to be left by her bedside in case she needed it because she was coughing and Mummy and Daddy always give her water when she's coughing because it makes the tickle go away... And, in the light of day, there were the toys and books strewn about the floor of the bedroom, the lost suce, the spilled water, the messed up crib, and the very, very, very tired children. I was not happy.

Yet in retrospect, it's pretty funny. I have to chuckle when I think of it. A little perspective goes a long way.

Hold on

Tonight, we — Derek and I and all of Montreal — hold onto our children a little tighter.

Once upon a rainy Labour Day

This is how we spent our last day before back-to-school and back-to-daycare and back-to-work:


painting










movie time


lunch break: home-made sushi and miso "shoop"



some reading


talking to Grandma


and a little pre-bedtime tickling



...even Ta and Clicky get in on the tickling action

Just because it's funny...

Solanne is well into language-acquisition: she's been making short sentences for about a month and a half now, she repeats almost everything we say, and she is interested in new sounds. But there are still glitches in the system: she hasn't got all the consonents and vowel sounds down, yet. So things come out a little strangely.

Yesterday, Derek was reading to the girls; it was a book about foxes. Well, Sol's "au" sound (which is required to say fox) is a little off and sounds more like "uh," and she doesn't always manage to say the final "s" in every word... With a little deduction, you can understand why I laughed every time she said it. Derek warned me that I would have to stop, otherwise she would keep saying it. And I guess it's only funny a couple of times, and then it gets old and perhaps misunderstood when you go out.

Which brings me to another story. When Maïa was about the same age, she, too, had some difficulty with some words. Frog often came out without an "r" and with the "o" sounding more like an "a." "L"s were difficult, so clock was also amusing. But within context, most people didn't think twice about what our child was saying... until, that is one day when we were happily shopping in the housewares section at the Bay. Maïa got very excited when she saw something novel, and she liked to let us know, at the loudest decibel she could. So the frog clock was... well, a little embarrassing.

These eyes

To me, these eyes are magic. I look into them and see so much beauty. But more than what I see in them is the magic that I get to see through them everyday. To a child who is happy, the world is new, it is surprising, and it is magic. Here are a few things that Solanne has taught me to see:

The tiny dust motes that float around in the sunlight that streams in through the window look like stars.

A violin is a small guitar.

Baby Cookie Monster looks like Baby Elmo (even if he's blue).

There are flowers, birds, and cats everywhere in our neighbourhood.

There are a surprising number of O's and A's in the world.

"Blue" is not so much a colour as a feeling; if there's something that makes her feel happy, it's blue.

I am beautiful.

The sky is something we can touch, if only someone big enough would hold us up.

We have a cat in our floor.

Solannese

Just in case you run into Solanne without her handy interpreters (Derek, Maïa, and me), here are a few key words and phrases you will hear her say but might not understand:

o' dee: I'll do it
papopo-yê: s'il-te-plaît lait (please, milk)
wee bo: read the book
upee do: stairs (up and down)
papo: poussette (stroller)
wa-too-fee-fo-fie-si: one, two, three, four, five, six
wa hay: wash hands
co eye: close eyes
opee eye: open eyes
go beebee: gros bébé (big baby)
a wa'see: I want to see
pie: please
kink'oo: thank you
messy: merci
soussee: sourcils (eyebrows)
yooyoo: lulus (pigtails)
awee: put it away
sussa: suce (pacifier)
cha: chien (dog)
ta: cat
bu': bird
ow sye: outside
i' sye: inside
cou cou: cours, cours (run, run)
bico: bicycle
kiki: Clickey
dayee: daddy
gayee: grandma
gago: grampa

Milestone: pipi

Today, Solanne asked to go potty and she actually produced some pipi! For the past month or so, she has been interested in the potty again — well, she's been interested in the toilet (perhaps the potty is below her). It all started when she began walking around outdoors in a bathing suit, sans diaper. She would notice when she wet herself. Soon enough, she would proudly announce, "pipi!" before she actually wet. She even started noticing with her diaper on.

A few other signs that she is ready have manifested themselves: she has started wanting to dress herself (she wants to do everything herself), she wants to sit on the toilet, and she knows when she has a dirty bum. I think we may be on the road to a diaper-free era in our household. I know it's a slow road, but it's the beginning...

To those non-parents out there reading this entry, my interest in potty training or potty learning, as is more politically correct, may seem to be bordering on obsessive. There are milestones in our children's lives that as parents we celebrate more than others. Some folks are more touched by their children's first steps or their first teeth. Others may look forward to first words or the first taste of "solid" foods. But most of us, I believe, look forward to the end of diapers. No more stinky bums, no more expenses (either of the disposibles or of the cost of hot water and detergent to wash cotton nappies), no more diaper rash, no more giant bag of diapers, cloths/wipes, creams, and hand sanitizer to carry around. Ah, the freedom.

