More planning

We've booked the airline tickets and our various accommodations, set an itinerary, booked rail tickets, emailed family, made lists, made other lists, visited the passport office, ordered activity books for the kids, consulted teachers, alerted our employers, and debated back packs vs luggage. And there's still a lot to do: shop for (wrinkle resistant) summer clothes for the kids and myself, get Euros, book museum tickets, and finally buy a cell phone are the big ones.

We've travelled abroad with Maïa when she was a baby, and that certainly involved more gear (pack-n-play, diapers, food, bottles, wipes, tons of tiny clothes, etc etc), but it feels like there's more to do now. I always say that children are portable, and they are, but there's a lot of planning involved.

Keeping them entertained is key to both their enjoyment and our sanity. They'll be kept plenty busy visiting various cities. It's the travel time that'll get them. So we have story books featuring Florence and Rome, a couple of Roald Dahl books to read to them, sticker books, an ipod, a sketch/scrap book, colouring pencils, they're favourite friends, and a tiny tent for said friends (which kept them incredibly entertained in BC, where we bought it).

School work needs to be kept up, too. Maïa's teacher has assigned one math problem per school day, daily reading en français, and practicing calligraphy. Solanne has no assigned homework, but we'll have both kids do lots of drawing and journaling about their travels.

And we've managed to find lots of fun stuff for the kids to do in each of the cities. Treasure Hunt Florence will keep us busy, finding famous paintings, sketching the David, talking about how we feel about the paintings, counting fountains and towers, and finding hidden treasures. We haven't found a similar guide to Rome (which seems astonishing), but we have quite a few surprises in store for the girls there. They already recognise the Colosseum and the Spanish Steps, and we've been talking about ancient Rome, so I think they'll enjoy seeing the sights there.

The rest of our travels will be in smaller centres, including Cinque Terre by the seaside, and Aosta in the Alps. And, of course, visiting family, where they'll have a chance to practice their Italian–which currently consists of about a dozen words. That was the extent of my Italian when I was five, and I came back having forgotten most of my French and English, so I know they'll pick up enough to get by.

As for the backpack vs luggage debate, backpacks won, hands down. We'll be on and off enough trains that it makes more sense to strap something to our backs than try to roll luggage on endless cobblestone, while trying to hold small hands. The down side, of course, is the restricted space. So we're carefully planning our wardrobes, which is a challenge when you're going from the Mediterranean to an elevation of over 2000 feet. I'm not quite sure how we'll pack for that... stay tuned.

Brilliant

Solanne had homework this week, which for a kindergartener has the potential to be a drag, but she loved it. She had to prepare a book report (of a sort) and a presentation to go along with it.

It was only last night that I realised that her teacher, Madame A, had set up the class precisely so that Solanne, and her classmates, would get excited about homework. For Solanne, it's a privilege to present her book to her friends; she's the only one allowed to do it on her big day as Petit Coeur.

Here's how it works: at the beginning of the year, Madame A set up a routine of a having a daily "Petit Coeur" (little heart). Each child had their turn at being Petit Coeur, and the role comes with some serious perks: the child gets to lead circle time, bring the attendance sheet to the office with the friend of their choice, skip nap time, have the pick of what activities she wants to do... and the list goes on. For the first two months, that's all it was.

By December, each child got to bring something in to present when they were Petit Coeur. Last month, they got to prepare a "science experiment." Solanne brought in oil, water, and syrup and poured them all into the same container and showed how one floated on the other; a first exploration of density. This month, Solanne got to pick her favourite (French) book and complete a sheet: title, author, illustrator, favourite character. And she had to prepare a presentation on it. This is the basic format that she'll have to do in Grade 1 next year, once per week, with library books. And she was so excited about doing it.

Of course, there's no guarantee that she'll still love these book reports next year, but Madame A is at least setting up favourable conditions for her to enjoy it and get interested in it. There are no guarantees with kids anyway, so I'm just soaking this up now and am happy to watch Solanne's face light up as she practices her presentation for tomorrow.

Familial journey

We are on our way.

Some time in the next few weeks or months – we haven't yet settled on the date – the four of us will be off to Italy.

The passport pictures have been taken, the lists have been drawn, toiletries purchased, wardrobes planned. We've scoured the tour books and set up an itinerary. We've searched the web and found kid-friendly activities in each of our destinations.

Cousins have been contacted; all are looking forward to our visit.

But this is more than a family vacation.

I will see my aunt, the woman, who along with her older sister, helped raise my father. The woman, who ten years ago when I visited for the first time in two decades, referred to me as her other granddaughter. A woman who knows what my father was like as a child; a woman who holds pictures of my father with round eyes and rounder cheeks; at least, that's how I imagine him since I have never seen them. The woman I will likely never see again after this visit.

Her eyes are so much like my father's that I feel lonely when I look at her. She tells me the same. And we laugh at the idea that we share those sorrowful eyes, dropping down in the corners, with him and with each other. And now with Solanne.

The children carry an Italian name like an amulet, wrapped around them always, but mysterious and whose history is still beyond their understanding. They will, for the first time, meet others with the same name. Some with the same eyes. All with the same long, invisible thread of DNA knitting us together, binding us across languages, across time, across leagues of water.

And we will visit my ancestral village, a town of fewer than three thousand souls. Breathe in the air that fed my father and his family, the air that is said to be unique in the world in its ability to both age Parmesan cheese and cure prosciutto ham to perfection. And we will visit the tiny house my father called home, carved out of the ancient hillside, that held that cobbler's family of six children.

Strange that I feel tied to that land, more than any other. Not to the town, or the villagers, but to the land. I have been there twice in my life, once with my father and mother, once on my own, long after my father had died. Some tie, perhaps that strand of DNA born of that land, makes me long for that place and root me in it when I am there.

I promise to post pics and stories here about our adventures, from preparations, to the journey, and the long road back.

Zoned out

The kids have been adjusting to being back on Eastern Daylight Time. On Friday, they were definitely still on Pacific Time – or maybe even a zone farther out, somewhere actually in the Pacific. They woke up at 9:30, and only because I got them up. It went against all my instincts, but I knew I had to get them back to our time before they went back to school (yesterday!).

And I've had to wake them up every morning since. Saturday was 8 am, Sunday I got Solanne up at 7:30 (Maïa actually woke up on her own). They're still somewhere in the Prairies, maybe Winnipeg, in terms of biological clocks. And it has me wondering why we didn't take them west sooner? Had I known we could mess with their heretofore flawless internal systems by travelling toward the sunset, I would have done it years ago.

It's a little late to have made this discovery; now I'm stuck getting them up for school every morning, though having to get them up at 7:00 rather than having them get me up at 6:00 is alright, I guess. Here's to hoping they stay on Central Time.

Quotes of the day

Maïa: Hey, did you hear that? I made a soft "T". It sounded like a French "R" – without all the "R" stuff.

****

Solanne: Okay, let's clean up; you go clean up and I'll finish my drawing.

Solanne's spontaneous poem

Lime juice

Pinched my skin
Licked my skin
Go up here
Go up there
Go into my underwear

Perfecting

Raising kids is an amazing lesson in self-discovery. When I look at them, I see the things I am, and the things I am not. Sometimes I get frustrated at the things they do differently from me, mostly because I don't understand them. But there are times I am awed by who they are and wonder at how they became the people they are.

