Reach For The Stars

Version 1.0 had her first ballet class today. It was beyond adorable, and ripped my heart out at the same time. I just cannot deal with her getting older, and more mature, and less dependant, and more extroverted and more experienced, and… oh for chrissake, she’s only 2. What’s wrong with me?

Anyway, today was priceless. She started talking about taking ballet class many weeks ago, before I was aware she even knew what ballet was. I would have to say I was a bit surprised as she’s always been a rok’em-sok’em kind of gal, into soccer and her bike and WWF knee drops onto Daddy’s cheekbone in the middle of the night. I couldn’t picture her in this epitome of feminine.

However, she prevailed, as she does (the child has a one-track mind once she formulates an idea of what.must.be) and I enquired at the local dance studio. Sure enough, amid their largely restricted admission past September, they found a way to include her in their November intake. So, we got registered and started reading all the rules for the school, picked up the correct attire, and waited excitedly for the week and then day and then hour when ballet class started.

We arrived earlier than the teacher today, and of course we were having gale force winds plus more, so we had to wait outside the school in misery for a few minutes, but once we got in, we suited Version 1.0 up in her doll-like ensemble and she looked just like a little toy. And such a big girl at the same time, it took my breath away.

She did really well, for her first time, and skipped and galloped (when she was supposed to be bunny hopping, but at least it resembled a forest creature of sorts), and pointed her toes and plied with the most serious expression on her face as if she was up for her Royal Conservatory examination already.

What is particularly interesting is that she did take a few pit-stops to come over and sit on my lap for a few minutes to recharge her uncertainty batteries before joining back in with enthusiasm. However, all the girls began doing the same and soon it was just the teachers dancing by themselves in front of the mirror. So they closed the doors, and the kids went back to full concentration. What is it about Mommy and Daddy being there that makes them less likely to join in? Logically, it should be the opposite. We should be giving them the confidence to continue in the group, but it seems to have the converse affect.

Anyway, after finishing class and gathering stickers Version 1.0 wanted desperately to stay and watch the teachers dance during their practice sessions. She seems to be right into it, as also evidenced by the 852 times we have watched the newly-discovered Angelina Ballerina and the Youtube video of a preschool class dancing to the Toy Story 3 theme song (her absolute most favourite movie right now… hence the title of this post).

I wonder if kids find their inclinations this early, or if by next ballet class there will be a new order of the day and she will refuse to participate as she did last year with skating? I’d hate to pay the money now if she may not want to continue after the initial toe in the water. I suspect we just wait and see, but damn she’s cute in that tutu and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t push for her to stay in.

A House is Not A Home

I picked up the latest edition of House & Home in the check-out line the other day. Or maybe it was Modern Living, or Expensive Houses You'll Never Have ... I don't know, I can't remember. Anyway, it had lots of nice pictures of beautiful rooms decorated to suite the style du jour. Curiously, they didn't list 'Toys R Us' as one of the style categories raging to the forefront in the lives of the wealthy and stylish.

Too bad. I could use an update.

Last year, we built a significant addition onto our home. Before you decide this makes me sound like I'm oozing money, our home is a half duplex from the disco era and we did it because it was the most cost-effective way to increase our living space - to say my husband is handy is like saying Mother Teresa did a couple of good deeds... He built everything himself and to code.

Anyways, we built this awesome addition in anticipation of Version 2.0 coming along one day (in the last month of the reno while we were living in a trailer in our driveway). We finally had all this space and we were going to find a place for everything, Version 1.0 would have storage places for all her stuff, we'd have a real living room where we could entertain... Yeah, that was a great daydream.

Today, we have toy store chic. There are toys and games and play dough and bloody ride-ons in every damn corner. My fancy bathroom is currently overridden with stuffies, squirty toys, three of today's wardrobe changes and a bench.

We clean up Every. Single. Night.

Its really amazing how this kid can make a mess. I mean she literally swoops through a room and pulls crap from every shelf, plays for a minute then on to something else. By afternoon you can barely walk through my much bigger new living room.

I want my daughter to enjoy herself and I also want her to take responsibility for her mess. We do clean-up time every night complete with a ridiculous song, and she will play along but to initiate it herself just doesn't happen.

