Little Goose is a stubborn one. I know that she gets it from me, and I am trying really hard not to engage in a battle of wills each with her each time that she digs her heels in. Some days I remember not to give in and we move on. Those days I feel this makes things better. On the others, we either have epic battles, or I don’t engage and think she sees my decision as a sign of weakness. Her smug look tells me that she knows she is winning, even if she doesn’t get her way this time. Yes, she is two, but I can read that look in her eyes. I have given it many a time.

Sometimes it seems that we have the same battles over and over until a winner declared. Lately it’s getting fussy about the foods that I prepare. I know that there are some things that are just not to her taste, and I don’t ask that she eat them. I also know that she happily eats absolutely everything that she is presented with at daycare, so I do encourage her to try to eat new things. This week though, she hasn’t even been eating the old things. It’s frustrating, especially when she wakes at 4:00 am with a grumbling tummy from not eating her lunch OR supper. Things came to a head yesterday when we went out for lunch for Father’s day.

We went to Boston Pizza, and she happily announced that she wanted Bugs and Cheese. We have been a few times, and she always asks for spaghetti, but she has seen Woo’s bugs before (and tried them, I am pretty sure), so we rolled with it. Then the food was delivered and she flat-out refused to eat. Refused to try, just kept repeating that she didn’t like it. It’s essentially Kraft Dinner, yet she was not even considering it.  We would have been OK with her not liking it if she had actually tried the pasta. She didn’t, and got by with her veggies and some of Woo’s fries. We didn’t push it, but if she asked for something else to eat, we told her that she needed to at least taste her meal first. She didn’t and we packed up the leftovers.

Dinner rolled around, and I offered the bugs, reheated. She was hungry, but started saying that she didn’t want them, didn’t like them. I was seconds away from offering her the back up meal (even I am not that cruel :), when I asked her one more time why she didn’t want to eat the bugs. She looked down at her plate, filled with red, white, and purple bugs covered in a cheese sauce and said, “I only like the white ones”. One quick sort and she wolfed down all of the white pasta, happily.

Of course that was the problem.

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We firmly believe in celebrating the awesome all of the time, and do so with regularity. I have never been one to buy into what I call the “Hallmark” holidays, but we do celebrate Mother’s day and Father’s day. This is partially because the lils are taught about it at daycare and make a big deal about it, and partially because it’s kinda nice to be spoiled for a day, and to be able to take a rest, guilt free. From the very first Mother’s/Father’s day free for all, we have evolved into a way more low-key day for either parent. The key is that you get to do what you want on your day.

Willy deserves a do-over on Father’s day this year. He is most certainly NOT doing what he wants right now. He is currently sitting in the airport in Toronto, waiting for his second delayed flight of the day. He left home before we ate supper, one of his absolutely favourite meals and was stuck with airport pizza. He spent the lils nap/quiet time packing and making last-minute plans, not stopping to catch his breath or tinkering with things that he wanted to tinker with. We went to lunch, but his little Goose was overtired and cranky, and refused to eat and kicked up a fuss. He didn’t sleep in this morning, and few love sleep more than that man. Instead he got up and made the lils french toast so that I could sleep in. He did this because I took the lils away for fri-sat so he could work, and barely slept due to their nocturnal behaviour. I feel immense guilt about this, but with him travelling and the lils on the edge of sick, I needed that extra hour, and he would have it no other way. Did I mention that he worked all day Saturday too?

Today we did have a good day, and got to do some fun things with the lils, including lunch out, watching a boat travel down the Rideau canal locks, and attending our first Kinderconcert at the NAC. Willy also got some nice gifts from the lils and I, and they weren’t steamers at all! The day was a good day, but I think he would have liked a little bit more relaxing and pampering. The nice thing about not giving in to the Hallmark days, it will be really easy to declare NEXT sunday as Father’s day!

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I have been racking my brains trying to come up with a gift for Willy from the lils for Father’s day. It’s not that we couldn’t just buy him practical stuff that he will use, or make him something crafty from the lils, I just like to buy him something that I think he will want and NOT buy for himself. In my list book, one of the lists is the gift idea list, and there is a big fat nothing associated with him. Father’s day is less than a week away, and now, more than anything, I am afraid that we will pick a “steamer”.

The steamer has a long tradition in my family, one that I was part of from the beginning. Over fifteen years ago I was frantically looking for gift ideas for my brother-in-law. His birthday falls on Christmas day, and I was two ideas short with only a few shopping days left. I consulted my sister, and she gave me a couple of ideas, including a kitchen appliance. I ran out to Consumer’s Distributing to pick it up, grabbing the extended warranty. I wasn’t even going to tell him this, because I *knew* it would die days after the warranty would expired. He has my luck that way, and this would be a lovely surprise when it did die!

