Coffee and cupcakes

When I am old(er) and the kids have moved out of the house, maybe I have even retired, I am going to start my own business. A non-profit. Really, a charity of sorts. Something every parent needs.

Ring. Ring.

Me: Good morning! Coffee and cupcakes!

Tired, frazzled, unwashed mother of three: Oh, good. I was so afraid you wouldn't be there. I got your number from my friend at playgroup. I've been up since four-thirty with a teething baby, my toddler peed his bed and both my six year old and husband have the flu.

Me: You poor thing. I think this calls for an even half dozen. How about three chocolate with blueberry butter cream icing and three vanilla with caramel icing. Now, latte, cappuccino or dark roasted?

Mother: Oh, um. Hmm, a latte please. With chocolate sprinkles?

Me: Done. There will be a bag of goodies on your doorstep in thirty minutes. I will include our order form and link to our website. You can fax or order online anytime before 6am for delivery by 7am. After that you can always call.

Mother: Thank you so much! This is just what I needed!

Me: My pleasure. This is why we're here. And believe me, I have been where you are. I understand.

One nap

On Sunday we managed to get the boy to only have one nap. After waking up at 3am, he had one nap from 10 am to 11:30 am. In order to stop him from napping in the afternoon and us from wanting him to nap we were up, up, up and out the door after a quick lunch. We spent a few hours at the museum and then the husband took the kids to the park while I lay on the couch in a comatose state. By early evening the boy was done. We tried to hold him off for as long as we could, but in the end he was asleep by quarter to seven.

After a day like that you would think he would be tired. Not my kid. He was still awake for a couple hours last night. He had a midnight snack and then I managed to get him back to sleep. He woke at 5am.

I am committed to this one nap thing, I really am. But. But I am still trying to work it around the rest of our lives.

Like this morning. He fell asleep as soon as we dropped the girl off at school. I could have headed right home and woken him up but I had planned to go for a run. And I am not willing to give up my thrice a week run, even if it means that he naps in the stroller. Which he did this morning. So I let him sleep. The only good thing about this situation is that it did help with my motivation and I managed to finish the run in good time.

I woke him up as soon as I got home at 9am. He was not very happy about that. He managed to not fall asleep when we picked the girl up from school. That was a small comfort because neither of my kids transfer very well from where ever they have fallen asleep to my bed.

He is having his afternoon nap now. I am going to let him sleep and then we are going to keep him awake for as long as we can tonight.

Thanks for all your advice/ sympathy. There were some good ideas. Having someone stay with him while I pick up/ drop off isn't really an option, but it sure sounded great to me. I may try putting a basket with some toys in his crib and see if he will play with them in the early morning.

I think this is just going to be a hard transition. I don't really have the luxury of tailoring our schedule around him like I probably would have done if he was the only kid. And I don't want to give up things that are good for her (school, which she is so loving) and me (running).

The moral of the story is we will make this work. Somehow. Eventually. The other moral of the story is that you may also want to skip my posts for the next few weeks if you don't want to read me complain about sleep anymore.

If you are a masochist, check back later.

3 am

It seems that 3am is the new 4am. Personally, I think 6am should be the new 4am but no one seems to listen to me.

The boy has been consistently getting up at 4 am the last few weeks and we have been coping. Going to bed earlier. Trying to take turns in the morning (really, though the husband has been bearing the brunt of it). Attempting anything and everything to get him to go back to sleep. All to no avail.

This morning, or should I say night, he decided that 3am was the perfect time to start the day. Thankfully by the time we had abandoned all our attempts to get him back to sleep it was 5 am and my mother-in-law kindly took him so we could both go back to bed. And sleep until the girl got up. Don't think I don't see the humour in the fact that she slept a solid twelve hours last night. Ha ha.