Clearly she doesn't know how utopian life can be with those postmodern lines and nary a coloring book lying in the arterial route through the house.

But, really, that's not what I want. I don't want to exist in someone else's ideal of perfect. I'm ok with a bit of clutter and a well-intentioned mess. I just... want a bit of house that can be organized, and represents the guardians that now get steered by those short tyrants.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

What Happened To The Witches?

I was in the drug store with my daughter the other day and they had a whole assortment of random Halloween paraphernalia on display already. Some was amusing and some was frightening and some was a little bit of both.

Last year, she wanted nothing to do with it. She was freaked out by the scary faces and didn't get the concept of a costume - in fact, she fought me like a demon trying to get it on her... Until she stepped through the whole process and discovered that it ended in a contribution of candy in her little orange bucket. It didn't matter that she didn't get to eat any of it (that's what Mommy and Daddy are here for, as evidenced my Mommy's large size jeans), just the idea of the colorful sweets got her so excited.

We walked around for hours and knocked on every door and she turned to me and said "Mommy, Halloween is FUN!". She was not even two at the time so I can understand her initial hesitation but what a difference a year makes.

This year, she started reading her Halloween books a month early and is already planning her trick or treat route.

And, she chose her costume: Buzz Lightyear. If there is anything my daughter is not, it is girly. She wavered on her decision for not even a moment, bypassed all the frilly tutus and princess fairies and zeroed in on Buzz. Mommy is happy cause it's simple and one piece and will keep her warm throughout the inevitably rainy night. Plus, she looks damn cute in it.

But what the what has our costume selection come to? Call me an old biddy but every costume marked "girl" from say age 4 and up was some kind of sexy version of an old classic. Sexy witch, sexy nurse, sexy Frankenstein. Not kidding! A freaking short skirt, fishnets and heels for size 4! Unreal. I mean, I did my time dressing as a whore vampiress before but I was 23! Not 4! Do parents really buy those for their kids because they think it's ok for a 4-year-old to be sexy? Ick.

I guess on the boys' side the gore and violence emulated in their costumes would be a reasonable contrast but somehow it doesn't seem to quite leave your kid looking so... Pathetic and vulnerable.

When I was four, I wore a ghost costume with red lights for eyes and carried a large battery around under the sheet so my eyes would glow red all night. I suppose I could reintroduce that costume now for my daughter, provided it hugs all her curves in just the right way?

I just threw up a bit in my mouth.

Can we please have the witches and goblins and ghosts and Ronald Reagan back for our little ones? Maybe a dollop of creativity instead of skank? I'd like my kids' friends to say "Oooo!" and not "Ewwww!".


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Regression Testing

My daughter is awesome. Not only is she super clever, but she's empathetic, happy and - best of all - she has a very mature sense of humour. She loves to make you laugh and will go to great lengths to make sure everyone watches her comedy routines.

Since Version 2.0 came home, she has been quite interested doing all the things she used to do when she was an infant. She spends many hours of her playtime diapering her stuffies (and attempted the cat), or wrapping herself in a blanket while drinking from a bottle.

More interestingly, she has insisted on following in her brother's footsteps when he is being transported or is hanging out with us. Like the time she insisted on being carried in the Baby Bjorn while my husband vacuumed:




Or yesterday when she decided she needed to hang out in the Jolly Jumper. Or today when she sat in the exersaucer for an hour watching her cousin session some vids:





I'm not sure how long this phase will last or if it is just part of the adjustment process to having a new little brother. Nor do I know how I really feel about having two babies at once, but she gets a kick out of it and she makes us laugh. What else really matters?

If she starts wanting to wear diapers again I am drawing the line.

I'm In A Chair

This post is brought to you by my betrayal of my working self, the one with deadlines and insanity these last few weeks... Or rather months. I sit now, still rocking my infant son on my lap (even though he fell asleep an hour ago) because I'm in a deficit of my children. I leave early, come home late, and have little else than their morning drowsy eyes and evening droopy smiles to carry with me throughout the day.