Random things they do...

Nana and Grampa live in the country, so there are a lot of flies around and a few manage to get into the house. Nana hunts them down with her fly-swatter. Solanne is very interested in such activity, and after staying at her grandparents' house for nearly two weeks, she has become the official "fly-spotter" of the family: "Nana!!! fie! fie! Nana-fie!!"

———

Maïa: Do you smell that smell that is happening?

———

Both of them run around Nana and Grampa's huge back yard, playing with the cats. The bolla-bats (remember those??) have become a toy called "cat-ball" and the skipping ropes are also great cat toys. The kitties keep the children busy, on average, at least one or two hours per day.

———

The two of them have been known to empty the kiddie pool with their water cans: they often head in the area of Nana's vines, which has never looked so well loved.

———

Aunty Naomi has given them some plastic beads she obtained from a pride parade she ran into in NYC. The beads have been divied up between them, and both girls enjoy stuffing their respective hauls into their respective rain boots.

———

Solanne now refers to herself as "Sa."

———

Solanne has already begun using such personal pronouns as "me" and "mine" and "my." I guess being a second child will bring that about more quickly...

Maïa's theology

Maïa is a very thoughtful little girl who does a lot of wondering. Intermittently, she becomes interested in God, in heaven, and in the great universe. We're working through who God is and what happens when one dies — not the easiest of topics for anyone to grapple with. Here are some snatches of conversations we've had over the past couple of months:

Maïa: God is not a he or a she. God is it.
Derek: Well, Maïa, it's true that God isn't a he or a she, but we call God he and sometimes even she.
Maïa: No. God is IT.

———

Maïa: When I die, I will become a skull in heaven.

———

Derek: That's a cemetery, Maïa. That's where we put the bodies of people when they die.
Maïa: That's heaven, Daddy.

You know your kid's a vegetarian when...

We were all sitting around a nice big family dinner: Nana, Grampa, great-aunt Rosemary, great-uncle Mike, cousins Chris and Paul, uncle Nick, aunt Naomi, matante Julie, and the four of us. It was mixed grill night. Maïa looked over at the sausages sitting directly in front of her. I guess she had never seen them up close. She looked up at me from across the table and asked:

"What are those?"

"They're sausages."

"It's not poo, right?"

I swear: you can't make this stuff up!

Sometimes Momma's gotta take a break...

Two weeks ago now, I set off on my own for a mommy-vacation. I was pretty much drained, psychologically and emotionally. Derek had been in and out of town for six weeks because he was working in Ottawa. I handled it much better than I thought I would, but by the end of it, I was tired. Spending three evenings a week just with the kids was, apparently, exhausting.

So for the first time since Maïa was born, I left the kids for more than one night (and that night was in November because I had meetings in Ottawa). I am learning to ask for what I need. PPD taught me that much. It's a hard lesson, though. I think most moms don't ask for the time off that they need, mostly because we feel guilty. Guilty that it means that we don't like our role as mother. Guilty that someone else has to step up and do the duties for a little while. Guilty that we can't handle it like our moms seem to have done so well. Guilty that other moms seem to be handling it so well.

But I ditched the guilt (guiltily) and set off. I wanted to be bored. I wanted to miss my kids. I wanted... a little change.

I went to Ottawa to stay with my mom for five days, sans enfants. I visited the Emily Carr exhibit with my mom at the National Gallery. I had dinner with an old university friend. I went to the beach, alone, and actually read a book, without stopping every 40 seconds. I went shopping for clothes and didn't have to think about where the closest bathroom was in case of emergency or that it was nearing nap time or that someone was going to get bored and that we would have to leave before I tried anything on. I even got a little bored, just enough. And I missed my girls. I had time to miss them.

The biggest treat of the week, though, was getting together with my girlfriends from high school. There's a group of six of us, but two of the group were in Europe at the time (this is actually a common occurrence among the group: someone can't make the get-together because she's on another continent...). So four of us got together and decided to do a sleep-over, "old school." We watched movies, ate too much, did facials and pedicures, and talked until 4am. The last time I did this with them was literally ten years ago... girls, let's not wait another ten years to do this, okay?

Today

Solanne scoured the Neighbourhood Yellow Pages (it looks like a mini-version of the real thing). She managed to find a picture of a cat.