As I lay in bed trying to get back to sleep in those few hours before I got up with the girl I decided on a new plan. Most days the boy has been having two naps. He has his regular nap in the early afternoon and he often falls asleep at some point during the morning school run. But no more! From now on I am going all hard core on the boy and limiting him to one nap a day. If he falls asleep in the stroller while we are walking the girl to school at 8 am then that is it. No more naps for you.

I think this new plan has the possibility of driving me completely insane and leaving me in tears by the end of the day, but it is the only option I can think of. I am convinced that he is getting up too early in the morning because he is sleeping too much during the day.

What do you think? Has this happened to you? Ideas? Strategies?

Nanny

I don't know
what it is like.
I can only imagine
how hard it must be.

You told me that your daughter
Is the same age as mine.
That it has been two years
Since you were last with her.
That my girl reminds you of yours.
You left when she was the same age as my son,
The same age as the child you care for.

I wonder when you see
The families at the park playing
How often you think of yours.

Cup

I used to be a glass half empty kind of girl.
I have worked hard to see it as half full.
Today it feels like someone drank all the milk.
I blame the kids.

It isn't just them, of course.
It is me too, but
The reluctance to nap when she is obviously tired,
The incessant, uncontrollable crying for twenty minutes
Where nothing I do comforts him,
The scene in Bridgehead because I won't let her out 0f the stroller
And the high pitched screaming that accompanies our immediate departure,
The lengthy talk out on the sidewalk about appropriate behaviour
And the importance of listening.
All that, plus the feeling that somehow I am doing everything wrong.

Those moments have drained my cup.

I am trying to refill it.
Back at home, help on hand,
I can pause and pour better moments into my cup.
The loving cuddles with the boy these last few days.
The joy they obviously take in playing with each other.
Her attempts to learn from those teaching moments we have together.

My cup was empty today.
Tomorrow it may overflow.
Filling it up, emptying it out.
These are my days.

Sick boy

A fever has hit the house. And not a good kind of fever, like disco fever. The kind of fever that makes a fourteen month old cranky and lethargic.

We are in day three of the fever. It seems to come and go but still hasn't broken. The husband took him to the doctor this morning and it was pronounced just a a cold since the boy has yet to exhibit any flu like symptoms.

For just a cold it is sure having a big impact. Yesterday I couldn't put the boy down without cries of complaint. I wore him on my back as much as I could so I could make lunch and get some tidying done. I will admit that the cuddles on my chest are one side effect of the fever that I won't complain about. With his hot forehead pressed against my neck I have enjoyed wrapping my arms around him and comforting him. Even if my body head just contributes to making him hotter. I love my cuddles.

The baby drugs have been out in full force. I don't know where we would be without them. However, I would like to take this opportunity to lodge a complaint with the makers of baby Advil and Tylenol. Why, why can't you sell the bottles in six packs? I feel like we are always running out and having to rush to the store before it closes to buy another box. Six packs. Something to think about.

During breaks in the fever there have been some moments. Some cute boy moments where I get so excited about having him back to his energetic self. Like at lunch at a local dinner this afternoon where he enjoyed looking at all the other people and eating bits of food off his sister's plate. Or this afternoon when he finally lifted his head off my chest at the sound of the door opening and his grandmother's arrival. Following his sister down the hall, he demanded to be released from my arms so he could toddle towards her. His spunk was returned as he sat next to grandma and the girl on the couch requesting loudly and persistently that his book be the one that was read out loud.

I hope the fever breaks soon.

Reading

Dora is playing on the television but they ignore it. Sitting side by side on the couch she reads to him. As she turns each page of the board book she points to the pictures and tells him the words for everything. He eats his grape and listens intently.

The end. Period.

Last time I was waiting for it.
Excited to start trying to add to our family.
To give the girl a brother or sister.

Just like last time my period returned

fourteen months after a baby was born.

Only my third period in the last four years.

Now it is back.
Back for good.
Back to stay.
Back until another life
change takes it away.

With its return I mark the
end of my childbearing years.
No more pregnancies
no more births
no more newborns.
I can feel myself moving
through
past
beyond
the world of babies into life with kids
teens
young adults.
All that awaits us.
I don't morn.