Heard this story before? A bit of a rerun, no? Man, I've got to get some new material. But before I move on, someone direct me to another working mom with a fresh newborn that I can connect with. Really! I totally want to exchange stories. Am I the only lunatic out there who goes back to work right away? I wish I had the choice but we just don't.

Anyway, yadda yadda I miss my kids right now.

So I'm cuddling and rocking and blogging from my phone for the first time ever. This has promise! Half the reason I'm so behind on my posts has been because I'm too distracted by work while at my computer.

This leads me to Topic 2 tonight - technology and parenting. My family is techie. We love technology (and love to hate it). I work with technology and for me information technologies are substantial enablers.

Contrast our access to information to 30 years ago - the, uh, decade in which I was born. No WAY did we have access to as much information that we have now. Doctors were silos and you were lucky to get a second opinion if you even knew enough to feel you needed one. Parents flew blind, particularly throughout the pregnancy phase, and all those things we take for granted now and consider absolutely imperative (ultrasounds, car seats, prenatal vitamins, etc) were only a twinkle in a midwife's eye back then. Yet somehow we made it through being born and thrived just fine for the most part.

So I wonder now whether our baseline for knowledge actually rivals that of the experts 30 years ago and whether all our self-proclaimed experts have taken on a sense of entitlement because our online communities are so empowering. Further, then, does this entitlement cause everyone to be more brave, or opinionated or even hurtful?

I experienced another online battle a couple of weeks ago and am ashamed I got involved in a moment of weakness and passion. I know better. So many people live for that crap because it embodies the only place and time they can feel like they identify with something and can be passionate and brave without consequence.

I realize this isn't news that people behave this way online but my concern is that we've become so critical and judgmental about issues that are so fragile and so important to get right that we're actually emotionally paralyzing new or experienced moms and dads who have any shade of doubt about these issues.

I kept thinking about this debate for days afterwards as it raged in cyber war and realized how stupid we would sound if we were behaving the same way IRL. We would look like a bunch of stereotypical fighting cats with all the mudslinging underway, and we would have lost credibility for seeming so evangelical.

Much worse, I think: most of these issues are *none of our business*. Who are we to try and influence someone else's choices or situation? What right do we have to marginalize women who haven't gone the same route we did? What service exactly do you think you are providing to new parents other than to help them on to the battlefield in one camp or the other?

Listen, if you feel passionate about something, do something productive or effective to really solve a problem. But for the love of pete, don't hide behind technology to justify your bad behavior.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Absentee Parenting

I’m an absentee parent these days. For the last few weeks, my life has consisted of airports, cab rides (a significant percentage of which have been frightening), hotel food and single-serving toiletries.

I know this schedule won’t last forever, and may only persist for a few more weeks. I know it is a positive and career/business-building experience and that I am opening doors and building important relationships. I know my kids will not be scarred from my periods of disappearance.

But, oh. My kids.

I yearn for them every minute. I keep looking at pictures of them on my iPhone so I can smile back at them and marvel at how we made such beautiful creatures. I watch videos of Version 1.0 yammering on about her crazy ideas and plans. I watch videos of Version 2.0 gurgling and cooing and melting my frigging heart.

I’ve written before about role reversal and how my husband and I have decided to divvy up household responsibilities. Nothing’s changed much, except we keep adjusting as we go.

When I had my son 3 months ago, I essentially delivered him on Friday and was back to work on Monday, taking calls, writing documents, doing what I could. I never really stopped. I’ll admit the first couple of months were very, very hard for both of us. Version 2.0 was so colicky I would end up crying myself, or yelling out loud to no one in particular. Hubby was stretched to the max as well, and we were living in this periphery to our normal selves, wondering when things were going to get easier.

Well, they did. A bit. We can breathe now. Thanks to formula. Version 2.0 has a voracious appetite and once again, I didn’t make enough to keep him satisfied. Within days of being able to feed him formula to supplement, we noticed a marked difference. We were both at such a level of crazy that it just had to be worth it to get that sanity back. Unfortunately, he is a fussy one when it comes to what’s in his mouth (aren’t all men?) and he soon refused to breast feed anymore.

