New Age

I'm so far behind. I don't even have time to put away laundry - we've just been taking clean stuff from the baskets and throwing that on in the mornings - so I certainly don't have time to be blogging. I never realized how much I use the computer on a daily basis until it was gone.

I find inspiration for recipes on here (did you know that Kraft Canada has a terrific website full of gnarly-good stuff?), do all our banking, find curriculum ideas on weekly themes for the childcare business I have; so much that I was actually kind of lost for the 8 days we didn't have the computer. I must say, though, the house sure was clean! And all the laundry was washed, folded and put away! I've wondered lately how women 100 years ago had so many kids, kept their houses pristine, had dinner on the table every night, and worked in the fields... they didn't have a computer! Well, that, and they lived in a much different time where weekly playdates weren't organized off-site with other Mums, full-time secular employment was unheard of, and most families had at least one older child who helped look after the young ones when Mum was busy.

Okay, now that I've gone on about pretty much nothing, I will get to the task at hand. We had some family photos taken about a month ago now (it took a couple of weeks to get the CD from the photographer and then the computer died...) and I've been itching to share some with you all. (Should that be y'all?)

Unfortunately the photographer wasn't able to get any of just Kyle by himself because he was busy stuffing his face with my breast. The whole photo session lasted a couple of hours because it included Craig's parents and his 2 sisters with their families. By the time our family was done, Kyle was frantic to eat so I snuck away to the van and fed him in there. In this case, a bottle would have been far more convenient.

Computers Suck

Since we were without a computer, I couldn't check anyone's comments on my last post. Foolishly, we decided to fix the Motherboard on this beast (it's actually not a beast; we only bought it not even 2 years ago but no warranty anymore :( ) and now everything is gone. If I had known we'd start from scratch with everything, we would have just went ahead and bought a new tower. We still have Windows but it's still Vista which is what we were running before - a new computer would have come with Windows 7; one of the hard drives isn't working AT ALL and it's the one with ALL my photos from when Ian was 4 months old until now, plus thousands of downloaded songs; there's no way we will ever be able to get that back unless we pay big bucks and go to a data recovery place. Thank everything holy that I regularly develop all our photos into hard copy and place them into albums so we're only missing some from early this summer, perhaps 20. Every single program and toolbar and whatever we had installed since we bought the computer is gone. Gone. Gone.

I have half a mind to say to hell with it all and go out and buy a Mac because this shit sucks.

Crossroads

We're without a computer. This explains the absense of late. We're not sure whether we'll just buy a new tower and processor or if we'll fix the old one. It'll be hundreds of dollars no matter which way we go, the only difference being whether we want to spend $300 or $500. What would you do?

Two

Dear Beanie,

I don't really know where to begin or how to put words to how I'm feeling. You turned 2 today. Two years ago today Daddy and I welcomed your slippery little self right in the very same room where you were first created. Your impatientness has never gone away, nor has your insistence to do things your own way, even if it's the hard way.

I joke with people that you're a shopping list of trouble; always getting into one thing or another, trying to help the grown-ups do big people stuff. Like the time you wanted to remove a toy motorcycle from its base so you dug through the junk drawer for a screwdriver and removed the screw all by yourself because you didn't want to wait for me to help you.

You still have a stubborn faux-hawk perched on the top of your head even though we've trimmed it and even buzzed your hair right down to the scalp.

You drag around your bankie, Meme, everywhere and announce to everyone he is, "My Meme!" Meme has been washed and sprayed and bleached. He's joined you in the sandbox, on the swings, in pillow forts and quiet cupboard hideouts. He's been known to wipe sticky peanut butter fingers and mop juice spills off the floor. He is your best friend but his tag is your favourite. In the beginning Meme had a tag that you would diligently pull to straighten before rubbing it gently on your nose. As the months passed, Meme's tag wound itself more tightly until one day you couldn't straighten it anymore. So you jammed the twisted end of Meme's tag up your nose. Now, while Meme is still precious, Meme's tag is what comforts you in your saddest moments.

You love to run and I love to watch your short little legs trotting so quickly from one room to the next.

When you smile your goofy smile and crinkle your nose, sigh, I just have to smile, too. You've learned it's a surefire way to get out of trouble.

I love how you're always the first one up in the morning and you quietly sneak into our room and grunt and huff and puff when trying to climb into our bed. And when you finally make it you squirm in between Daddy and I and pull the covers up over your head so we won't know you're there.