Every month for over twenty years
my period was a constant.
Sometimes heavy.
Cramps.
Often accompanied by intense emotions
tears
exhaustion.
Like my pregnancies,
but without the nausea and vomiting.
And without a baby at the end.

It is as if the pause button has been released and
my body is returning to itself.
But now I am different.
I had learnt to manage
cope
with the rollercoaster my period
created each month.
I hope I can again.

Hair

Hers
sunkissed wheat
flowing down to
golden tips
in the middle
of her back

His
beach driftwood
bleached white
by the sun

She can

Despite her long blond hair and the dresses she sometimes wears, the girl is just as happy to run screaming through puddles as she is to play house with her stuffed animals. She likes to wrestle and chase balls. She can take a tumble on the hard cement of the basketball court and, before informing the boy that pushed her that he shouldn't push, push right back.

She likes to play with boys. Two of her best friends are boys. He favorite kid at school last year was a boy. She can keep up with boys, my girl.

The only other kids at the park this afternoon were a group of four boys. She knows these boys, has seen them in the park and around the neighborhood, but has never played with any of them before. One of her friends are usually around. But today, after waiting for awhile on a park bench for the boy she wanted to show up, she gave in and decided she wanted to play with this group of boys.

The girl has gotten a little shy lately about approaching kids. Grabbing my hand she pulled me towards the boys, telling me that I should talk to them. If you want to play with them then you have to ask them yourself, I said. But I will come with you. Of coarse she didn't like that. I persisted, she resisted. Finally, she gathered up the courage and walked over to where the boys were playing on the grass. Hand in hers, I stood beside her.

Will you play with me? she asked the boy she knew the best.

Well, he said and went on to mumble something long and rambling, most of which I couldn't quite catch. I caught enough of it though. The gist of it was that the boys were fighting and no, she couldn't play with them.

What's he say? she turned to me and asked.

He said that they are fighting, I replied. We don't fight though, so maybe we should go and do something else. How about we go on the swings?

We're fighting, he said.

Boys fight, said the boy to my girl. But girls don't fight so you can't play with us. Only boys fight.

Overcome by a brief moment of blinding rage as a cherub looking three-year old told my daughter that she couldn't do something because she was a girl, I contemplated encouraging her to engage them all in a battle to the death. But I refrained. I took a deep breath.

Actually, I said, fighting isn't something boys do just because they are boys and not fighting isn't something girls do just because they are girls. Girls can fight. We just don't fight because it isn't a good thing for boys or girls to do.

But boys can fight, said the boy. Not girls.

Boys and girls can't fight, said the girl emphatically to him. Because we don't fight, she said looking at me.

Grateful that the girl was listening to my attempts to promote pacifism over his attempts to outline the acceptable limits of her behaviour I thought This is it. It is beginning.

It starts with a three year old saying she can't play fight because she is a girl. By six, girls can't throw the ball properly. By nine girls aren't good at math. At eleven girls don't know how to play video games. By fifteen it's jokes about what exactly girls can do.

I remember. It wasn't that long ago. And obviously not too much has changed.

I wanted to engage this three year old boy in a discussion of feminism. Hear his arguments as to why my three year old couldn't play with him and his three year old friends. Counter all his points. But I didn't. I let him go.

No longer interested in a boy who just stood there talking instead of taking her up on her offer to play, I managed to lure the girl away with the promise of milk and a treat from a near-by coffee shop. Once the wagon was out of the park and the gate locked behind us, I knelt down beside the girl and the boy.

Fighting isn't just something that boys do. Girls can fight too. But we don't fight because we don't want to hurt our friends. But girls can do anything. And if anyone tell you that you can't do something because you are a girl, then that is called sexism.

I know that she didn't understand what I said. I needed to say it for me. To remind myself that I will teach her, am teaching her that she can do anything. She can.