Here's a (not so well guarded) secret about me: if something doesn't come easily to me, I give up. I have no patience for something that takes time or effort. Luckily, there have been quite a few things that I'm good at, but I guess that's been a double-edged gift. If everything were a little difficult, I imagine I would have learned persistence. But since there were things that I was very good at, I could just dismiss the hard stuff as beyond my interest, perhaps even below me.

My dearest Maïa, though gifted at a number of things, has the guts to go out and try and try and try again at the stuff she finds difficult. Now, it's not always an easy road to get her to try something in the first place, especially if she's afraid. But once she's decided that she's going to do it, there is no standing in her way. She will do it, and try it, and try it again. Until it's perfect. Then she'll do it some more, just because she's good at it now (who doesn't like the feeling of doing something that's now fun and easy?).

Last summer, Derek and I tried to get Maïa to play on the monkey bars. Just to go from one rung to another – with us holding her, even. No way. She was so afraid of falling that she wouldn't even consider it. You wouldn't recognise that girl now; she has calloused hands and can go a dozen rungs (hand over hand) without falling. And when she does fall, she gets back up there and goes again. And again. In fact, this past spring, I had to threaten to take away some privileges if she went on the monkey bars again since her little hands were literally bloody from the effort. Yet she wouldn't stop.

Back in late June, Maïa decided to learn to play O Canada on the keyboard. She persisted for a full day, playing the notes over and over again, until she got it right. Then she moved on to another song. Then another. Now she can play about eight songs (one-handed) on the keyboard, all of which she learned by ear and almost without any help from me or Derek.

And just yesterday, after a full season of trying to get Maïa back on her bike, she finally did it. She needed the inspiration, and a new little girl on our lane with the very same bike as Maïa's, whooshing up and down the lane, was just what I might have thought of, if it weren't so perfect a situation. So Maïa asked to get her bike out, put on her helmet and zoomed around our lane like an expert. She hadn't ridden so enthusiastically since last fall. That isn't to say she didn't fall, because she did. But she just got right back up, dusted herself off, looked up and said, "I'm okay!" And off she rode again.

This morning, before I was even dressed and before the sun came out from behind the big storm clouds, she was asking to go bike riding again.

Solannisms

When she doesn't know the precise word for something, or an expression, Solanne makes up her own way of saying something. I never really noticed that with Maïa, who normally asks, "how do you say...?" And Solanne does it completely unselfconsciously. A few examples:

During storms, our satellite image cuts out sometimes, scrambling up the digital image before making it go blank. Solanne says, "the TV's not working! It's getting all crump'oed up into little squares!"

Pins and needles she describes as "little balls inside my feet."

She doesn't know the word for the air conditioner (goodness knows we've barely used it this year), so she calls it "the two-lights" after, you guessed it, the two lights on the front.

A virtual tour of the girls' room

Well, we never did get around to putting in the chair rail, and we probably never will. But we straightened the paint line, got the books out of the closet and out into the open where they belong, unpacked the last of the kids' knick-knacks, and painted flowers over their bed. And it's done. Finally.



And their closet door, which didn't quite make it into the video.

Momma's news

For those of you who have spent more than five minutes talking to me about work and how I found my job, and for those of you who work for the federal public service, you will understand that the following statement is no small (or quick!) feat:

I got a promotion.

I found out yesterday that as of Monday, I will be officially cemented into my job. No longer "acting", I am the real deal.

The process was a relatively short one. I began my current responsibilities in August of last year. In January (I believe) a poster for my job, and others at the same level, went up. I sent my CV and waited. Then I was told I was screened in, and I waited. The Thursday before Easter, I wrote the exam, and waited. And in late May, I did the interview. Then waited again. I figured after all that waiting that getting the results would be rather anticlimactic.

But then I got my letter of offer yesterday. And I was elated. So now I am (starting Monday), officially the Senior Advisor to the Director General of Communications. Whatever that means.

While the kids are away the parents will play...?

The kids have been at Nana and Grampa's for nearly a week now. We dropped them off last Sunday, and we'll be going to pick them up tomorrow. It's been a rather quiet week without them here. I wake up regularly at 7:15 (instead of 6:00) to get ready for work. I stay a little later, without feeling guilty. I get home, and on the nights Derek is teaching, it's quiet, and even a little lonely.

Derek and I have had some great conversations and some good "hang out" time, which we almost never get. Even on date nights, which are rare enough, we feel pressed to "enjoy" ourselves and stare into each others' eyes, that we don't really just hang out.

And, like the kids' stay at Nana and Grampa's last year, I got some time to do some decorating in their room. Last year I painted the lower half of their walls purple (in the hopes of putting up the chair rail within weeks). I also painted flowers on their closet doors. This year, I painted some more of the same flowers over their beds, as per their request over the past year. The chair rail still isn't up, but the hope is to get it up within a few weeks (!). The new flowers are a surprise for them, so I'm looking forward to their reaction.

I miss those girls. I've talked to them nearly every day, and I love their little voices and their excitement, and even their independence. Solanne frequently ends the conversation before I ever would, letting me know she has other things to do. She even told Derek one evening she didn't need to talk to me when she was done talking to him.

It's good being in a position to be able to miss them, to look forward to seeing them again. It's nice to realise that I really like those little people. I love them, of course, but I like them and think they're really cool. I guess the time and distance lets me see some of those things a little more clearly.

The octagon lesson

A few days ago, Maïa was trying to draw a stop sign. She was having a tough time, mostly because she was starting with a pointy top. Derek decided it was time for Maïa to deepen her knowledge of octagons.

First was the lesson in etymology: "Maïa, how many sides does an octagon have?"

"Six?"

"Don't just guess. Do you know what OCTagon means?"

"No."

"Think about it... OCTagon."

Pause.

And her eyes got big and her mouth made a perfect little O. "OCTOpus! That means EIGHT legs! An octagon has eight sides!"

Great. She had the first piece. Then Derek told her about regular octagons. This was a visual exercise: he drew shapes with eight sides at various angles and different lengths. They didn't look right to Maïa. So she learned about equal sides and equal angles.

Then the third lesson: drawing an octagon. She tried again, and again began with a pointy top and got frustrated. Derek showed her a square and asked, "how can you make this into an octagon?"

Solanne piped up immediately: "cut the corners off!"

So they practiced cutting corners off. At first, they got slightly rounded squares, but soon enough, they got something that resembled a regular octagon.

And that's how our kids learned about regular octagons.

Next week: trigonometry.

Before and After

Busy

It's been a busy week, mostly for me, and mostly at work. My department is tangentally affected by the H1N1 flu virus, but we are running around, making sure that we're on top of things. There's a lot of coordination with other departments, making sure our messaging matches others', behind the scenes kind of work that never really shows, unless, of course, things go wrong. Meanwhile, we continue our every day business, but without the boss around, since he's in meetings and ensuring that everything on the urgent file is dealt with. So I've had a lot to do, keeping everything running, as it were.

It's great fun, in a way, coordinating everyone, seeing to the little details that would otherwise be overlooked, finding 10 precious minutes with my boss to go over the important things that need to be looked at and the less important things that can be deferred, delayed or passed along. But it's not so much fun when it means that I don't see my kids until 6:30 or 7 in the evening - or worse, not at all before they go to bed.