While listening to Bob Marley's "Get up, Stand up," Maïa said, "That's a song about the man."

I learned that bringing only a sand pail to the park and forgetting the shovels isn't so bad after all. In fact, it may very well be more fun to fill the thing up with tiny fistfuls of sand.

Solanne walked the whole way back home from the park (it's normally a ten minute walk; it turned out much longer).

Maïa slow danced with Solanne because she saw Derek and me doing it.

Solanne worked on her puzzles — mostly the one with the cat (a four-piece puzzle). When she does her puzzles, I point to the place where the next piece should go, and she says, "ici!"

Derek and I made Sangria for the second night in a row, and the second time in our lives.

We used a wine called "Bianchi" that my friend Louise brought back from Argentina.

We finalised our plans to go camping with our friends, the "four Tops" this weekend.

Solanne slept her standard two hours in the afternoon, from noon to fourteen hundred hours, local time.

I knitted all of three rows of a current project (it's a biggy).

I talked to my mom who's in Alberta visiting with her sister.

I talked to a good friend of mine who is expecting a baby; we're keeping her in our prayers and sending her good vibes.

I talked to another good friend of mine who is doing me yet another favour, out of the goodness of his heart.

I felt incredibly blessed to be living this life.

Mementos

Maïa has this terrible habit of picking up things she finds on the ground. Our driveway/parking area is an especially interesting foraging ground for her; it's gravel, so you never know what kind of treasure you might find just by kicking up a pebble or two. She has so far found cigarette butts (care of our downstairs neighbour), rusted washers (look! it's a ring!), bits of red brick, a piece of glass, an oily bit of a car engine, a spring, various and sundry pieces of garbage, and, of course, gravel.

Beyond just picking them up, Maïa holds onto her treasures as though they were, well, treasures. She is reluctant to let them go or put them down, never mind not picking them up in the first place. Yesterday, when I went to fetch her from daycare, her teacher gave her something. I asked Maïa to show it to me: it was a little red plastic "pitoune" that looked like a piece from the game Battle Ship (remember that??). She told me that she had found it on their walk earlier in the day. After much coaxing, I got her to give it to me. Mostly I was worried that Solanne would get her hands on it on the ride home in the stroller and put it in her mouth.

So I explained to Maïa, for the fourty-third time this week, that we don't pick things up from the ground. They're dirty. They're dangerous. They're simply yucky. She seemed to understand. She said, "okay." And that was that. Until we got to the park, and I took her out of the stroller. The first thing she did was to pick up a bit of broken toy that was on the ground. I swear, she had walked about three steps before doing it! I asked her to put it down, and she did, quite nicely without a fuss, but still...

This whole compulsion of hers to pick things up seemed incomprehensible to me. But today, on my walk with Solanne, I got to thinking about it. And it doesn't seem so strange after all. When Maïa picks something up, she's not particularly curious about the object; she just holds onto it or puts it in her pocket. It seems more like a need to collect things. But not just for the sake of collecting them; rather, for the sake of feeling them, of having them. It's like those random items that she picks up along the way affirm to her that she is in the world, that there are things around her, that she was there. It's a way of remembering where she was (even if it was just moments ago), of connecting her to that place. For our memories and our experiences are so ethereal. We can make things up if we forget. But a thing, an object, ties us to reality, it reminds us of the feel of the ground at that place, of the smell of the air, of the shadow we cast upon the place where we once stood. It reminds us that we ourselves are real.

Maïa lives only in her body right now: that's the reality of a preschooler. Yet her body seems somewhat detached from her, out of her control at times, just as her moods are just beyond her reach most times. She is still discovering its solidity, its firmness. The world beyond her own body must seem ever more confusing and apart and wonderous. To pick up bits of it, even the tiniest and inconsequential bits of it, must be so affirming: yes, I'm here. Yes, this whole wide world is here, too. Wow. Lucky for me! Maybe I'll just carry around this neat little ring for a while to remind me.

The terrible one-and-a-halfs

I've never really believed in the terrible twos. I know a lot of parents who found that parenting through the twos to be very difficult and annoying at best. But I have discussed this many parents of kids over the age of three and caregivers who have taken care of their share of toddlers, and there is a camp of us who agree that, hands down, parenting through the second half of the "one's" is far more challenging.

In our family, by the age of 12 months, our kids have had the rudimentary tools to communicate their immediate needs to us. Unfortunately, by age 18 months or so, their needs become far more complex than what a sign can convey, yet verbal language has yet to catch up with the thought process. With Solanne, besides not being able to express what she wants, she knows that she can't express herself very well. So when a situation arises where we actually do understand what she wants but we won't give it to her, she thinks we're missing something so she tries harder and gets madder. And, to top it all off, at this point, her ability to reason is very limited, so when we explain something, she looks at us like we're idiots (perhaps we are??).