Christmas day rolled around, and the birthday gifts were last. I watched his face in anticipation, hoping that it would reveal his happiness at my choice. Instead I got a puzzled look, followed by him saying “This is really nice, but why did you buy it for me?” I think he thought that I had given him the wrong person’s gift. This started off a humourous discussion between my sister and BIL about whether or not he had said he wanted it. Regardless of who had misinterpreted who, it was clear that he didn’t need a vegetable steamer. It was returned and a tradition born.

It is not uncommon to hear one family member say to another, just prior to presenting a gift, “I am not sure, this might be a steamer”. Or to have a recipient, upon contemplating a gift that they have received, look up and say, “I am sorry, but it’s a steamer”. It’s actually really helpful, in my opinion. You can let the giver know that it is not appropriate for you without really hurting feelings. It’s absolutely clear when you call it a steamer.

Even though he wasn’t in the family when the original steamer was gifted, Willy and I have adopted the practice. We range between the blunt approach, when you open the package and just say “steamer” before moving on to the next, and the more delicate dance around the issue before finally admitting that a gift is a steamer. He favours the latter, and sometimes takes a while to admit that something is a steamer. I usually have to call him on it, and even then he will try to make an item work for him before finally admitting defeat.

Here I am. It’s not the gift that I purchase, but the associated the gift of time to play with something new, or an opportunity for exploring something with the lils that I am shooting for here. I so don’t want to give a steamer this year!!

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Every time my backyard neighbour has started his mower this year I have cringed. Not because I feel that having a gas powered motor is unacceptable, but because their particular mower is a gas powered ride-on mower. So I’ve grumbled, given dirty looks thru the fence, sighed heavily, and tweeted my displeasure. Who really needs a ride on mower in the city? Yes, we have largish lots for the city, but they are still city lots, not huge. The saving grace here is that it takes about 90 seconds for them to mow, after which I mostly forget about the mower. Mostly.

I like to think that I am a pretty open minded person, and about many things I am. The line blurs when it comes to topics that I am more passionate about; the lils, my family, my job and crime victims, wine, my sports teams, and the environment. Here, I tend to draw a line in the sand and seldom waiver from my chosen point. So this mower has bugged me. It seems like an extreme tool to do a simple job, polluting as it goes.

This is where the mostly forgetting about the mower comes in. I don’t really forget and talk to people about it. I think that this is my way of processing, trying to work through my displeasure about the neighbour’s choice. In some way I think that I am also seeking to validate my opinion. For the most part, people voice their agreement.

Last weekend my sister and her family were over for lunch. In the course of our discussions, I called the neighbour out for mentioned the lawnmower. My brother-in-law thought about it for a minute and then came up with about six reasons why they might have this mower, some of which I believe not to be the case, and some of which I don’t know whether or not they apply. The fact that he came up with these reasons highlighted for me that I had been way too fast to judge without the whole story, and that I need to remember that my perception of a situation is not necessarily the right viewpoint. I am not sure if he intended to show me this flaw in my thinking, or if it was just a consequence of his openmindedness, but I am so happy we had the discussion. Happy and thankful that he helped to broaden my perspective a little.

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I have spent most of my adult life at an unhealthy weight. This is mostly due to my love of all things savoury and my affinity for wine. I have always been aware of this fact, and at times attempted to rectify it. I have only really been successful once, when I lost about fifty-five pounds in 2004. It was relatively easy for me at the time, as I was an active person, a fit fat person as it was. I maintained my decent level of activity, which included a 5km one way walk to work, and made some small changes. These included altering my eating habits, logging what I ate, and following the food guide. The weight came off with little effort and stayed off fairly easily.

Then I got pregnant. Pregnancy itself is not to blame for my regaining the weight, actually did very well and had only gained about 35 lbs when I went on mat leave a week before Woo was due. Sadly, Woo was in no hurry to join us, and I spent the next three weeks laying on the couch watching TV and eating bonbons. When I went for my check up the day before my induction, the doc didn’t believe my weight and had me step on the scales a second time to verify that I had indeed gained fifteen pounds in the three weeks that I was waiting!! Not recommended.

I lost some of the weight after Woo, but got pregnant with Goose when he was nine months old. Again I didn’t gain a tonne of weight, but fast forward two years, and I found myself about fifty pounds heavier than my ideal weight. So I tried what had worked in the past, and quickly lost some weight, but I was not really committed or trying to change my now sedentary ways and some of them crept back. In February I made a commitment to change my lifestyle too. Not just for me and my health, but for the lils. I want set a good example for them, and it is working. I’ve stuck with it, and am loving it for the most part!

