Songs

If you ask the boy if he wants to sing he replies with baa baa. Then we sing the rest together.

Baa baa black sheep is one my favorite nursery rhymes. It makes me think of the rolling hills of the English countryside and barns full of sheep waiting to be sheared. I can picture a large manor house on the grounds and down the road a small thatched stone cottage where a widow lives with her child.

I sang it to the girl when I was pregnant with her. It was one of the few songs whose words I could remember. I kept singing it after she was born. It is the first song that always comes to mind when I am looking to sing something to the boy.

I love that he sings it back.

*
The fall after the boy was born I took the kids to a local playgroup three times a week. Near the end of the playgroup, right before the cars where brought out, we would all sit on the floor for circle time. The girl liked all the songs. One of her favorites was I'm a little teapot because of the actions. The other, and my favorite, was Row, row, row your boat.

For this song all the kids moved into the circle and faced their parents. We would hold hands and pull each other back and forth.

It wasn't long before the girl passed me over in favor of rowing with her brother. I would hold him in my arms, propping him up and supporting him while she rowed with him. He was only a few months old but she was thrilled to be journeying down the stream with him.

*

Today at playgroup the boy sat in my lap while we sang Itsy bitsy spider. The little spider and then a great big spider both climbed up the water spout while all the parents preformed the actions. I like this song, but all I could think about was the lyrics I had learnt when the girl and I attended a yoga class together:

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
to ask the Universe what life was all about.
The stars in the sky said life is great,
so the itsy bitsy spider went home to meditate.

This version makes me smile. Especially when the girl sings it.

Sounds

Crunch go my boots as I trudge home from school with the kids.

Shreeck go my snow pants as the legs rub against each other.

Zoom go the cars as they quickly pass me by.

Whoosh goes the wind as I bury my face deeper into my scarf.

Letters

The handmade Valentine cards are covered with stamps and stickers and glued on hearts. With one open in front of her the girl drags the purple marker up and down across the paper. She asks me to help her with the first letter, even though she knows that one the best. She pauses at the fifth letter and we glance at the yellow construction paper letters taped to the wall spelling out her name.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times.

Over and over she write the letters of her name while I watch in amazement. As she finishes, each card is tucked inside a legal sized envelop to be mailed to a loved one.

Six letters. A big step.

Visitor

We are not a restaurant.
We are not a hotel.
I understand if you want to come and visit, but please visit.
Don't just sit reading the New Yorker or surfing the Internet.
Spend time with the kids.
Read to the kids.
Both of the kids.
I wonder sometimes if I imagine it.
I don't think I do.
You pay the girl a little attention but it is the boy you play with.
You read him books and call him buddy.
Is it that he is a boy?
Is it that he is younger and therefore somehow easier to relate to.
Because he is growing up.
And my patience is wearing thin.

Fruit salad

He is snuggled next to me on the couch eating fruit salad from a cup. I turn away from him for a moment to check on the girl. She is standing inches from the computer screen watching a video. I debate asking her to move back and sit in her chair. I don't.

He has spilled his fruit salad. Juice runs onto the couch cover, pieces of fruit scattered around him. I lean over to pick up the pieces and he yells at me. Are you going to pick them up yourself? I ask him. Yeah, he says before bending over and biting into a small bit of peach. He smiles at me.

The living room

The room was a mess. Toys scattered across the floor, cereal ground into the carpet and the contents of the art trolley everywhere but in the trolley. It was a man-made tornado. Or in this case, a tornado made by two small, under aged siblings.

I surveyed the mess. Then I started moving furniture.

I picked up the larger items off the floor and vacuumed only the exact area I would be moving furniture to. I started with the bookcase, dragging it beside the window. Then I picked up an end of one of the couches and pulled it to the opposite wall. Intrigued, the girl curled up on the sofa and surveyed the new view.

I surveyed the view too. I tried to picture the changes I was making in my head. The living room was going to become the dining room and the dining room was going to become the living room. It was the biggest physical change I could think of making, but in the end I decided I didn't like it.

Instead, I moved the furniture back the way it had been four years ago. Back before the coffee table took up permanent residence in the basement. Back before the primary coloured mats covered our hardwood floor in an attempt to protect both it and the babies. Back before everything was pushed back to the walls to create the largest play area possible.

I am in love with the change. The room is still a mess despite my vacuuming and tidying, but my brain is satisfied with the new look. It feels new and right now new is what I need.