Here's a glimpse into Solanne's complicated thought process (and why we don't always understand her): last week, Solanne was in the swing ("si'") at the park and I was pushing her ("pu!"). She started to get annoyed, so I thought she wanted down. But she clearly indicated that she still wanted to be pushed. So I kept pushing. More whining. I asked if she wanted to get down (what other option is there??). No, she wanted me to push her. Well, before she freaked out to much, she finally managed to get out this phrase: "maman pu deu ma'", which translates to "Mummy, push me with both hands!" Don't get me started on how weird a request that is from a twenty-month-old child, but I was happy to oblige her! Unfortunately, she doesn't have all of the vocabulary to make all of her complex requests known, so she often loses it. And when she loses it, she goes all the way. I can't wait 'til she's two so she can tell me what in the world is going on in her little head!

Today, we had no fewer than four total melt-downs. And today was a good day, actually, because there was no whining in between. Just a happy little Solanne intermittendly frustrated by the world. The meltdowns were over the following: not getting a second kiwi because there wasn't one to be had in the house; not being allowed to leave through the front even though she clearly prefered that door (today) and already had her sandals on at the front door; apparently over a book (though that one was fuzzy for me); and fourth that seemed totally random to me. Each lasted a minimum of ten minutes. The kiwi one lasted 20 minutes.

And so, at the end of one of the tantrums, with her hair all sweaty and curly, she looked so sweet... and I was reminded of a rhyme my mother used to tell me:

There once was a girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good;
When she was bad,
She was horrid.

Family portrait

Maïa drew this portrait of our family this morning after breakfast. She loves to draw, and her favourite subjects are her family. About a year ago, she used to draw what Derek calls "her Easter Island people" who were basically long, rectangular faces with strait mouths. Two eyes. No hair. I can't believe how far she's come along in her style! (though I do miss those little primitive faces)

At first, I couldn't make out who was whom. But I quickly deciphered which two were Maïa and me and which two were Derek and Solanne: check out the hair. Maïa has been into segregating our family along hair length for the past week or two, so my spot at the table is now next to hers while Derek sits by Solanne. The two with the short hair, obviously, are Derek and Solanne. Now, all the girls in the picture are wearing dresses (note: dresses are long rectangles while shirts are short rectangles). So, obviously, Solanne is on the far right, while Derek is the second from the left. Missing, however, is his beard, which is strange since Maïa usually draws it. Also of note, Maïa used to draw Solanne's hair by making tiny little dots around Solanne's head ("that's Solanne's tiny tiny tiny hair"). Anyhow, I figured out those two but I couldn't decide which one I was, so I asked. Apparently, I'm the second from the right, and Maïa is on the left. I think, if I had really tried, I could have figured it out given that I'm the one with the largest head in the drawing. I'm always the one with the largest head. I don't know that Maïa has ever really noticed that this is the case, or if she does it on purpose, but it just seems to be the way things work for her. And, for my smart-alec friends out there, I choose to believe that it's because I figure largely in her life that I have such a large head in her drawings, and it's not due to any other factor, thank you.

So there we are, our little family of four, according to Maïa.

The slow movement of life

Things have been rolling along at a steady but rather boring pace around here, hence the lack of "news" on this blog. Solanne is finally beginning to say words and phrases of her own. Maïa is getting over her dress phase and can be convinced, once in a while, to wear shorts or even long pants. It depends on the day, however.

It's the start of a long weekend here in Québec (the Saint-Jean Baptiste Day is on Saturday), and Solanne and Derek and down and out with a fever and sniffly noses. Maïa already had it — with vomitting thrown into the mix. It passed quickly, so I expect (and hope!) that Derek and Solanne will be better by the end of the weekend.

In any case, we have a whole other long weekend next week (Canada Day!) to look forward to. As long as I don't get sick...

The paths before us

I think all parents have a difficult time not branding or labelling their children in one way or another. I think it's our way of getting to know our children: "She's a really active kid; she never sits down. When she's playing, she just squats down so that she's ready to go. She'll be a sporty type, I think." That's just one example of many that I have caught myself saying. And it's not a bad thing to describe our children, but I think that we can easily move from describing our children's behaviour to prescribing it. And I don't want to put my children in boxes; I want them each to feel that they can try anything they want and not to be limited by what I expect they should do or be.