I'm looking forward to quieter times at work. Perhaps in a month or two...

Earth Day

For weeks now Maïa has been over-the-top excited about how she and her classmates were going to teach her school how to save the planet. This, of course, was in preparation for today: Earth Day. Maïa's role in all this was to tell everyone to print double-sided.

Solanne had the very important role of Wind in the play her class put on for the day. She wore blue and green. And she also informed me that trees make air.

I was also involved in Earth Day, helping with the logistics of a Green Fair at work. Our branch showcased what we've done over the year, including instituting double-sided printing, using recycled paper, running an awareness campaign about switching off lights and powering down computers. Oh, and I wore green too.

In all of this, I'm noticing that these actions the kids and I were highlighting were tiny. Minute, really, in the grand scheme of things. But somehow, the sum of all these things really does make a difference. And now I'm a little excited about it all, too.

For an interesting read on what a local lunch place is doing, visit the Green Rebel website.

Here's a fun site for all to explore: measure your carbon footprint, as well as your water, tree, and land usage. It's for kids, but it works just as well for grown ups: Zero Footprint Kids.

Bonne Journée de la Terre!

Squirrels and their love affair with our family

On a warm Easter Monday afternoon, Derek was sweeping our deck when he discovered a nest inside our folded parasol. Now it serves us right to have the thing destroyed by creatures for having left it out all winter. In our defense, if you've been on our deck, you know we don't need a parasol: four large Manitoba maples take care of the shade for us.

Derek called the girls and me over. The nest was large–about a meter long and over 40cm in circumference. Derek looked inside and didn't see anything, so he started poking at it, and showing the girls how nests are made. At this point, we still thought it was a bird's nest, and an abandoned one at that. So soon, we pulled it down in order to dispose of it and get our parasol back. As the nest fell on the deck, we heard loud chirps. "Oh no! Shit!" was all Derek could get out, and the girls began to scream. I herded the girls into the house while Derek dealt with the fallout.

He managed a look inside and spotted three tiny little squirrels. The chirping stopped. So Derek called me out to help him get the nest back into the parasol. I thought the little rodents were done for and protested, but Derek and the kids were so distraught that I figured we had to at least try. So we frantically placed the nest back into the parasol, closed it up, leaned it against the house, and snuck back inside. And within half an hour, a grey squirrel made her way to the nest, crawling through the top of the parasol where she had chewed a hole.

And one by one, she carried those babies out and whisked them away to a new home. The nest had obviously taken a while to make, so I'm not sure what kind of makeshift home she found for her babies, but they all got out.

This is not the first time we have rescued squirrels: in fact, they seem to come to us for help.

When we first moved to Montreal, Maïa attended preschool at the local Y. One afternoon, on his way back from picking up Maïa, Derek spotted a squirrel on the ground. City crews had been out, trimming trees, and this little guy must have had his branch cut out from under him. Derek picked him up, wrapped him in his jacket, placed him in the back of the Chariot, and brought him home. That evening, Derek brought the squirrel to the SPCA, likely so it could be allowed to die peacefully.

As we were leaving Montreal, we held a garage sale on our front lawn (lawn sale??). Toward the end of the afternoon, we spotted two very young squirrels on the lawn. There was something strange about them: they weren't their usual nervous squirrel selves. In fact, they were rather relaxed, which just isn't right for a squirrel. So Derek picked them up, which didn't take much effort, put them in one of the boxes we had out, and brought them to a local animal hospital. The clinic wouldn't take them, but luckily someone there made it their business to rescue and rehabilitate wild urban creatures.

I'm not sure what the conjunction of these three stories says about us, so I'll leave it open, but they are interesting, so thought I'd share.

It was at Nana and Grampa's in the country – a mild, early spring day. Maïa came running into the house and pulled at my arm.

"Come outside Mama. I want to show you something I don't need you for anymore."

Those words, spoken with such exuberance and personal accomplishment.

Those words, air bursting out of lungs, pride leaping out of heart.

Those words, broadcast through air, sound waves dissipating in rivulets around us.

Those words, moving my curiosity to witness her great discovery.

Those words, tearing away, irreparably, a tiny piece of that cord binding me to her.

Home

I got in my inbox, a few weeks ago, a call for participants. A woman doing her PhD in sociology was looking for people to interview on the topic of home. I can never resist these kinds of appeals, so I responded. My assignment: send in a picture that depicts home for me, and make myself available for an interview on the topic.

The picture, above, is what I sent in. It was the first photo that came to mind, and it was the only one that fit.

It's a shot I got of Maïa last November, on an unseasonably warm day. It was the first time she rode her bike on her own. Here, she's gliding down our little lane, sure as the breeze that carries her.

The day after I sent the researcher my image, we spoke for about an hour. The details of our conversation are unimportant. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. So I offer up this one as my 1000 words to you this week.

Family Day

Ontario fêted its second Family Day yesterday. Stores were closed, provincial and municipal employees had the day off, kids stayed home from school. But federal employees had to punch their time card. So I took the day off to be with my girls.

As Derek toiled away at a book proposal, the girls helped me sort laundry. Then we played games and drew pictures. And we went to the movies.

Our local movie theatre, the Mayfair, is a landmark in our neighbourhood. For Family Day, they and a local real estate agent put on family day matinées. So Maïa and Solanne and I took in E.T. for free, complete with complimentary popcorn for all. The girls enjoyed the movie—scary parts and all.

After the movie, we visited Grandma and Poppy. We had dinner and played a round of Sorry!

I had a great day, and I hope the girls did, too. But I realise that I consider it to have been great because it brought me back to my childhood. I was about Maïa's age when I first saw E.T. with my own mother. And part of my childhood traditions was to visit my grandma and play board games. I know for Derek's family, the big ticket traditions are very important, like Christmas at Gramma's. But for me, whose big holiday events changed from year to year, it's the little things that tie me to my past: shopping with Mom and Grandma on Saturdays, playing board games at Grandma's house, watching the Smurfs on the weekend.

I try not to put too much emphasis on what we do together, but rather on the fact that we're doing it together. I hope they enjoy our family days, whether they're official holidays or not. The best I can hope for is that they remember the love and laughter we share.

News

Rrrrright!

As parents, we spend a lot of our time helping our kids learn new things, master new skills, in short, we help them grow up. And then, when it happens, it comes as a shock or at least a slight surprise.

Not too long ago–well, about a week ago, actually–"R"s were a very difficult sound for Solanne. She sounded like a young (and very cute) Elmer Fud: "I weally don't wememba that stowee."

Maïa tried to teach her sister how to pronounce the elusive R. She would correct her, remind her, cajole her. Solanne would try and try, but if pushed too hard she would remind us all, quite firmly, "I can't say Aws, it's too hawd!"

And they are. Francophones have a hard time with those English Rs. Think of it, your voice has to be able to register much lower for an R than for other letters (say it out loud, and you'll notice it). And it's at the back of your throat, in a most unexpected place for sounds.

Then, seemingly out of the blue, Solanne just got it. And then she got it again. And now, a few days in, I barely recognize her accent anymore. Her little voice hits that low note inside her throat and out comes her perfect little R.