Best of all it occupied myself and the kids for a few hours on a cold afternoon.

Anger

These last few days have been hard. The husband said they have been the hardest in a long time. Both of us are struggling.

The boy has decided to give up napping, despite my encouragement. He will fall asleep but wakes whenever you attempt to put him down. He has also decided that he would much rather spend the nights screaming than sleeping. Last night was the worst. Even though the husband and I took turns lying with him, he still preferred to yell. Nothing we did made any difference.

Maybe he is teething? His top two eyeteeth have come through and the bottom two are still waiting to break through. Maybe it is developmental? Maybe he hates his crib?

In my darker moments I am convinced the boy is trying to see exactly where my breaking point is. I imagine him calculating how far he can push me before I collapse on the floor in a fetal position. Yes, I know he is seventeen months old. That is just how my mind works.

I did cry this morning. Walking away from the museum I pushed the boy in his stroller and sobbed. We had left our friends sitting inside after I realized that the boy had no plans to end his bout of hysterical crying. I bundled him back into his snowsuit and left, apologising to our friends and the museum staff for the ear shattering sounds they had been subjected to. My bra still undone from when I had tried nursing him.

More than anything else I have been feeling angry these last few days. Angry that I don't know what is wrong with the boy. Angry that nothing I do seems to comfort him. Angry that I feel overwhelmed and helpless. Angry that I am angry.

I wrote the following on Monday. I wrote it for me. I wrote it to help myself work through what I was feeling and what had happened. I wrote it to remember.

In case some of you have been here or felt this, I am posting it for you.

*

I try not to yell at the kids. I don't like to raise my voice because then I feel like I lose credibility with the girl when I tell her not to yell. Today I did something that felt worse to me then yelling. I screamed.

I went to put the boy down for his nap at the regular time. I should have factored in the short ten minute nap he had in the stroller on the walk home from school because he resisted that nap with all he had. I should have just stopped and reassessed but I was too single minded. I should have....I should have.

At first I thought the napping routine was going great. We were snuggling and he was nursing. Then I heard a slam. I steeled myself for the sound of the girl heading down the hallway to our room. Since she has figured out how to turn the doorknobs she has started wandering the halls instead of quietly reading books in her room. I don't mind as long as she doesn't disrupt the boy by opening his door or yelling at me from outside his room, which is what she choose to do today.
I had some stern words for the girl through the door and back she went to her room. Slam went the door. Eventually she was quiet and I guessed that she was asleep. But not her brother.

I tried everything. I was frustrated. I put him in his crib and I left. He cried.

I went back. I tried again. He finally feel asleep and I lay him in the crib. As soon as his body hit the mattress he woke crying. Again, I left. I had to walk away.

I listened to him cry while I perched on my bed. I felt guilty. But at that moment, it was better for everyone for him to be crying by himself then for me to be with him. I was that angry with him. Angry enough that I didn't trust myself.

Eventually, I went back. I tried to get him to lie down in his crib but he kept standing up and reaching up to me. It was the tears that got to me. My anger abated for a moment and I picked him up. I sat down in the chair with him, prepared to rock him but not nurse him. Nursing was what he wanted.

No, I said over his cries.

I can't. Please, I can't.

I'm just too broken, I whispered.

No! I was holding him and he was crying and I felt done.

I can't, I screamed. Loud enough to startle him. Loud enough to startle me.

He quieted. His crying turned to sobs and sniffles. I rocked him until he feel asleep.

I sat with him for awhile before I gently lay him down. He woke up immediately. Crying just as hard as before.

I gave up. I felt so much anger with him for not sleeping when he was obviously tired. I was even angrier with myself for losing control. For behaving in a way I didn't think I ever would. It was just for a moment, but that moment held an intensity I have never felt before.

I picked up the boy and took him to the girl's room. I woke her up and we all headed downstairs to somehow fill the hours until the husband got home.

All I tried to do was not to yell.

Kindergarten

The girl starts kindergarten in September. While still months away, I have already spent months thinking about what school to send her to. Today a decision was made. She is registered.

I had always assumed that we would send her to the French immersion school five minutes from our house. I liked the idea of a neighbourhood school she could walk to. Then the girl started preschool and I learnt more about the alternative school housed in the same building as her preschool. All of a sudden a choice had to be made.