And, when I think of it, it seems rather ridiculous even to try to describe what or who they are at the tender ages of three and 19 months. After all, what habits will Derek or I pick up in the next decade, say, that will one day be "so Derek" or "so Cristina"? Just last week, Derek declared that he realised that he really likes to take care of plants and that he's looking forward to having a back yard to garden in. Perhaps one day, a grown up Maïa will say to one her friends, "I can't help you with your garden, but you should call up my dad: he knows everything about gardening." But he didn't discover that love until he was in his late twenties. Or Derek's dad, who loves to cook and who is famous for his elaborate family meals. He only started to cook when he was in his mid- to late-thirties.

If all these potential interests, still undiscovered, exist in our adult selves, how can I expect even to guess at my children's futures? And that's what is so exciting: that they could truly be anything. A teacher, an ophthomologist, a painter, a pharmaceutical expert, an economist, a CEO, a cleaner, a telemarketer, a magician, a lawyer, a theologian, a sports psychologist, a programmer, or even a ghost-buster. Whatever. It's all out there, waiting to be discovered. I hope that I'll allow my mind to be free enough to allow all those possibilities and so many more to be available and open to my girls. Heck, I don't even know what I'm going to do when I grow up...

Offer of employment

Hours: 12-hour shifts, interspersed with 12-hour on-call shifts. 7 days per week. Shifts may be variable; however, they are not flexible and are not changeable by the employee.

Breaks: No official breaks are offered. The employee may take quick bathroom and lunch breaks as needed; however, the employee continues to be on the job and must foresake said break as required by the employer.

Holidays: No regular holidays are offered. The employee is expected to work all statutory holidays with no compensation (see Salary section).

Vacation: Vacation days may only be taken on condition that a suitable replacement be found. The employee is responsible for finding the replacement and may have to pay said replacement out-of-pocket, unless a volunteer replacement may be found. However, the employee will remain on-call throughout the vacation, on an emergency basis.

Salary: None. In fact, you will be expected to pay the employer out-of-pocket for the entirety of the employment period. The employer will demand funds for housing, clothing, food, entertainment, education, and vacations.

Benefits: None.

Training: None. No courses or training exist for this employment. There are a number of training manuals available. However, they are often contradictory. Use at your own risk.

Grievance process: None. Grievances may be privately voiced to other employees; however, the employer shall never hear of such grievances. All grievances are to be carried to the grave.

Harrassment in the workplace: Harrassment is to be expected and tolerated. Verbal abuse is common; some physical abuse, including sleep deprivation, is common in the first few years of the employment period. Note: The employer is officially exempt from adhering to the United Nations Convention against Torture.

Union: Unions are forbidden.

Pension: None.

Retirement: None. Generally, the official employment period lasts approximately 20 to 30 years, with multiple employers demanding time, often overlapping. However, the employment period will be extended as the employers themselves become employees and ask for your assistance (for their own relief; see Vacation section).

All those interested are asked to pair up and foresake all means of birth control or visit their local adoption agency. No interviews necessary: anyone crazy enough to want the employment described above deserves what she or he gets. Best of luck.

Graduation

Today, with little ceremony — none really — Maïa graduated from the beginner swimming class. She has moved on from Bobbers onto Floaters. Hurray! After our initial dismal start, I didn't really consider that she would be moving on, but she has done wonderfully well. She loves swimming now; she can't wait to go swimming in Nana and Grampa's pool this weekend.

I credit her instructor, a young man named J-F, with her success. He was a swimming instructor for Maïa's class back when she attended the YMCA preschool; the little class headed down the hall for swimming lessons every Thursday afternoon. He recognised her right away, and he even remembered her name. She took to him immediately and was always excited about going to see J-F. His cool factor is evident in his note on her Progress Card:

Hair: redux

On the days when I feel that Solanne is going to be a little more trying than usual, I do this to her. It's pretty hard to get mad at an anime character.

Sewing

Well, knitting season is over for now... I finished a green coat with matching hat for Maïa, which has actually come in handy in the past few weeks. But with summer fast approaching, I thought I'd try my hand at sewing. I have this fantastic machine that my mom got me, and it's been waiting for bigger projects than hemming pants and curtains.

So I got started on some little summer dresses for the girls (Maïa especially, whom I'm often hard-pressed to convince to wear anything but a dress). Luckily, dresses are pretty quick to whip up, once one gets the hang of pattern language — I swear, it's a whole other dialect of English. The fabrics at the store are so scrumptuous that I had a hard time choosing; I picked the most vibrant colours I could find. And at less than a metre per dress, it is an entirely affordable option. So here are my first tries:

I completed this one just last night. It took me one short evening of cutting two of these and another short evening of stitching up this one (the other will be pink with a bottom frill). Maïa wanted to wear this one today; luckily, the weather was clement enough to allow it! The fabric is a cotton. The dress itself is a simple slip-dress with ties at the shoulders: no pesky zippers or buttons. A breeze.



