My Happy Place

It's late and I should be in bed because morning comes too soon around here these days. But I've been thinking. A lot. Thinking about where I am in my life and about all the things around me that have made me who I am. All the people that have come and gone who have left memories in my head. And places where I can close my eyes and imagine I am. Happy places.

The cottage.

One of my earliest memories is of the cottage. Summer meant weeks on end spent there. The musty smell when we'd open the front door, the sound of the curtains as they'd open and let the sunlight flood in, the sand in the beds, the sweltering attic that was always packed full of stacked old mattresses. I'd clambor up onto that stack and then launch myself off onto a pile of pillows I had dragged up from the living room.

As night would come the grown-ups would sit on the veranda with sweaty highballs and talk with hushed voices, while us kids would giggle and steal pink pistachios from the bowl on the kitchen table. We never figured out how our parents always knew we'd been stealing pistachios. Now I see my boys' pink fingertips. When one of the parents would stand to come inside I'd stiffen my body and press my eyes closed; holding my breath afraid to breathe in case they realized I was still awake. I know they must have heard us.

Outside there's this chair on the veranda. Painted so many times the screw heads have all but disappeared. Soft cushions cover the seat and back. When I sit in it I am just the perfect height to watch the water for hours over the railing and not have to move. As a kid I would bring my cross stitch projects to that chair. It has arms that are perfectly wide enough to balance a can of Coke on. There's a rug on the porch that is worn almost through in places. The fringe has been matted and tangled from the decades of families wiping their feet.

Inside, the walls are paneled with nails poking out of them where pictures once hung. Mirrors grace every wall and remind me that I haven't brushed my hair yet today and that I'm still in my pyjamas as the clock ticks toward noon. In one corner the wood stove sits idle, waiting for fall when we'll fill it up with logs to warm our frozen hands. A vase of white silk flowers stand erect on the kitchen table that is covered by an old bedspread with a jungle theme and tigers. My boys love the tiger tablecloth. I could show you all the old stains on it from when I was a little girl and my pink popsicle dribbled down my hand and soaked into the tiger's paw.

It's not a new cottage or an elegant, luxurious cottage. It stands on stilts that are slowly sinking into the earth, tilting the floors and forcing door jambs out of square. But this cottage that smells funny and is host to any number of creatures is also my happy place. Driving down the road that leads to the cottage, suddenly I feel lighter and breathe easier. My stress is gone. No longer do I think about laundry, email, or vegetables for dinner. No telephones ring because there aren't any. The television with rabbit ear antennae stays tucked against the wall. We can't find the remote and no one cares. There's no need to watch TV.

I share my happy place with my boys. Today on the way home Shaun was crying because he wanted to stay at the cottage forever. He has a happy place, too.

Gimme Food

My baby is loving food and not of the liquid variety! Craig has taken on feeding him since I explained that I simply don't have time to devote to feeding a quality meal to an infant who is still learning how to keep food in his mouth. It's goes so well, in fact, that Kyle doesn't really like it when I feed him the odd time. I haven't figured out if it's the temperature of the food that isn't quite right or if I make it thicker/thinner than he prefers or if it's where the spoon is placed in his mouth. But I love that Craig enjoys feeding him and the two of them share about 10 minutes one-on-one each day over a bowl of baby food.

So far Kyle has had:

- iron-fortified oat cereal: he absolutely loves it, contrary to the expression his face which was right after his first bite ever; he was pretty surprised
- mashed avocado: not too crazy about it so he only ate it twice
- banana: can't get enough of it
- peaches: loves these, too
- iron-fortified mixed cereal with fruit: enjoys this, too, but not as much as the oat with some fresh fruit mixed in
- unsweetened applesauce: hated it, shuddered and cried!

Since this whole food thing is Craig's baby, I've been trying to keep my nose out of the whole thing. I've committed to making some fresh baby food this coming week that will include peas, sweet potato, carrots, and corn but the feeding part is all in Craig's hands. It's been SO nice being able to have fresh, local produce available for all the baby food! Ian and Shaun were starting food in the middle of winter and it was a challenge to find fresh ingredients so I ended up using a lot of frozen and steaming it straight out of the freezer.

I've reserved First Foods from the library, too. I used it for Ian and was able to find so many recipes that I would have never thought to make. One in particular that I remember had tilapia fillets poached in orange juice and mixed with cheese and pureed carrots. Not only did Ian enjoy it and eat it at every meal for a week, I ate it too! It was THAT good!

I'm in the middle of packing for our trip to the cottage and for whatever reason decided it was imperative I blog right this minute, but I really need to get back to my suitcase.

Bubbles

Somehow Kyle has learned how to blow bubbles. Not just any bubbles, though. Big, spitty ones that dribble down his chin and lay to rest in his neck fat. Oh, how I love baby neck fat. I lean one way and he follows me by turning his head, leaving his neck wide open; and then I quickly switch back to the other side and nibble and munch on his warm baby fat while he screams and giggles and tries to push me away. We've always nibbled on the boys' necks but I think I enjoy Kyle's the most. He has the most baby neck fat.