I thought a lot about the two schools. I talked to a lot of parents with kids at both schools and parents that were planning to send their kids to one of the schools. I reflected on my own elementary school experience.

My final assessment came down to what the schools each offer and what we are looking for in a school.

There are three things I want the kids to get out of elementary school:

1. A love of learning: The girl already has a love of learning. She loves to look at books. She is interested in her letters. She wants to learn. I would like her to be in school environment where learning is enjoyable and it is presented as something fun. I don't want school at this age to be about memorization and rules. A love of learning is something that will carry these kids through the rest of their lives.

2. A sense of belonging to a community: Eventually, our kids will be spending almost as much time at school as they will with us. I would like those hours to be spent somewhere that fosters a sense of community among its students. I want them to learn that the world is full of different people and every day is an opportunity to learn how to live together. I want the school environment to make them feel a part of larger family outside of our nuclear one.

3. Confidence and self-esteem: The husband and I will do our best to teach our kids to value themselves, but we need to know that they will be learning in an environment with the same values. Peers become so important to kids. I want to know that they are in a school where bullying is not accepted in the classroom and where kids are taught respect for themselves and others.

It was really the conversations with the other parents that solidified the decision for me. Parents of kids at the alternative school all said they chose it because of the approach to learning and the positive environment. These are things I want for my kids. The parents with kids at the French immersion all said they chose it because it was French immersion. I heard some good things about some teachers, but I also heard some things about other teachers that made me uncomfortable. With mixed reviews, we had to decide if the language of instruction was more important than the overall school environment. We decided it wasn't.

I am surprised by our decision in the end. I had always thought the kids would go to French immersion, partly because I had myself. But as the time to choose drew closer I found myself reflecting back on my own experience and wondering if it had been the best choice.

I had trouble learning to read and write. I never read on my own until grade four. I struggled to read out loud in class all the way into high school. I always had marks taken off in class essays and papers for spelling and grammar mistakes (ah, the days before computers). The teachers at my school told my mom that if I just read more I would learn to spell. I just needed to study more. I just need to practice more. It was just me. I don't ever remember being told I was stupid, but I sure felt it.

I would have had these difficulties if I was going to school in English, but it was more challenging going to school in French. It meant that I struggled to read and write in two languages, feeling like I never mastered either. Today, working in both languages, I still struggle.

I know my kids aren't me. They will have there own learning challenges and strengths. If I can, though, I would like to spare them from some of the same difficulties I had. I would like them to have the chance to build a foundation in one language before layering on another. They will still learn French. It will just be part of their day, not all of it.

I think we made the right decision for us. It feels good. I am excited for her. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Manners

Wipe my nose! Wipe my nose! she hollers to me from across the room.

Please mom, I say. Please mom can you wipe my nose.

Please mom can you wipe my nose, she repeats back for the hundredth time that day as I grab a tissue from the table and head towards her.

If I wasn't entirely sure that she inherited her screeching, demanding manners from me I would find them even more trying then I sometimes do. Water! she yells. Snack! she shouts. Read me a book! she calls out to anyone within listening distance. Her voice rivals mine in its high pitch intensity and makes me fondly recall the day early in our relationship that I bellowed to the husband where's my shake?! from the other room. He has never let me forget that. Just as I will never let the girl forget the many demands she now places on me.

Despite these seemingly constant requests and commands, the girl is still somehow developing impressive manners. In fact, they are much better than mine.

All of a sudden the girl has discovered may. When she does ask for something, may has replaced can. May I make myself a sandwich? May I watch a video when the boy is napping? May I sit on your lap, if you mind? There is a primeness to this phrasing that I find so endearing. It makes me think she should be wearing a starched dress and pinafore instead of peanut butter stained t-shirt and pajama bottoms. With a cherry stained face.

When she isn't yelling those requests, it is very hard not to say no.

Food poisoning

I rolled out of bed. Dropping my knees to the cold hardwood I pulled the metal bowl across the floor towards me. Hunching over, I convulsed repeatedly. Nothing happened. Not surprising given that my stomach had long been emptied over the last ten hours.

Oh, I moaned. I can't do this anymore.

In case I needed a reminder that another pregnancy would be unwise, this was it. However, next time I would prefer an email.

**

I do not recommend getting food poisoning the same day that your sixteen month old gets his booster shots. That is not fun for anyone.