Milestone: two-wheeler

Just in time to beat the snow, Maïa has learned how to ride a two-wheel bike. Last week, she managed about four or five seconds at time. But yesterday afternoon, after school, Maïa got up on her bike and kept her balance for half the length of our lane. Yay Maïa!!

Just when I thought it was a lost cause, that she would have those training wheels on until high school, she just up and went. Fly, my girl, fly.

L'étoile du jour

Yesterday was Solanne's big day. She had been waiting weeks for the day she would be l'étoile du jour.

When we first visited with Solanne's teacher in late August, we were introduced to the notion of the étoile du jour. Each day, a child would have the responsibility and the honour of being the star. This child would get to sit in the middle of circle during circle time and add the date to the calendar. She would bring the attendance sheet to the office and get to pick out a friend to accompany her. She would bring a toy for show-and-tell, and she would get to wear a little hat with a star on it to indicate her special status of the day.

It all sounded like lots of fun, but I was concerned about Solanne's language abilities in French for the first few weeks. Given that she was likely to be one of the first children to be picked for Star duty, on account of our name, I suggested to the teacher that she not put Solanne first. I thought she might cry being put on the spot and asked to talk to all the children.

There are moments in my "career" as a mom that I am happy that I'm wrong, and this was one of them. The teacher happily complied, so Solanne was the last on the roster to go. But after the first day of having an étoile du jour, Solanne came home and asked when she would get her turn. She couldn't wait! We had the calendar with the names of each star for each date. Solanne had to wait over three weeks. She seemed fine with the idea, but she was nearly beside herself with anticipation. Every day, she asked me when she would get her turn. Last Friday, we started a day-by-day countdown.

Weeks ago, she decided what she would wear for her day: a long-sleeved shirt with rainbow stripes on the arms. And about a week before her turn, she told me that she wanted three pig tails for the event. And every time she talked about it, her face lit up and she would literally bounce with joy.

She finally got her big day yesterday. It was everything she'd hoped it would be. It went well. She did the calendar (en français), wore the hat, chose a friend and brought the attendance sheet to the office – she even had the good fortune to run into Maïa in the hall for an impromptu hug. And her pigtails stayed in all day.

Zooming into the information highway

Maïa and Solanne have discovered email. Maïa was first with a quick message from her Nana's account to a friend of the family. Next was Solanne (with a lot of help from Mom), to the same friend, from Nana's account again. And here's one they composed together (to Nana, from Daddy's account):

I love cats and I love to play with cats i love you

frome your grand dotrs maia and solanne
we love to draw and write we did this email i put 2 letrs then solanne put 2 ltrs we playd out sayd we had a good tayme we love you love maia and solanne

Coming soon: their own email addresses. Then you, too, could receive messages from them!

First day of school

Today marked the first day of school for both Maïa and Solanne. It proved weird for me on both fronts.

This morning, Maïa and I headed out to her bus stop a couple of short blocks from our home. We met another girl (grade five) and her dad who were waiting for the same bus. A far cry from the 18 or 20 kids that waited with Maïa last year, most of whom lived on our street. This is an anglo neighbourhood, and our kids are being bused out to a French school.

When the bus came, we made sure it was going to the right place, and Maïa climbed up and waved good-bye. That was it. I haven't met her teacher—didn't even know her name until Maïa told me what it was today, after school. No meet-and-greet, no notes in an agenda, nothing. I feel like I'll be sending my kid into a black hole every morning, and she'll emerge, more or less safely, at the end of the day, slightly changed for the experiences she'll have had—without me.

On the other hand, we got to meet Solanne's teachers this morning. Teachers (plural) because the French system is ingeneous and incorporates free daycare every other day, so that Solanne gets full days at school: one full day of official "school" followed by a day of daycare. It's all integrated and seemless, except for the change of teachers. And both her teachers seem géniale.

Solanne will have what they call une entrée échelonnée, which loosely translated means "most inconvenient to parents." This week, there was the meeting with the teachers, then Friday she'll go for the full day, with five other classmates (this schedule dictates that Sol has to stay home on the other days while her classmates all get the opportunity to experience class in a tiny group). She'll be starting her regular schedule Friday of next week.

This has left us scrambling to find care for her. And here's my sudden awareness that I'm a working mom. Correction, we're working parents. Once upon a time, I was a working mom, but Derek was home, so if something came up, Derek could take care of it. But now with Derek planning his classes (and later, teaching) and me about to experience the busiest couple of weeks at work (because of this), neither of us have the option of taking time off.

We do have the extreme luck and luxury of being close to family again and able to ask grandmothers to pitch in (hey, they say they want to...). But I sometimes feel like I've failed somehow when I show up, hat in hand, asking them to take care of the kids, yet again. Like I've failed to keep my ducks in a row, or failed as a mom by having to put my job ahead of my kids (of course, when it comes down to it, I'd quit any job that didn't let me take care of my kids, but still...).

So while I struggle with Maïa's newfound independence from me and the fact that my teeny little baby is starting junior kindergarten, I'm also facing the working mother's dilema (or false dichotomy) of job vs kids. Never two without three, I guess.

Tangled

As I type this, Derek is reading a bedtime story to the girls: Charlotte's Web. It's the first time that he's ever read the story himself, and it's also the first time that he's read a novel to the girls. The first instalment was on our drive down to St Catharines last week. This week, they've had a chapter every night before bed.

Last night, Wilbur the little pig found out that he was being fattened up so that he would make a good Christmas dinner. Derek was reading away, but he noticed that Solanne became very quiet. She wiped her eyes. And sniffed. Then she piped up: "These silly eyes. They keep having tears. Why won't they stop?"

I was floored to learn that a three-year-old would put on such a brave face, to face sorrow and injustice. She's learning to be strong, to hang tight. Sometimes I wish they didn't have to learn that particular lesson.

Here's what Momma does for a living

...well, this is what she used to do.

A big part of my job for the past few months has been writing articles. I was the Managing Editor for a new external e-newsletter. I researched topics, interviewed visa officers and refugees, hired photographers, and wrote articles. I also managed the entire back end of the project: all the techie stuff as well as the giant bundle of red tape that needed to be sorted out. I was told that my articles were good, and I was really looking forward to my project seeing the light of day.

My brand-new newsletter was ready to go out, when I was told that it was put on hold, perhaps indefinitely. It is a long and tortured story, so if you want to know the details, you'll have to ask me in person.

Luckily, I had applied—and was hired—for a new job. So do not despair: I won't be out on the street!

While the newsletter is almost a distant memory now, some fruit of my labour remains. I had the opportunity to work on Success Stories (a regular feature on CIC's website) and write this article. It may be propaganda of a sort, but it's well-written propaganda, don't you think?

We're in!

The furniture is all in, my family is all under one roof, and we're even almost done unpacking all the boxes. We're home.

Derek is busy putting the final touches on his thesis, so the computer is prime real estate right now. But I will catch you up on all the fun things soon (including adventures with Bell and our party-line... I wish I were kidding).

Pictures to follow. Stories, too, I promise.

Dans les boîtes!

...or, we're up to our necks in boxes!





Who knew that bookcases make great little forts?



... as do empty closets!



Momma and Daddy are busy cleaning...