Manipulation

Shaun's been more difficult than normal recently. I don't know if it's because he's getting to an age where he's testing my boundaries (again - he did this around age 4, too) or if he's getting some of his attitude from peers at school. Perhaps it's a combination of many things. In any case, it's upsetting. Craig and I really try our best to model manners and politeness when speaking or doing. We think our example is more effective than lectures in most cases.

Shaun, though, has just been just a wanker. Last night he absolutely did not want a bath. It had only been 2 days but now that warmer weather is here and he's playing outside more and sweating, I think that a bath every day would be preferable but I'll settle for every other. He threw himself on the floor of his bedroom and cried big, crocodile tears. After a few minutes of listening to that along with him asking me why he had to take a bath when I had clearly explained the reason to him at dinner and then again when I called him upstairs, I'd had enough. I gave him to the count of 3 to get undressed and into the tub or he was going to get a swat on his behind. True to his personality where he loves to torture himself, he somehow had difficulty taking off his shirt of all things and ran out of time. That earned him a swift hand to his bum and straight into the tub he stomped. I washed him as quickly and efficiently as I could so that the torture of the bathtub wouldn't be drawn out and then the little shit got ANGRY when I told him to stand up so I could wrap him in a towel to take him out because he wanted to stay in longer.

Once he got out of the tub it was a long, drawn out battle for him to get dressed in his jammies but I held my tongue and didn't say a word. I continued helping Ian with his jammies and we picked a story to read together. Once he realized a story was involved, Shaun was sweet as pie: all smiles and crooning, "thanks for the bath Mom." I wasn't fooled. Shaun had to sit quietly in his top bunk while Ian and I read together in the bottom. Once we finished and I was tucking Ian in, I heard a shy, "sorry, Mom" muttered from above. I let him know that I was grateful for the apology and assured him that it was the right thing to do but also reminded him of his behaviour and said an apology now won't make up for how he was acting before. Then Shaun announced through sobs that I had made him cry because he wasn't allowed to sit with us for the story even though he was being good and had thanked me for the bath. I climbed the ladder to talk with him and again he was going through the motions of apologizing for his behaviour in the tub, adding in the request for a story on account of his recent good behaviour.

I kissed him goodnight and said that he can start a new day in the morning and hopefully his behaviour will earn him a story tonight. The only thing that's on his side is that it isn't a bath night.

Shaun's Great Day

It felt like the clock was going backwards today. Every time I glanced at it I would have sworn it was later than what the clock was telling me. Not that it was an overly bad day but I had a headache because of the weather and Ian woke up early from his nap and was a little crusty all afternoon, so when it came time to plan dinner, I played Lego with the boys instead while Kyle napped.

A quarter-to-six rolled around and I still hadn't really thought of dinner. When I asked Shaun he said, "Kraft Dinner," so I complied. I didn't feel like having a fight about it. I hate Kraft Dinner and I hate even more that he loves it. I decided to throw in hotdogs just to make it extra unhealthy (might as well go whole hog, right?), while I made a salad for myself and warmed up some BBQ pork from lunchtime. I sent Shaun and Ian with the remote into the TV room and told them they could watch anything they wanted for the 10 minutes before dinner was ready.

When I finally called them at 6 o'clock, Shaun came running into the kitchen shouting that he smelled hotdogs. When he looked at his place setting and saw just what was for dinner, he exclaimed, "What a great day, Mom! I didn't spill any of my snack at school; I got to play Lego when I got home and you made me an airplane; we're having Kraft Dinner aaaaaaand hotdogs for supper and I got to watch whatever I wanted on TV aaaaaaand hold the remote."

Geez, what a rough life this kid's got if that's all it takes to qualify for a great day!

Thumb vs. Pacifier

Shaun was a thumb-sucker. We tried and tried to get him to accept a soother but he wanted nothing to do with it. Personally, I don't think we tried hard enough or early enough. With all of his latch issues as a newborn, I was terrified to introduce something other than my breast and have it result in nipple confusion. So we didn't.

Then Ian came along and we promised one another that we weren't going to have another child who was a thumb-sucker. Shaun was 3 when Ian was born and he still sucked on his thumb at bedtime and occasionally during the day if he was watching TV or in the car if he was tired. We diligently replaced the suckie in Ian's mouth when he'd cry during a nap or in the middle of the night. We justified it because we realized he didn't really have a self-soothing technique other than the suckie. So, night after night we'd stumble into his room, feel around the crib in the dark and jam that thing back into his mouth before tiptoeing back out the door. We'd cross our fingers that it would be the last time and hope to sleep straight through 'til morning, only to have him wake up an hour later. Once we moved and the boys were in separate bedrooms, Ian was nearly 6 months old so we let him learn to put himself back to sleep (read: CIO). By then I was happy to put the pillow over my head because I knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Eventually he learned to sleep right through, but only once we completely took away the suckie when he was 10 months old. Once there was nothing for him to lose, he had no reason to wake up searching for it.

