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!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
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?
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?
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 26, 2006
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.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
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...
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...
Monday, June 12, 2006
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...
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...
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
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.
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:
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
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!!
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!!
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, May 15, 2006
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
Thursday, May 11, 2006
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
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.
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.
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