While the kids make the best of a chaotic situation.



Now we're packed and ready to go.

Wanted: cheap labour

uh... I mean good friends willing to give a helping hand!

We are officially moving on Sunday, June 15. I realise this is father's day and it might not be possible for some, but I'm throwing the invitation out there, anyway.

If you'd like to help, we would love to have you with us. We'll spring for pizza and beer... but only for the folks who end up in Ottawa with us. If you help us load up the truck in Montreal, we'll have to figure out some other kind of compensation. We need:

In Montreal: people to help load up the truck, starting around 11 am. If it's a nice day, possibly earlier to bring everything downstairs before I get there with the truck.

On the Ottawa side, we need people to help unload the truck. If we get enough people, we can do what we did last time, which was to have a line of people up the stairs and just hand boxes up (this, of course, doesn't work for couches and the like!). Last time, we unloaded the truck in about 30 minutes. Pizza and beer to ensue.

If you're up for it, great! Just send an email to me or to Derek. And if you can't help out, that's okay, too. We can recruit you to help us clean, paint, renovate, crawl under our deck... there are endless jobs for our dear friends and family!

Cabane a suc'

In this part of the world, it is impossible not to celebrate spring. The cold begins to lift, the snow melts into rivulets, and the sap in the maples starts to flow!

Our annual tradition is to take my mom out for her birthday to a Sugar Shack. This year, my mom's boyfriend/partner/beloved, Hedley, joined us for the festivities.

Here is our day in pictures:

Forgiveness 101

"I'm sorry that I did this." These are Maïa's words, and I hear them before I see what she's done.

What in the world is it now, I wonder. I look up, and I see my brand-new round styling brush—the one I've just told her not to touch—rolled up into and dangling from her waist-length hair. I tell her it's okay, I'll fix it.

She's asked for my forgiveness, and I've barely given it a second thought; of course I forgive her. Despite my assurances, she tells me she's sorry, again and again, as I carefully untangle the mess. Maïa has already learned that when we've made a mistake, we're pulled away from the one we've wronged. And the person she's wronged is the very person who can make it right again.

Asking for forgivenss is one of the hardest things for people to do. It means owning up to being mean, or just plain dumb. Saying, "I'm really sorry I hurt you," opens up a space for being rejected or for knowing that our mistakes have been revealed. Yet it is in this revelation, this kind of relational nakedness, that we can begin to heal. More likely than not, the hurt party will both admit they've been hurt and
acknowledge our contrition. Instead of grudges taking hold and growing disproportionately, we can make amends and begin walk together with the other on the road to healing.

Maïa could have chosen not to tell me what she'd done. She could have pulled at the brush, tangling it worse. Then she would have had to rip or cut her hair out of the situation. She might have then tied it into a lopsided pony tail, hoping that I wouldn't notice the brokenness. Instead, she came to me. Not to Grandma or to Daddy, who didn't know she had been warned, but to me.

Every day, I understand a little more the phrase from Isaiah, "and a child will lead them."

Great expectations

I have discovered, slowly, experientially, that expectations tend to rule our experience of joy.

As a child, I had never imagined or dreamed about a wedding day and the "necessities" attached to that day. My expectations were limited to wanting to have a big party to celebrate with my family and friends. I had the advantage of being the first of my friends to be married, so I had no model to which I should hold myself to—or against. The result: I loved our big day and have no regrets.

A family home, on the other hand, was something I have dreamed about for a very long time. Even as a kid, I loved looking at floor plans of new homes. The real estate section of the Saturday paper enrapted me with their pictures and plans like the comics held other children. I knew I liked Victorian houses. I knew I liked big rooms with lots of windows and light pouring in from all sides. I knew I liked trees and big back yards. Gardens and attics framed my homey expectations.

As I grew, a whole world—beyond suburbia—opened up to me, and I had the to opportunity to experience the urban side of life: both my high school and university were right downtown. My first apartment was in the Byward Market because by then I had already fallen in love with the busyness and attractions of urban areas. I loved walking to class in minutes, getting groceries at little shops along the way, frequenting countless restaurants that were within sight of my tiny apartment, visiting the local arthouse cinema weekly without having to worry about parking or bus schedules.

Derek and I decided, early on, that we're city people, at least for right now. We have built our lives around being close to where we work and play. So when we started shopping for a house in Ottawa, the options for us were clear. The main geographic criterion was outlined by our chosen school's boundaries. The main criterion in terms of options was, clearly, our budget.

Very quickly, my expectations were colliding. On the one hand, I didn't want to give up our almost car-free life, and on the other, I wanted to big house with the big yard. But without lottery funds, there was no way I could reconcile the two. We had to choose. And for Derek, I would wager, it was a no-brainer. But I must admit that for me, there were hesitations, vascillations. I would look up the downtown houses on mls and compare them to suburban houses of the same price, and I would bemoan the obvious difference in both house and land size.

My expectations, the assumptions I had made years ago, on what I should have, struggled to rule my heart. I realised, with frustration, that these expectations were built not on reality, but on suppositions, on a sense of entitlement. So I'm still working through the slight disappointment at not having a backyard (though we do have a huge deck). I have rationalisations at the ready, so I am well armed. But what it really comes down to is working through my expectations to get to the other side intact, and being more than happy with our new home.

A very, very, very fine house

After weeks and weeks of closely watching the unbelievably sloooow yet red-hot housing market in Ottawa, we've bought a house! There were moments of self-doubt, of panic, of worry, but in the end, we've found something that not only meets our needs but that we like a lot.

The girls were staying over at their Nana & Grampa's for the week for an unrelated reason, but it turned out to be good timing. We saw the house on the Tuesday and put an offer on it that very evening. The next morning, we got a counter offer and took it. We were signing the papers at noon and on a date to celebrate it over my lunch hour. Thursday and Friday were eaten up with mortgage brokers and lawyers and house inspectors (oh my!). We signed the final papers on Wednesday, and the house is officially ours.

Mind you, we'll have to wait until June 2 to call it ours and to start making it ours. The whole process is long and rather surreal. Have we really promised to spend that much money? Over 25 years? Good lord, how do people do this?

But then I remember that we'll be close to a big park and to the river, and I understand how we do this. It's a tiny corner of the world that is just ours, for our kids to grow up in. To make memories in. To stay safe in. It's home.

And here's a little taste of what you'll see when you come to visit us. Any time after mid-June, you're all welcome to come see.

I love teenagers

Seriously.

On Thursday evening, I went to SPAF (spectable pour aider les finissant(e)s), a fundraiser talent show that showcases the artistic abilities of the students at my alma mater, De La Salle. DLS, we were always proud to note, is the only French-language arts school in all of Ontario. I hadn't been to SPAF since my last year of high school, but a dear friend of mine—from high school—is now teaching there, so we thought it would be fun to attend. Five of my six best girlfriends from highschool, along with our token male friend, met at our old high school for the big event.

The old clichés still hold true: the place felt familiar yet smaller. It felt foreign but oddly comforting.

Kids were running around, flushed and busy with the execution of the big night they'd been planning for months. Kids in funky hats. Kids with piercings. Kids with normal clothes. Kids that looked like the kids from 1996.