The other dresses that Maïa is holding are two that I made three weeks ago. It took one evening of cutting and one very long evening of sewing both dresses. At one point, I felt like I was working in a factory, only without the expertise. Luckily, my mom was staying with us, and she gave me some great tips and lots of help. This being my first project, I wasn't sure what I was doing! The fabric is a seer-sucker (no ironing!). The dress is A-line with a one-button enclosure at the back of the neck. I added the bottom trim to finish it off.



Some of the cool stitch work that my machine can do.

Our garden: a photo essay

Rant

I have a beef with those parents out there who take their contagious children out to public places. I mean sniffly, coughing, feverish, vomitting, or diarrhea-suffering. I acknowledge that on occasion, we parents leave the house with what seems a perfectly healthy child only to have that child vomit or spike a fever at whatever outting. I give those parents immunity from my criticism. I also give immunity to those parents taking their slightly sick kids on errands that must be run, or a sniffly kid to daycare when there is no other option (most daycares don't have rules against sniffly or coughing children coming to daycare). I even forgive the parents who take snotty kids to the park (a parent's gotta get out some time!).

My beef lies with those parents who take their snotty, coughing, feverish kids to those venues where there will certainly be other kids, namely playgroups, church nurseries, swimming lessons, library circle times, or any other enclosed area where a number of small children will be playing with, and placing into their mouths, common toys. It is not necessary to bring our children to those places: we do have the option of staying home, or taking a walk, or going to a place where the child won't be sharing toys or close space with other children. There is no question that at least one other child will catch whatever is going around. And that child, it seems, is usually mine. And I'm getting quite tired of it. When I bring my children to the nursery at church, I just assume they'll be in a safe environment. But then there's the lurking kid with the runny nose. I might as well just have Solanne lick the child because the effect is the same: she's gonna get sick.

And sick she got. Runny nose and two miserable nights of sleep (up every half hour on one night!). All because that kid's parents had to come to church and they just had to bring their kid to the nursery instead of keeping him with them. Why? I just don't understand it.

So this is the sign I would like to post in all children's indoor play areas:

IF YOUR CHILD HAS A RUNNY NOSE, PERSISTENT COUGH, OR HAS HAD A FEVER/VOMITTING/DIARRHEA IN THE PAST 24 HOURS, PLEASE CONSIDER THE HEALTH OF OTHER CHILDREN AND THEIR FAMILIES. DO NOT BRING YOUR CHILD WITHIN THIS SPACE.
THANK YOU

Keep your little germ factories home!!

News Release

Clicky Sky has been found safe

MONTREAL, May 17, 2006 -- The beloved friend of Maïa, the tiny horse named Clicky, has been found safe, if a little rumpled and flattened. The horse had last been seen in Maïa's arms on May 14 at the church the family attends. It was unclear, however, if the horse had made it home. It was also unclear whether the horse had run away or if he had been kidnapped.

A witness confirmed, late yesterday evening, that Clicky was in the family household on the afternoon of May 14. The witness, Katie, is a good friend of the family. The sighting confirmed that Clicky was within the family home. Although a thorough search had already been conducted by investigators, the search-and-rescue team was called in as the situation had become dire.

A rescuer found the tiny horse behind a couch cushion. Having believed that the space was too small for the horse to hide within, it had been overlooked in the initial tearing apart of the house.

MISSING

Name: Clicky, a.k.a. Clickster, Clicking Clickeroo, (tongue clicking)

Date of disappearance: May 14, 2006 (His second disappearance in seven days)

Last seen: in Maïa's arms some time after church, approximately 1 pm local time

Description: brown and white horse, skinny, wobbly, matted mane

Distinguishing features: cataracts, frayed tag

Return to: Maïa

La fête des mères

My attempt at capturing the three girls in one picture

Obviously, easier said than done.

On being alone with girls having a love affair with dirt

With Derek working out of town three days a week, I have tried to keep it together and keep things working smoothly around here. So far, so good. But I must say that I have such huge respect for those mothers who do it alone. I don't know what I would do if I had to do this full time, with no breaks and no partner to help.