My body and my metabolism, however, are starting to piss me off a little. I have been SO committed. I workout at least five days a week, I watch what I eat, eat metabolism boosting foods, and I stick to a balanced but reduced calorie diet. It’s actually been very easy, and I feel great. It’s just the dreaded scale. It just hasn’t friggin budged in 5 weeks. Minor variations in half a pound, but nothing else. It appears to be fixated or broken or something and I just do not understand. So I whine. Willy has been telling me that it’s all about conversion to muscle and that my body will catch up, yada yada yada. I feel good, and AM more muscular… still. I wasn’t giving up, but I was pretty damn discouraged. I kept with my routine, despite the frustrations. Then a couple of days ago I stepped on the scales. I’d lost four and half pounds over the previous week. Plateau BUSTED! I wonder why I even bother with the scale, and haven’t stepped on it since!

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Today was the first really awesome weather day that I have had at home with the lils this “spring”. The rare nice days have been daycare days, or travel days, or days when we had indoor plans made. We were lucky to have nothing going on and made the most of the day. We were dressed and outside at shortly after 8:00am, only to return indoors (briefly) at naptime and then the end of the day. It was a great day! So great that Goose, when reviewing her day with me at bedtime said “Oh Mommy, we forgot to play inside today!”

After such a full day of fresh air, I would have thought that both lils would be easy to bed tonight, but such was not the case. There were no great fights, but the entire bedtime process took about twice as long as normal for both. Woo eventually settled in to bed and drifted off, but Goose proved to be a tough nut. Each time I left her room she would start calling, either with a demand that I “come!”, or a claim that she needed to go to the bathroom. I knew this was a ruse, and called her out on it, but she insisted. I finally relented and brought her to the toilet, only to have her laugh, and play and generally arse around for fifteen minutes. Finally I got her to admit that she just wanted to play, told her that there was no reason why she couldn’t do that in bed, and launched her back into bed. She returned right to calling for me, but eventually settled into play and songs.

This lasted for about twenty more minutes, when she started to drift off. Sadly she was whimpering too, so I went up for one last cuddle. As soon as I went into the room she claimed she wanted to go to the bathroom. I said I would take her, but also offered a cuddle in the rocking chair. She leapt out of bed for the rocker, where she settled into my arms and I sang to her quietly. I could tell that she was not entirely comfortable with how we were sitting, so I offered to have her lie in my arms, like she did when she was a baby.

We rocked like that for a few minutes in the last light of the day. It was just enough light that I could make out that she was just staring up at me as I sang and then fell into silence. A few minutes went by and I offered to move her to her bed, but she said no. So I asked if she wanted to fall asleep in my arms and she whispered yes. “Just close your eyes then”, I suggested, and she drifted off. We were both content.

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Much like the rest of the city, I was shocked to hear of an explosion at a local high school yesterday morning. I followed the news, trying to find out more information. I was hoping to hear good news, but there soon came sad news of a fatality. I waited and watched, hoping that the reports were wrong. When all media reports were consistent and had gone uncontested, it looked like it was true. I believed it, and expressed my sorrow on twitter.

I had a horrible feeling, a lump in my chest, and felt ill. Not because I thought I might know anyone involved, but for what the parents and extended families of the students who attend the school must be feeling. I was especially sad for that family, the one who would soon hear news that you can never prepare for. My children don’t go to school yet, but for me, it is one of those places where you can still believe that children are safe. They might get bumps and bruises, or learn interesting words or pick up bad habits, but they are safe. To hear that a life was lost in a classroom, doing school work, was shocking to me. Even if I am on the outside looking in.

Then two things happened in short succession. There were updates that said the student had been resuscitated, and there was one reporter on scene at the school who had identified the student by name. I was cautiously happy to hear that there was a chance for the individual who had been harmed, but I was really bothered by the fact that the student had been named. We now know that he did pass away and while that is tragic, that isn’t what this post is about. I know that identification is only ever supposed to be made officially after a death has been confirmed by an MD, identity has been confirmed, and notification is made to family. There is no way that these could have occurred in the short time that had elapsed. The reporter herself actually sited the source of the identification as students at the high school. The same students who had just been traumatized by the explosion and seeing their classmates harmed. This identification was sufficient for the reporter and she published the name.

I sent her a message and suggested that she might want to remove the identity information from her posts. I suggested that this might be a good idea to protect the victim’s privacy, but there are so many more reasons to not divulge this information. First and foremost are the family members, who in all likelihood would not have been officially notified of their child’s injuries. They deserve to be told respectfully and appropriately of what has happened to their child, not to hear unofficially through the reports of classmates. As a parent, hearing such horrific news from the media would compound the trauma. There is also the possibility that the identity was made in error, and the student named was not in fact the victim in the explosion. Finally, there may have been an ongoing police investigation into the cause and origin of the explosion. Victim identities are often held back in these cases.