You say "mo-dee-dee" for motorcycle, and "hah-too-too" for helecopter. Shaun is Non-Non and Kyle is Tie-yo. I always giggle when you say you're going to Grampa and Grampa's house. Then when Shaun corrects you, you get so mad because, to you, you're saying it correctly.

You love getting tickled. If my hand brushes by your leg or arm, you'll pull up your shirt and say, "more tickles please, right here," pointing to your belly. I'll gently stroke your soft toddler skin, passing over the bruises on your legs from your latest adventures.

I love that you love oatmeal. And apples. And salad. And pizza. A boy after my own stomach.

I love listening to you after I've tucked you in as you sing to yourself and mumble rhymes that we chant and repeat to one another all day long. "...this little piggy had beef, one step, two steps, all the way home."

I love that writing this, thinking of you sleeping in your bed right now with your bum way up in the air and Meme wrapped around your neck, makes me cry. And not just little weeny tears. I'm crying big fat I Love You tears. The kind of tears I only reserve for My Boys. I know you were picked for us for a reason. To help me stop and remember why this job, being a Mum, is so wonderful.

You are my Beanie Butt. I love you so much my head spins. Thank you for choosing me to be your Mumma.

Can I Get a "Yes, Please!"

It started as a financial thing, this whole makin' of the baby food, and has morphed into something much more fulfilling and satisfying.

The only thing Shaun ever ate as baby food that was out of a jar was some sort of wierd risotto concoction when we were camping the summer he turned 1. He hated it and I never bought a single jarred food after that.

Ian is a bit of a crunchy granola-type kid. He was born at home, has never tasted a jarred baby food, and prefers to walk around wearing nothing all day long. He's quite the sight running down the sidewalk chasing Shaun!

I was worried that I would have trouble finding time to make food for Kyle and I'll be the first to admit that he doesn't have nearly as much variety as the other boys had simply because of the time of year. Shaun and Ian had all kinds of wonderful fall squash and pumpkins, fresh applesauce made from apples we picked together that same day, beets and parsnips pureed together in a pretty pink mash. I finally sucked it up about a month ago and spent a few hours on a Saturday making baby food. Then I went to the library and grabbed First Meals for more of my favourite recipes I used for Ian.

Today Kyle was introduced to fish but not just plain fish. He enjoyed fresh tilapia fillets poached in orange juice with a sprinkling of cheddar cheese, pureed with steamed carrots and sweet potatoes. His expression said, "hell yeah!" so I tasted it and considered forfeiting my BBQ Italian sausage with mashed sweet potatoes and mesclun salad for some of Kyle's lunch; it was THAT good. Kid eats better than me and he doesn't even have any teeth! Well, one. But it's a stump still.

Old Habits Die Hard

As a kid, my parents - my Mum, mostly - would tell me things. You know, typical parent stuff like, "if you keep crossing your eyes they're going to stay like that," and, "one day you'll run out of breath so you'd better stop talking." Most of it I never really believed and realized it was just a bunch of nonsense but some I actually believed and have kept with me until recently. Seriously.

I'm 29 years old for goodness sake and only this summer have I really began to think critically about some of the ridiculous things my Mum told me when I was a kid. For example, she insisted to me that I only use conditioner on the ends of my hair because otherwise, the roots would never be clean and my hair would be perpetually greasy. I only ever used conditioner on the ends of my hair until we had some family photos taken a couple of weeks ago. In preparation for the photos I decided to take a risk and condition all my hair *gasp* since it would need the extra moisture from blowdrying anyway. Amazingly, my hair looks healthy and shiny and isn't at all greasy.

The other thing she always told me was about my bras. I have a relatively large chest; even bigger when I'm breastfeeding or pregnant. So does she. She insisted to me that I wear bras that have absolutely no padding in them so as not to make my chest size any larger than it already was. I've been frustrated my whole life with sagging boobs and bras that don't fit quite right. My epiphany moment was while talking to a friend who also has big breasts. She told me that bras without padding are the worst for her because she just stretches them out within a dozen uses. The padded ones hold their shape much better and offer her far more support without creating a uni-boob. My Mum would just die knowing I wear padded bras... well, I will when the boob juice stops flowing.