The evenings around here seem mighty long with the only dinner conversation going something like this:

me: Maïa, what did you do at daycare today?
Maïa: I played with Clicky.
me: What else did you do?
Maïa: (clicking her tongue)
me: (sigh)

So to aleviate some of the longevity of the post-daycare-pre-bedtime segment of the day, we go to the park. Luckily, the weather has been very cooperative lately. The one down-side: the dirt. Note: those aren't tans on my kids (if you know them at all, you would know that). That's all 100 percent, premium grade "A" Montreal dirt.

Maïa


Solanne


Even mummy can't escape the long reaches of the dirt beast

Solanne's name: FAQ

Q: Solange?
A: No, Solanne.

Q: Solaine?
A: No, Solanne.

Q: Sola?
A: No, Solanne.

Q: Solano?
A: No, Solanne.

Q: Oh, Solanne. That's an interesting name, did you make it up?
A: No. I had heard it before, though as a boy's name, and it sounded very feminine to me.

Q: Where's that name from?
A: It's a documented French girl's name. About 6 Solanne's have been born in France over the past decade. I've spotted "Solanna" in one baby names book, and it was documented as a Spanish name.

Q: What does it mean?
A: It's a solar name.

Q: huh?
A: You know, it's related to the sun; it has something to do with the sun.

Q: Like what?
A: "Of the sun."

Q: How do you spell it?
A: S-O-L-A-N-N-E

Q: Why did you pick it?
A: Because we felt it necessary to torment our child. We never knew just how torturous it would be.

Rhymes, puns, and other fun with words

Many of you may not know this about Derek and me, but we are terrible punsters. We reserve the most ridiculous ones for each other, knowing that the other will understand and even laugh when most would just leave the room, utterly disgusted with the stupidity of it all. I would rather not share any here, now, for fear of losing many friends.

The beauty of family is the comfort we feel with one another, and so just as we don't mind when our chidren see us first thing in the morning, bad hair and halitosis and all, we don't hide our punning and word games from them. And so they, too, have picked up on it. Maïa and Solanne are absolute experts in the field now and will certainly surpass us soon.

My very favourite word play, so far, is Maïa's invention. She doesn't do it anymore, or even recall it, but it was brilliant. We were in Nova Scotia visiting Derek's uncle and aunt and their sons; Maïa was 20 months and excitedly discovering language. She was also discovering relationships and how they worked. In fact, a short four months later, days after her sister was born, she would recite our family composition: mummy-daddy-Maïa-Solanne! — over and over again! But at the time, the next best thing to a sister was her friend, Zoë. As many small children, Maïa very much liked butterflies and talked a lot about "papillons." So one day, she started playing with the word and came up with: papillon, mamillon, zoë-llon. Pretty smart, I thought.

Solanne, too, has been known to play word games, but hers so far are mostly sign-word games. Her very first, I believe, was when she was about 13 months old. At that point she had about 5 sign words in her vocabulary, one of which was bird (forefinger and thumb coming together like a bid beak). She was sitting at the table, eating raisins when she discovered that the action of picking up raisins mimicked the sign for bird. She thought it was hilarious! She picked up a raisin in one hand and made the bird sign with the other. Her first "rhyme" was born!

Derek and I, eternal punsters, and very proud of our girls. Of course, we'll have to teach them to keep the worst (best?) word plays to themselves because, really, the world isn't ready for them yet.

Things I love about Maïa

In no particular order:

that she yells as she runs (to hear the vibration)
the way she asks, "me, Mummy?" when she hears me talking about someone
the sound of her voice
that she has her own fashion sense (another dress, Mai??)
the way she takes her sister's hand and leads her around the house
her hair
the way she draws me at least three times the size of anyone else in her pictures
her penchant for horses or anything horse-like (zebras, pegasus, unicorns, donkeys)
her laughter
the way she says, "coucher sur maman!" before bed and lies on me with her eyes closed as she counts her breaths, up to 20 (every single night)
the way she gasps and looks surprised when I catch her picking her nose
that she doesn't know what race is and that she doesn't seem to take note of people's skin colour
the way her lips become the size of a dime when she makes a fish face
her perfectionist tendencies
the way she gladly helps clean up and then actually cleans up more than I had planned on doing myself
that her shouting isn't even that loud
that she loves books
that she sometimes carries around imaginary things (lately: Slimey and Skirmy the earthworms, along with a caterpillar)
her singing voice
that she is almost always singing
her perfect hugs
her love for everyone she knows (I have yet to hear her say that she doesn't like someone)

...these are just a few of the things that I love about Maïa; it is not an exhaustive list. I'm sure many of my readers could come up with more...