Toss in there the unfortunate timing of an excellent business opportunity that has me away a lot and breastfeeding doesn’t stand much of a chance. I feel sad about this, and guilty, but I know better. I know the scary level of crazy we had become and I know how badly I do not want to be caught pumping in a public washroom again, or having to deal with breast milk on my suit jacket in front of a client.But mostly, I know my son is fulfilled and healthy, no longer hungry all the time because of my measly supply. I have made my peace and I hope no one gets all lactivist on me again because I just might get physical with my fist. I understand, to those women who have never had a problem, they can’t imagine that low to no supply could ever be real. Well, I assure you, it can. And lo and behold, finally… a few others can relate:

Breastfeeding: No Milk At This Store

A Breastfeeding Guru Who Uses Formula

Crap. That was a bit of a tangent. Where was I? Right. I miss my kids. My healthy, beautiful, thriving kids.

Who have both had formula.

That is all. I’m home now and need to go snuggle.

Also, it’s my anniversary. So, I need to go and… um, snuggle.

Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy

Holy schamoley, it’s been awhile. Life is pretty insane right now and my days keep slipping away into a flurry of activity around bedtime, including keeping Version 1.0 in her big girl bed, keeping Version 2.0 from wailing his lungs out (whiskey?) and generally trying not to keel over with fatigue before either of the above two happen.

To stay light-hearted tonight while I am still in a relatively sane and calm frame of mind, I thought I would introduce you to my daughter’s favourite new passtime: singing. Yes, before she would tell us to stop when we sang, and took little interest in music herself. Then, suddenly, she is frigging Maria Von Trapp (her married name) and you are *not* allowed to sing with her. Nope, she’ll stop you cold the first few words in.

The downside to her Star Search-seeking solo tendencies is that she doesn’t get the benefit of hearing the proper words to her favourite songs. As a result, we have some pretty interesting mash-ups and strange renditions of the classics. Without further ado, I present the world of children’s song according to my daughter.

Old Nut-Donnell

Old Nut-Donnell had a farm
E-I-E-I-O
And on his farm, he had a .. What he have? A Chicken! (she actually asks the question out loud)
E-I-E-I-O
With a cluck cluck here and a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck here… (she isn’t sure how to get to the transition so the poor animal just keeps making his sound until she gets bored)

Farmer in the Dell (Politically Sensitive 2010 Version)

The farmer in the dell
The farmer in the dell
Hi ho the hair-ee-oh (yes, this part stuck in my head for awhile)
The farmer in the dell.

The farmer takes the wife
The farmer takes the wife
Hi ho the hair-ee-oh
The farmer takes the wife.

The wife takes the wife
The wife takes the wife
Hi ho the hair-ee-oh
The wife takes the wife. (Lucky farmer)

Baa Baa Black Sheep

Baa Baa Black Sheep, any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.
One for the mshfjsdfjkjh (she can never figure out this word so kind of mumble sings it)
And one for the game
One for the little boy who lives in the lane
Baa Baa Black Sheep, any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

(Baa Baa Black Sheep is best sung naked with your music table. On a treadmill. Don’t ask.)

ABCD

A, B, C, D, E, Up, G….

I’ve Been Working On The Railroad

I’ve been working on the railroad
All the lip long day

I’ve been working on the railroad
Pass the lip long day

Can’t you hear the whistle blowing?
(insert random line that ends with something that rhymes with “morn”)

Can’t you hear the captain shouting,
”Dina blow up horns!”

The More We Get Together

(This one probably requires the most work)

The more we-gether, we-gether, we-gether
The more we-gether, we-gether, happier be
My friends, your friends, we-gether.

Version 1.0 is very conversant for her age, speaks in full sentences and clearly, and understands everything you say to her. So, she learns the words to the songs pretty quickly once she’s had a chance to hear them a few times, but the original renditions are quite a hoot and she seems to hang on to quite a few of the tweaks she thinks make the song better.

Tonight, she heard Queen’s “Somebody to Love” on Glee, and was singing “somebody, somebody, somebody, somebody, somebody” tonight. I am sure it will only be a matter of time before she’s got Bohemian Rhapsody down to the last word. I still don’t know all the lyrics myself.

 

If you think this is funny, go and check out the Misheard Lyrics archive. I swear I have never laughed so hard for so long.