She never responded to me, nor did she remove the information. My sister also messaged the reporter, and did get a response. One where responsibility was deflected, and she focussed on the fact that the paramedics had claimed that the student had passed away. The reporter completely missed the point.

I don’t get why it is so important to be the first to report the name of a victim. To get the “scoop” as it were. Does putting a name to this person make his death any more traumatic or shocking? Does the potential pain to his family make it ok? If there is a police investigation ongoing, does the scoop outweigh the risk of jeopardizing it? What if the students were wrong, and the person they named was not the victim? There are valid reasons why names are withheld pending proper identification and notification. I just wish that members of the media would respect them.

For most of us, his name really didn’t matter. His family and loved ones deserved to hear about his death from someone who could actually confirm it, who know what had happened and could answer their questions, and who was experienced and trained to make that notification compassionately and appropriately.

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Woo is my little jokester. He loves to laugh and to make you laugh along with him. I’ll never forget the first day that he REALLY laughed. It was a full on belly laugh, at one of the toys that hung over his playpen. He was about five weeks old, and found the toy and the laughing to be endlessly entertaining. All it took was one little jiggle of the bar, the elephants that were attached would jiggle and we’d have laughter. It was a beautiful sound, one that I sought to reproduce again and again with both the lils as infants. I still do, and love to hear them laughing with each other.

I am a giggler. I have never been much of a prankster, but embrace the silly in life. Telling jokes is something that I have never been good at, as I always forget the punchline, or screw it up. Getting some one to say “underwear”? Classic. My personal favourite? When innocent words, like “duty” are homophones with giggle inducing words like doodie. (Hehe, hehe, I said doodie)

Last night as Woo was going to bed we were reading together. The book was a bilingual storybook that had many items within the pictures identified in both French and English. When we read it, Woo will read all of the English words to me, then I will tell him the French translation. We had barely begun when we got to the word “junction”. He stumbled on the pronunciation, and asked what it meant. I told him how to pronounce it, explaned what it was, and was about to tell him the translation.  He clearly had not been listening, as he said “hehe hehe, junk!”. We both starting laughing hysterically. I am so proud of him.

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I have a post up on Kids in the Capital today where I talk about one of our favourite things to do as a family – go and Touch a Truck. It’s an event that not only appeals to all members of the family, but supports Mothercraft , which does great work supporting families in Ottawa. And there are firemen! So close you can touch them. Which is totally OK if you are holding a small child, right??

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When the lils were littler we were in charge. We guided them to sleep, we chose what they ate, and brought them where ever we wanted them to go. It was a pretty good life all around. We were happy and they were happy. I also got sucked in, and thought that this was going to be how it worked. I was so wrong.

Since Willy has been away for the last week, I have noticed that there has been an ever so subtle shift in the balance of power in this house. I not only no longer make the rules, but I have to abide by the rules that Woo and Goose set. I also have to guess when they apply. If they apply. Where they apply. Who they apply to…  A sample of the new rules:

• Getting dressed is completely up to them. If we have to go out or have friends coming over, getting dressed will take approximately one hour and will only occur once I promise that the return to jammies can occur within seconds of returning home/guests departing. If we have nowhere to go I will to wake them and find them dressed.
• Anything that I suggest they wear is wrong.
• No socks with pips on the bottom, because they stop you from sliding. Turning the socks inside out is no longer acceptable, as it stops your feet from sliding around in the socks.
• No matter when meals/snacks are served, they are fifteen minutes too late. The meals are to hot/cold/warm/cooked/raw, and three seconds after being served both children are full.
• There is never enough milk poured into the glass until approximately 1.5 seconds before it is spilled.
• I am not allowed to assist Goose in any way with the potty, unless it is to clean up after the times that she has either a) run towards me to tell me that she needs to pee and that I am not allowed to help her and she pees on the floor, or 2*) she can’t get her pants undone fast enough without help and pees on the floor.
• Woo MUST help with making coffee, unless of course you offer to have him help. Either way it’s the end of the world.
• Only one person is allowed on ANY set of stairs at a given time, which makes trips from upstairs to the basement really l o n g. This rule doesn’t apply if they want to race around the house shoving each other up and down the stairs.
• We no longer speak to each other, only shrieking is allowed.
• Bedtime is a loosely defined concept that has a margin of error of +/- two hours.
• No baths. Ever. (I am actually ok with this one, baths are Willy’s problem thing)

This regime change may just do me in.

*she is being especially contrary with this rule*

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