The show itself was fun. The numbers were rather uneven, but it didn't seem to matter to them. The very talented stage band kept it all together: they played everything from hard rock to blues to funk to ballads. And then there were the various dance numbers, some strong, others less memorable. And the various bands and à capella singers. And visual artists showed their stuff in fun and innovative ways. There was even a young woman, whom I assumed is in the writing program, who recited a strange yet heartfelt ballad accompanied by a guitarist.

The evening had been about homecoming, but the feeling of coming home struck me in an entirely different way than I had expected.

As I watched these young people perform, I felt their energy and I remembered, more through my gut than in my mind, how it felt to be that age. Teenagers have this amazing exuberance, this verve that overflows from their lanky bodies and out into the audience of whoever is willing to sit down and listen for a few minutes. They are visibly trying to figure it all out, physically and emotionally, and so they create, create, create. Their world is small but it is expanding at an alarming rate, and so, too, are their minds.

I not only witnessed their aliveness, but I caught a bit of it myself. I was lucky to be a witness to what those kids had to share, even the painfully bad stuff. Their enthusiasm and even their angst seeped into me, and I brought just a little bit of that home to inspire me in my own art—of writing, of living, of being.

Necessity is the mother of invention

Twins are said to possess a language of their own. From a very early age, they communicate with body language and strange sounds and make themselves understood to one another. There are reported extreme cases of twins who make up an actual language, or shorthand, that no one can decipher—not even their poor parents!

Though my girls are not twins, they are close enough in age—and friendship-wise— to have mannerisms that are unique to the two of them.

Witness the verb tense they have made up. I call it Sayour Tense. In fact, I think it's its own mode. It's not conditional, it's not subjunctive. It's something else altogether.

I'm not sure of its origins and when exactly they started using it, but I am very familiar with its usage (I've even been known to use it with them). The Sayour Mode is constructed exactly like the past tense: you were, I was, I ate, I walked, I loved, etc. But it is used to describe events that are about to unfold, in the imaginary realm.

When Maïa and Solanne are coming up with an imaginary situation that they will act out, a pre-game game that is becoming more and more elaborate, they describe what they will play out. It goes something like this:

Maïa: Okay, Sol. Say you're the prince and I'm the princess. And we were going to the ball. And then a dragon came to get us and we ran away.

Solanne: But then I did not see it and the dragon getted you and then I had to catch it.

It's an interesting and elaborate scheme they've developed to describe this whole world that they've made up. And the tense is reserved only for this activity. They don't use the past tense to describe, say, what they are about to draw or colour.

I like watching their little minds work and innovate to fix a problem. After all, if we had a verbal mode to express the imagined, they wouldn't have had to invent it, would they?

200

According to my Blogger account, this is my 200th blog post.

Coincidentally, 200 is also the number of kilometers (almost exactly) between here—my mom's house—and my family—my house.

When the prospect of my having to commute back and forth between Montreal and Ottawa first came up, I actually thought that it might be a little difficult, but in the end, I wouldn't mind it so much. It was since last summer that I was feeling a little cramped, a little lonely being at home and not in a formal workplace. It was time, I had decided, to set out and go back to work.

So when I was offered a job in Ottawa, I happily, and excitedly, accepted. My supervisors were more than willing to be flexible with my work hours, which allow me to work my 37.5 hours in four days, leaving me the opportunity of having three-day weekends in Montreal.

I pictured me travelling along on the Voyageur bus, back and forth between Ottawa and Montreal—a trip I know well— reading a good novel, perhaps writing my musings on life and the meaning of it all. And weekends spent with Derek and the girls, living out our last months in Montreal, visiting our favourite places and discovering new ones before we leave. Dinners with friends. Leisurely packing up our belongings. And in Ottawa? I figured that since I didn't have the children to look after in the evenings, I would be free to do all kinds of activities. I might sign up for a pilates class. I would definitely see my friends... at least once a week. I would visit houses with our real estate agent. I would get some writing done. I would manage, through all these activities, to talk to my girls before bed every night.

The 200 or so kilometers separating me from them would be a kind of blessing, a time to settle into my new job, a time to find our new home and slowly begin to transplant our roots back here. It would be a time of reflection, of breathing life into an old Cristina that has been hanging quietly in a closet for some time.

But those 200 kilometers have my soul stretched taught over two provinces, over geographies I know so well that they have become a part of my self. I am pulled to a job I know is the best thing, at least financially and stability-wise, for my family. I am pulled to caring for my children in the most basic way, to holding them, to laughing with them, to waking with them before the earliest signs of morning. I am pulled to my home town, to the place that is green and lush, surrounded by water and bikepaths, to my family, both blood and acquired. I am pulled to my greatest love, to my Derek, who is unwavering in his support, who is fighting his own battles, who loves our girls as fiercely as I do.

I will travel those 200 kilometers tomorrow, relieving for a moment the tightness in my chest. I will hold my children and tell them I love them. I will kiss Derek, feel his beard against my cheek, and know I've arrived home.

Knock-knock jokes

Maïa is into knock-knock jokes, but I don't think she's quite understood them. We taught her this one:

Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Orange.
me: Orange who?
Maïa: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Then she made up this one:
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Prince.
me: Prince who?
Maïa: Prince you glad I didn't say princess?

I guess making up jokes takes time to learn...

New year

A new year has just begun, and this year, more than any other in my memory, I feel the changes coming; I feel them almost overwhelmingly. Usually, our lives revolve around the school year, and so changes occur in the late summer and early fall. Other times, changes come unexpectedly, at various points in the year. But 2008 will be different.

2008 will see me beginning not only a new job, but a new career path. I will be starting work in the federal public service, in the communications sector, in the coming weeks.

2008 will see us leave our beloved Montreal, leaving the friends and neighbours who have become so dear, leaving the city that has come to feel like home in so many ways.

2008 will see us return home to Ottawa, to the bosom of our parents, our oldest friends, and our home church at Ascension.

2008 will see us jump headlong into home-ownership, for the very first time.

2008 will see me spend long periods of time away from my girls (and my dear husband) as I work in Ottawa and commute back to Montreal on the weekends.

2008 will see Derek finish his PhD as he moves on to new challenged in the hallowed halls of academia.

2008 already feels like a great tidal wave, rising on the horizon, waiting to sweep us into the torrent of life, of change.

So my readers will forgive me if I'm a little absent and write a little less; they will forgive me, too, if when I do post I seem especially melancholic—or ecstatic.

Grab your surfboards, my friends, it's gonna be a helluva ride.

Snow days

We've had two snow days in as many weeks, and boy do we have snow here in Montreal!

On our first snow day, December 3, the daycare called us early to inform us that they were not opening. The radio news declared that all schools on the island of Montreal were closed. And it snowed and snowed all day long. The kids stayed home, Derek took the day off from doing work, and we all prepared for a fun day ahead. One of Solanne's friends from the daycare came to stay with us along with her brother while their mom had to make her way in to McGill, where there were still classes going on (and final papers to hand in!). So for a while, we had four kids in our house.

Here is Maïa, Solanne, and Emme having a grand old time. Emme's brother, who is nearly six, kept himself occupied playing with trains, away from the girls.




Later, our friends Arlene and Noah came by for a short visit. Noah is seen here, with his dad, Glenn, after digging out of the second blizzard (thanks for the pics, Glenn!).