Another strange myth that sticks in my mind is about makeup. I don't wear makeup but not because I never wanted to. When I was a teen I suffered from acne - like any teen - and went on birth control pills to help control it. At the time my doctor advised me to not use foundation or powder because it could clog my pores and cause irritation. My Mum convinced me that makeup of any kind would damage my skin. Eyeliner, mascara, blush; anything expect for oil-free moisturizer and suncreen had to be completely avoided. I believed her and so, never learned to use any of that stuff. Now I'm closing in on 30 and not only is the cosmetic aisle at the pharmacy overwhelming, I've never even worn foundation a single day in my life. Well, maybe that's a lie. I wore it for my wedding but that was thanks to my mother-in-law who did it for me. I'm positive my face will not break out into wild, angry zits the moment I put on any form of makeup.

There's so many other wierd things my Mum told me would happen that only now I am realizing were literally 'old wives' tales'. She was a country gal and maybe she learned all these things from her Mum. Wherever they came from, I can't believe I have 3 kids of my own and am only starting to think critically about these wild ideas.

Ch Ch Ch Changes

Wow. Where to begin. As usual I have absolutely no time to be sitting here typing away and even less to upload the hundreds of photos from my camera onto the computer so I can share some of what we've been doing.

Three weeks and 20 hours after we started, we finally finished stripping the garage door in preparation for painting it. It was starting to crack with an aligator-type scaling pattern and I knew if we just painted over it, it would happen over and over again. I borrowed a heat stripper from a neighbour 2 doors down and worked for about an hour a day during nap time or after the kids went to bed. Craig worked, too, and we were able to finish it on Monday this week. Then today I repainted the whole thing. It looks so much better than it did and I'm so proud that we were able to start something so tedious and completely finish it.

Now that I have the painting bug I went out and bought more paint for the front door and the exterior trim and pillar. The front door had this one spot that was bubbled and split, exposing the galvanized metal underneath; plus it was the same colour as the garage which I know is a decorating No-No (ahh, what do I know, it was my Mum who told me that). So this afternoon I sanded the front door and washed it all down before painting it black. Yep, black. I've always wanted a black front door. I remember one house in the neighbourhood where I grew up had a black front door. I walked past that house every single day on the way to and from school from age 7 to 19 and promised myself that, one day, I'd have a black front door, too. Our house will be the envy of all the teenie-boppers who walk past on their way to the junior highschool down the street.

We went to Craig's uncle's cottage last weekend with Craig's parents and sisters, along with their families. It was generally uneventful aside from being put to work by Craig's uncle. It seems whenever we go up there we're assigned whatever job he's chosen for us. In the past it's been laying stone for the massive driveway, running pipe for in-ground sprinklers, laying sod, weeding the endless planting beds; this time it was putting down interlocking bricks on the staircase that winds down the side of the ridge to get to the beach. It was hard, heavy, dirty work and everyone worked like dogs. I appreciate that we're given the opportunity to stay at the cottage without charge but it feels like he's using us as free labor. I think I'd rather go to my family's cottage - which is far more humble than Craig's uncle's - and actually relax instead of favoring my sore hamstrings for 4 days.

The biggest news of all: Ian's potty trained! We started last week on Monday by taking away diapers during the day completely. There were a lot of pee accidents those first couple of days but he slowly learned to hold his pee for longer periods of time and by the time we drove to the cottage on Friday, Ian was holding his pee for over an hour. We stopped once on the 2 hour drive for him to pee and he remained dry through the whole weekend expect from one pee in his undies when he didn't quite make it to the potty on time. He's also been using the potty on his own a few times (so far it's nearly always us reminding him it's time to go). Pretty exciting stuff for a little guy who isn't quite even 2 years old yet. I'm so proud of him.

The most interesting thing is watching how much he's adapted to wearing underwear. Early last week he'd walk to the diaper basket in the playroom and pull one out and ask for it.

"Diaper on, Mumma, please. Right now."

It was hard to say no when he'd ask so nicely. He'd lay down on the carpet when I'd change Kyle's bum and ask for a diaper too. I've never seen him lay so still for a diaper change... ever. But we never gave in and Ian stayed in underwear during the day. Through pee accidents and poop explosions we consistenly wiped his bum and dug another pair of underwear out of the basket. Yesterday he got really mad when bedtime came and I tried to put a diaper on him.

"No diaper, Mumma! Unnies, these ones," as he pointed to a new pair of blue underwear plastered with little green tree frogs. I had to put the underwear over his diaper go get him to agree to wear it. He's still not able to stay dry through the night but staying dry all day has been a big step. Soon. Nighttime will come soon.