Now Kyle's here. We have one thumb-sucker who was a brilliant sleeper because his thumb was always there. On the other hand, his thumb was always there. We have one suckie kid who was an awful sleeper until we took the suckie away. He's been sleeping through the night since then and doesn't drag a dirty suckie around with him everywhere. What do you think we decided to do for Kyle?

People we know who have 3 kids joke that 3 is the perfect number. They reason that you're always too firm with the first kid because you want them to be the best at everything and you have the time to help them BE the best, you're too leniant with the second because you've realized all your efforts with the first were for naught so you may as well throw caution to the wind and see what Nature does, that leaves the third child. By the time number 3 comes around, you've perfected pretty much every parenting dilemma and have seen the results of all your efforts (or lack thereof). Number 3 is supposed to be the one that's the easiest.

Not so!

Kyle has a suckie. He loves it. Thankfully, he's not allowed to use it any time other than when he's in bed but he practically has a stroke when he sees it. His arms and legs flail and he opens his mouth up so wide, you'd think he's a little bird and the suckie is a juicy, wiggly worm being dropped from my mouth. He loves it so much; even when he's in a sleep so deep I can vacuum in his room or lift up his arm and watch it flop to the bed without even so much as making him stir. Unfortunately, he loves it so much he wakes up and screams the moment it falls from his lips.

And I hate it. I hate that I have 4 of them. I hate that I have the next size sitting on a shelf in his room, that I can tell you exactly what colour he has in his mouth right now because I co-ordinate it to whatever he's wearing (because there's soooo many people who give a freaking damn), that there's a clip in his carseat so I can reach it without even having to turn around while driving. Most of all, I hate that I think he needs it. So, night after night, when he wakes up and cries, I stumble into his room and search in the dark crib for one elusive suckie that always seems to be underneath him or fallen to the floor against the wall and I tell him, "this is the last time I'm coming in here to give this to you."

I wish he was a thumb sucker.

Typical

At any given moment, this is what the floor of my bedroom looks like: two loads waiting to be folded, one load waiting to be put away.


Or the floor of the living room: yet another 2 or 3 loads waiting patiently to be folded.


Or the floor of the laundry room: usually one load in the washer, one in the dryer, one waiting to be brought upstairs and one more waiting on the floor for its turn through the dizzy machine.


I am perpetually behind on laundry.

On Sunday I was a Good Mother. I changed all the bed linens, mine included, and remade all the beds. Shaun breathed deeply when he slipped his feet between his sheets and pushed them to the end of his bed and said his bed smelled like the sun. Somehow I felt like it was a better sleep than all the others. Clean sheets will do that to a person, you know.

Then Shaun came in our room this morning and said he had dribbled pee in his jammies. There was only a small amount on his sheets, Craig informed me this morning, but it was enough to have to wash the fitted sheet again. While I was stripping Shaun's bed, Craig started telling me about how he had woken up last night in the middle of the night and was completely soaked with sweat. So soaked, that he had to towel off and then place the towel on his side of the bed so he wasn't sleeping in damp sheets. So I changed our sheets, too.

Today I was not a Good Mother. I forgot about Shaun's bed and instead of putting new sheets on his bed at bedtime, I straightened out his top sheet and told him to lay there, promising to remake his bed in the morning. I still haven't remade my bed.

And I wonder why I'm always staring at a pile of laundry.

Five Months Old

Kyle turns 5 months old tomorrow. I thought I'd be more sad to see him growing up. Perhaps, since I'm not, this means I am truly complete.

Cereal Part Two

So cereal it will be. I haven't bought any yet because I just haven't had the time to get to the grocery store but I've decided it's the best for Kyle to start with. Plus, admittedly, I haven't had the chance to make any other baby food yet so cereal mixed with frozen breastmilk it is! I knew I'd use all the milk in the freezer eventually. I was actually saving it for the odd time I couldn't make it home in time for a feeding or when Kyle was with Melissa and the bottle was there as backup, but he's such a happy, content little guy; I've rarely even had to defrost a bottle and even then he's only just played with it.

My father-in-law retired last week. He's still quite young: 56 or something like that. If only Craig will be so lucky to be able to retire early like his father. The three siblings decided that in lieu of retirement gifts and a party we'll all pitch in to get a family photo done. If I had known how difficult it was going to be to decide on a photographer I never would have agreed. It started with Craig's 2 sisters and me making suggestions on who to use but it quickly became me stuck in the middle and having to choose sides. I finally put my foot down this morning and said I wanted nothing to do with choosing anymore. Let Craig and I know the time and place and we'll be there, providing it's within our budget - which was my only stipulation. I refuse to make this a war so I'll let the sisters duke it out on their own.