And here are our girls playing in our backyard, after the first snow fall.





If these pictures give you a sense of déjà-vu, don't be alarmed; they likely remind you of pics I posted in December 2005.

Now, if you're in warmer climes, where there is less snow, do not idealise living in this beautiful stuff too much. Our city was crippled by the storm last time around, and it took a while for the snow removal crews to get to the most important arteries (uh, why were some side streets completely cleared before a very busy section of Sherbrooke ever saw a snow-removal truck??). Things are not much better this time around (read more about it here). And, on a more personal note, our parking is behind our building and is accessed by a long, narrow driveway. Every winter, we and our neighbours, who depend on this driveway, hire a plow to move the snow aside. We haven't seen them since the last snow fall. So last night, Derek and four of our other neighbours dug out over 45 cm of snow in our backyard and driveway.

I'm gonna miss this disorganised, snowy city...

Visiting Rubby & Susan

Our dear friends from Ottawa (or just outside of Ottawa), Rubby & Susan, invited us for their annual Christmas crafting fun. Since they are very crafty people, and since I cannot pass up Rubby's cooking, we happily agreed to go.

You can see all the fun here.

And now, Rubby, Susan and their crew have "made it onto the blog"–and we've made it onto their website!

Seven random things: Derek

In response to massive public demand, here are seven exciting things about Derek:

1) Derek really likes languages. At various times he has studied (besides English and French) Italian, Spanish, Portugese, Arabic, Hebrew, German, Russian, Classical Chinese, Latin, Sanskrit, Koine Greek, Old English, and Baby Sign Language. He can also say hello to you in Amharic, Dutch, Farsi, Twi, Polish, Japanese, Somali, Mandarin, Turkish, and Inuktitut.

2) He can touch his nose with his tongue.

3) Derek is currently trying to learn how to sing in Gregorian chant.

4) He can make a paper crane, with wings that flap when the tail is pulled, out of a 1 centimetre square of paper.

5) He used to be ticklish, but after marrying Cristina he taught himself not to be ticklish. In a surprising twist of fate, Cristina used not to be ticklish, but after marrying Derek has become ticklish. Speculations abound as to the explanation behind this strange development.

6) In high school, Derek had long hair and wore goth makeup. His favourite shade of eye shadow was silver-blue.

7) Derek has a secret identity, but he can’t tell you what it is because then it wouldn’t be a secret.

Seven random things: Solanne

1) Solanne can wink. Not one of those fake preschooler winks. It's the real deal, and she can do it with her right eye and her left eye, independently.

2) She has frightening (for me and Derek) night terrors, yet she never remembers them in the morning. She'll wake up screaming, usually because of some nightmare she's having, often involving Maïa taking something from her. It can take up to an hour to calm her down. Luckily, it usually only takes five or ten minutes.

3) Solanne loves dolls. Most children have at least a passing interest in dolls and parenting roles, but Solanne is quasi-obsessed. If it were up to her, she would have a doll under her arm every moment of the day. She also likes to say I'm a good momma.

4) She likes to make up stories and lyrics to her own songs. And we are not allowed to interrupt. Not even to comment on how interesting the story is. Ever.

5) She loves to dance and hates it when she sees someone watching her.

6) "I love you soooo much" is her favourite sentence this week.

7) Solanne used to love food but now it's a fight to get her to eat: she's officially a preschooler.

Seven random things: Maïa

1) She is the youngest—but only the second smallest—kid in her class.

2) Her obsession with horses is at epic heights: she loves anything resembling, related to, or containing the name horse. Horses, unicorns, pegasus, zebras, sea horses, horse flies... I think she would love hippopotamuses if I told her that "hippo" means horse.

3) Maïa is way fancier than her mom has ever been. Dresses, necklaces, anything with embroidery or flowers or butterflies.

4) She could sing in tune at the age of 18 months.

5) She has been to Egypt, Cuba, and three different provinces in Canada.

6) She draws about 5 to 10 pictures per day.

7) Is currently obsessed with reading words: I caught her yesterday reading my body butter container.

Seven random things: revised

So, there's this meme... and Melanie T tagged me. Here are the rules:

Link to your tagger and post these rules.
Share 7 facts about yourself: some random, some weird.
Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).

Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.

Here we go:

Seven Random and/or Little-Known Facts About Me

1- I was always the tallest kid in my class in elementary school. Except for one kid; he's 6'8" now. I, for the record, made it to 5'3" (I stopped growing in grade 6).

2- I watch General Hospital every once in a while. It's my guilty pleasure. It's like eating Kraft Dinner: you know it's not good for you, and you regret it afterwards, but geez does it feel like coming home sometimes.

3- I have never broken a bone or had stitches. I guess my childhood was pretty boring...

4- When I was about five years old, a motorcycle gang called The Outlaws bought the house next door and made it their clubhouse. At some point, a rival gang (it is assumed) fired a grenade into the window of their house; someone lobbed it back out and it went off in the street directly in front of my house. The two street-facing windows in my room shattered inward, and there were shards of glass all over my bed. I was asleep in my bed at the time; I didn't even wake up.

5- I love meat. But I don't eat it. I'm over it now, though. Mostly.

6- I can make a clover shape with my tongue. Don't know why. I'm trying to teach Maïa how to do it. She's still working on rolling her tongue.

7- I won the grade seven science fair. My project was on mummification; at the time, I wanted to become an archaeologist. My friend Stephanie and I mummified chicken legs in three different manners, then we left a fourth one to rot (as a control). We kept the legs at Stephanie's house. Stephanie's dad wondered aloud, a lot, why we weren't doing it at my house.

So here are the seven people I'm tagging:

1 - Naomi
2 - Sarah (perhaps now she will post something??)
3 & 4 - Louise and Andrzej
5 - Katie
6 & 7 - Rubby and Susan (even if theirs is a full-blown website and not a blog...)

Where have all the babies gone?

Derek and I are enthusiastic anti-packrats. To be truthful, we're rather tyrannical and dogmatic about it. If something in our house does not have an immediate use, it had better look out because it's on its way out. There are a few exceptions to this rule, like my wedding dress (although, in my defence, I did try to sell it, to no avail), and Derek's shelf-ful of class notes dating back to his first year in English Lit.

So it is no surprise that as soon as our children grew out of clothes or toys, we have striven to find each item a new home, usually by passing them along to friends or acquaintances. Even some furniture gets kicked out: a few weeks ago, after I found a new dresser for our room, we graduated my dresser to Maïa and Maïa's to Solanne, and the change table that had been holding all of Solanne's clothes graduated to the curb (someone picked it up within an hour).

The net effect of all this purging is that we have nearly no baby things left in our home. It's all kids' stuff now. Gone are the teethers, the exersaucer, the highchair, the cloth diapers (hurray!), the tiny sleepers. So when I look around, I wonder where did our babies disappear to? It's the strangest thing; when I signed up to have babies, I knew that they would become children and then adolescents and then adults, but I never really considered that the babies would be gone, forever. In theory, I miss Maïa the Baby and Solanne the Baby, but in practice, I must admit, that I'm really enjoying this part. More than I had imagined I would. And I think that the part of me that misses the babies is mourning what might have been; because, in fact, I found those times quite trying, tiring, and troublesome.