Disjointed thoughts

The entries here haven't been as frequent as I would have liked, mostly because it's end of term in university-land, and that affects our whole family, even if only one member is in school. With a number of term papers due, a conference on the near horizon (which means another paper to write) as well as having to plan a class he's teaching starting May 2, Derek is crazy-busy. That also means that the household is somehow more chaotic, less organised, and generally — well, dirtier. And, frankly, I've been nicely kicked off the computer most evenings (I'm sneaking in while Derek is reading bedtime stories to Maïa).

So what have we been up to?

We all caught yet another cold and gave it to many other loved ones (sorry Grandma and Nick & Naomi!). It actually caught me off guard. Since Maïa has been in daycare, we have contracted colds, flus, ear infections... basically anything that can be caught and even a few things that couldn't. From December on, at least one member of our family was coughing or had a runny nose, with a brief and well-timed break for Christmas. Then, about a month ago, it stopped. We were all healthy. For three whole weeks, nothing. The curse was broken... And then we spiralled down again. But we're on the mend, so all is well.

Solanne and Maïa have both started swimming. Solanne and I go to a Bubblers class once a week. About seven moms and their toddlers wade into the pool, sing songs, and pretend that the little ones like it. Only this week, week 4, they actually did start getting into it. Maïa's time in the pool is a little more involved: she goes in on her own (sans maman) and learns to paddle, kick, jump, and float. The first week was a total disaster. She refused to go in. I was so obsfuscated that I just took her and left after five minutes. I realise that it was the wrong thing to do (we should have stuck around at least to watch the other children), but I had to leave. Truth be told, I was a little embarrassed. All the other little kids clambered into the pool without any to-do. Maïa wailed as though there were sharks in the water. Derek took her the next two weeks, and she slowly warmed up to the idea of being in the pool, and even participated in a couple of activities. This week, I took her, and it was a modest success. She cried a little when it was time to get into the pool, but she went in. Then, she did it. She followed along with the lesson. She sat astride a pool noodle while her instructor held it, and then "swam" half the length of the pool. Her little legs kicked away so quickly, they were blurry from my vantage point on the balcony. She jumped in the pool holding onto her instructors hands and kicked her way back to the stairs. She floated around on a pool noodle all by herself. And then she waved good-bye to her instructor and smiled at me. It was a great feeling.

On other fronts, Solanne is talking more and more and signing less and less. Whatever signs she does use are accompanied by words or sounds. She is a very chatty little girl: she "talks" most of the time while she's playing or eating or reading a book. She just has so much to say! Maïa is learning to read by sounding out words. And she's having fun learning that if you take one letter away from a word, it can spell a whole new word, like FARM becomes FAR or ARM, depending on which letter you block. How cool!

As I type this, the girls are tucked away in their beds and I hear them chattering each to themselves, sometimes saying something to one another. And I feel truly blessed to have these little people in my life. They are beautiful beyond my descriptive abilities.

Good night. Bon soir, mes chéries.

Magic and mundanity

As I peer back over the three and a half short years since we became parents, the moments that I remember best (or recall at all) are the magic ones. They are not always good, mind you, but they are always magic. Like Maïa's birth and her 48 hours in special care, when we thought that she may have to stay for a week, while I would be released after only three days. That very first memory of parenthood is filled with fear, confusion, and magic. The magic is in what I have learned from it; how different I am now from who I was then; in the quality of the lighting, of my heart, of my relationship to Derek, to my family, to the entire universe, and to God. The magic lies, too, in my ability to look at the memory and hold it like a fragile bauble, but not to cry in its recollection.

I hope everyday that the magic of time and memory, and how it colours our lives, will not lose its touch. For I feel sometimes overwhelmed with mundanities. Like, will Maïa ever jump into that pool willingly, or will we have to drag her to swimming lessons every week? Perhaps time will colour that one, too, and make it funny because Maïa is a champion diver or simply because she loves to sit in the bath for hours at a time. Or I wonder if changing diapers will ever have the colour of magic? Will I fondly recall my times, countless now, at the change table with my girls? Or will those memories, of the pool, of the diapers, simply fade away into the mire of time and fuzziness?

It seems our lives are divided up into those two categories, and we live in the present, where the sorting occurs, of the magic and the mundanity.

Pumf

pumf (pumf) n., pl. pumfes (pum'fez) (Maïan) a pillow, divested of its pillowcase, on which small children and their animal friends may rest; the pillowcase acts as sleeping bag-like cover on the pillow; the term was first encountered in 2006 during nap time; the invention of the pumf appears to have been a stalling tactic on the part of a child to avoid said nap