So while I will miss Solanne's baby sounds (her "L"s are becoming a real L sound rather than a W sound), and those magical Baby Signs, I am embracing the wonderful little girls that they are and that they are becoming, every single day. I guess that's the beauty of raising children: it's the becoming that is the most exciting, even more so than any one moment.

Hallowe'en pics

Maïa decided this year that she wanted to be a cat princess. Not a cat; not a princess. A cat princess. This led to a lot of confusion. She was variously mistaken for a cow, a pig, and a hippopotamus. But she was patient and adament: "No. I'm a cat princess!"




Solanne "decided" that she would be a baby elephant. In fact, we gave her the idea since we already had the costume (does it look familiar?), and she happily agreed.




The Saturday after Hallowe'en, we were all invited to a Hallowe'en party at a friend's house. A post-Hallowe'en Hallowe'en party is always a good idea since it's nice to have at least two occasions to which to wear the costume we've so carefully picked out. The hostess told me that the adults were encouraged to dress up, too. I wasn't going to, but then I remembered this dress that I made, about ten years ago. I had never had the opportunity to wear it, so this was my big chance to make its début. Derek picked through the kids' dress-up box for this hat that Nick left the kids when he moved to BC. It was lots of fun to dress up, even if none of the other parents (save the hosts) was wearing a costume.

Childhood illnesses

It's a wonder any of us make it out of childhood. Between the dumb and dangerous things kids do and the rash of illnesses they suffer from (including rashes), it's incredible that they survive. We are lucky enough to have vaccines for the biggies, but even the little ones can leave them miserable and their parents begging for mercy.

And I've been lucky. (Having said this, I am now betting that my next entry will be entitled "Chicken Pox, Bronchitis & Impetigo All at Once!?") We generally get a cluster of flu's and colds from October to April, with a couple of ear infections thrown in just for fun. So far this season, which, for the record, started in early September, we've had the croup, vomitting, fevers, colds, and now pink eye. It's boatloads of fun in our house, I tell ya. Non stop.

But I'm not complaining. Well, only a little. Okay, I'm whining. But I do recognise that we live in a great time and place, and that getting sick only means getting sick and not dying.

I just thought I'd let you all know what's going on in our household these days. So when you ask, how's your health, you know that overall, we're doing okay. It's just that the devil is in the details.

Social experiment: The outcome

I'm reporting back, with a little hindsight, on what happened when I asked folks not to bring gifts to my girls' birthday parties. I needed a little hindsight to get over A) the shock of back-to-back parties; B) over 30 guests, spread over the two events; C) the frustration at people; D) the joy of finding kindred spirits.

It was actually easier with Solanne's guests. I had the advantage of not knowing any of the parents personally. I knew a few from passing them in the morning and saying hello, but otherwise, I didn't even know their names. So when they called and the Gift Issue came up, it was easy to explain the situation to them. I got everything from the enthusiasm of "what a great idea!" to the do-you-kick-puppies tone of "why no gifts?" to the helpful "what can I bring to the party?" So we ended up with a bouquet of flowers, two quiches, juice, soft drinks, pretzels, a plush flower, and two kids' books. Not bad.

With Maïa's friends' parents, it was a little trickier. These are people we've known for about two years, ever since Maïa started at daycare. We've had play-dates with these people, shared Christmas concerts and other birthday parties, commiserated when a teacher left, celebrated "graduation" together. So when we asked that they not bring gifts, one parent actually refused. She said there was no way she could go to a party without bringing something. We offered to let her bring some food. Nothing doing. But it wasn't a toy: Maïa got some really funky clothes. And her other friends each brought a little something, too. In my mind, these would be perfectly acceptable normal birthday gifts, but these were the tokens in lieu of gifts. I can't imagine what would have happened if we'd opened the floodgates to actual gifts.

A few die-hard balloons still float in our livingroom and there's still some left over cake, but the streamers are gone and the fallout of the parties has been cleaned up. All in all, the experiment went well. And we'll have to do it all over again next year, with a whole new set of guests!

Social experiment

The girls both have birthdays coming up, and this year we've planned two separate parties to celebrate. Solanne's birthday party will take place this weekend. I've invited all her friends from daycare—yes, I will have over a dozen three-year-olds and their parents in my house. I must be insane. Maïa, who is choosier about her friends, will have a smaller gathering of about 6 girls the following Saturday.

I must preface the rest of my story with an explanation of our families. Derek and I are blessed to be surrounded by parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts & uncles, and cousins, all wishing us well and all wanting to shower love—and many, many gifts— upon our children. We are gracious. Well, mostly we've been told we're not allowed to say no. It's a grandparent's (or aunt's or cousin's) right to spoil a child.

Keeping that in mind, I decided to kindly, but firmly, ask parents of our birthday party guests not to bring gifts. This, I knew, might be a little strange to some. I never realised how foreign it would be to a few. Here are some of the reactions I've gotten so far:

No gifts? Oh. Alright. Can I buy her some clothes, then?

I saw your note. Can I bring some food to the party to help you out?

I wish I would have thought of that before my kid had a birthday party!

Oh. I hadn't noticed the note. Really? Are you sure?

I'm hoping that no one will show up with a gift bag in hand. I just want to have a fun time with the kids and then send them on their merry way so that I can clean up and get ready for the next party.

I'll keep you posted on how this experiment turns out.

Blah

This is what we're getting for the foreseeable future. Break out the rubber boots and the slickers!

The back bone's connected to the... foot bone?

Solanne was sitting in the bathroom, her clothes off, shivering and hunched over as she waited to get into the bath when she made a startling discovery. Her back was itchy, so she reached around to her spine and felt something knobly.

"Wook Momma! I have ankles on my back!"

Green clean

When I moved out on my own, I had a few cleaning products that were stand-bys: Fantastic, Windex, Ajax, and Swiffer dusters.

It was Maïa's arrival into my life that made me conscious of the intense odours that came from these products (yes, even Swiffer smells!). We began to purge our home of these cleaning products, slowly. We kept the Fantastic and the others until we finished them up; we used them for the big spring cleaning jobs. For the rest, we found alternatives.

We tried, for a while, to use those supposedly "green" alternative cleansers. One claimed that it was used to clean the feathers of birds who had been victims of oil spills. The smell was just as intense as any other cleaner. We tried different products available in our local health food store, but they all left us a little disappointed.

My basic rule is this: if I have to call poison control because my child has ingested something, I will do my best not to use it in my home (some things I can't avoid, but I try to minimise their use).

So what do we use? There are two mainstays in our house: white vinegar and baking soda. I can get most of the jobs done with them. And every once in a while, I'll offer cleaning tips on how to use them.

This week's tip: cleaning a wet mattress or carpet or upholstery.

Most parents have been faced with this task numerous times: cleaning spit-up, pee, and other spills from various porous surfaces, like mattresses, couches, and carpets. I used to use a paper towel to mop up the mess, a stain-remover to catch the colour, and a deodoriser to make everything smell just a little less pungent.

Green approach: after picking up whatever chunks that may be present, liberally sprinkle baking soda on the spot. Let dry (it will become crusty). Vacuum it up. And voilà! You have a clean, stain-free and odour-free surface again.

Bonus: it's much cheaper, and it takes less effort and less time.