monday

For those of you in Alberta: ha! Look, the boy is out in a t-shirt and the ground is bare!


For those of you in New Zealand: oh, no, the kid is in a toque it's so damn cold!

xoxo

the irrepressable glamour of my life

I was completely convinced today was Wednesday... of next week. I don't know how, but my brain jumped ahead a whole five days and I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it's Friday. Even Smootch knows what day it is. She was trying to tell me that today was the 4th of December, but told her she had to be wrong because it was Wednesday.

Wow.

Maybe it's got something to do with this:


My increasing connectivity. Between working on the computer, email, facebook, my blogs, skype and my new found love of playing YouTube roulette while doing dishes in order to escape the desire to punch myself in the head with the tedium of it all, I'm sort of losing track of real life here.

Apparently I think blogging about it will help.

I'm not the only one with a media obsession. Smootch is still embroiled in her Sailor Moon phase (I know, every female under the age of 25 has had one, yes?) and, being the independent creative sort that see potential in almost anything, it's terribly difficult to distract her from it.

Smootch is very serious about her fun.


Let me state that Sailor Moon is completely inappropriate for five year olds. The whole, "I Will Punish You!" thing has way too many bad connotations for casual use around the house and during play. There's also Smootch's refusal to be called any other affectionate nickname but "meatball head". This is the sort of thing that may affect me long term.

Superheros and special powers are just beginning to enter Smootch's consciousness. She's just getting the good vs. evil thing. I'm pretty sure she thought Sailor Moon was exclusively a love story between Serena and Darrin, and sometimes that guy at the arcade, until about a month ago when she finally noticed that there seemed to be some sort of point to all the costume changes the Sailor Scouts were doing. The transformation from ordinary mortal to super being is starting to seep into her dramatic play. Wands are more now than to just wave around. They can also shoot people. My girl is actually starting to turn almost every pointy object in her hand into a gun. I can't wait to hear how that fits into everyone's gender theories.

It is, of course, all about power. Or, rather, Power, with a capital 'P'. Special abilities, super powers and guns are her drama of choice now. She wants to rule the world and smite any enemies who get in her way. She will punish you!

Sitting at supper tonight, as I finally figured out today was day it really is, I had to tell Smootch she was right about the date all along. It's worth it to tell her that she's right just to watch the gleeful smile spread across her face (she loves being right). But then I jokingly accused her of stealing my special power to know what day it is. Her face registered some shock - I can steal powers?! - and then cunning - What other powers can I steal? That's my girl.

I asked Smootch, "If you could steal any super power from another person, what super power would you steal and from whom?" Smootch responded immediately with, "Auntie Cathee's k-words." A 'K-word' belongs to the same catagory of words a the 'F-word', so named by a preschooler who really couldn't see any difference between one letter or another when initially introduced to the subject of forbidden words. Smootch has heard a whole lot of K-words in her life, partly because of aforementioned Auntie and partly because her mother has no filters that tells her what is and what is not okay to say while in the presence of children. My kids aren't particularly innocent in that realm, and thus have to learn when it's appropriate to curse and who it's appropriate for.

Smootch believes that K-words are powerful, maybe like her Auntie, and that merely speaking them will punish your enemies. Tonight Smootch asked for a special treat. I said, no, automatically, thinking that she's asking for more ice cream or truffles (The Man has been busy in the kitchen) but instead she asked to be able to say a 'K-word'. More amused than I, perhaps, should be, I said, yes, but only once and if...

Before I could finish, Smootch triumphantly yelled out, "Shit!" And with a huge, world conquering grin, went to sleep.

I can't tell anymore if this parenting gig of mine is going terribly wrong or terribly right. But I do know we are all having a lot of fun.

Have a good weekend everyone. And thanks Auntie Cathee, for the LunaRock cd and K-words. It's too bad that you don't like kids because they sure like you.

sticks and rolling stones (warning: very frank and open discussion ahead)

Apparently little brothers are good for more than just teaching to run up and down the halls screaming or convincing to go sneak leftover Halloween candies. They are also handy to have around for comparative anatomy. Smootch has been wondering lately just what exactly did happen to her penis? Good question.

At first we told her that we took her penis off in order to grow her brother. As in he grew like a sprout from a penis, which is actually how he probably views himself - a penis that just so happens to have a boy attached - given how much he seem to enjoy the fleeting moments of access during baths and diaper changes. Smootch took us seriously for about a fifth of a second before she decided we were as full of it as the cat box. Seems she actually already knows a frightful amount about reproduction and could probably qualify to teach prenatal classes. Our second attempt at misinformation, telling Smootch that they had to plug the hole she had in her heart as an infant with an extra part - a penis graft, if you will - was also summarily dismissed.

Finally, in a lapse of imagination, I told her the truth: she never had a penis and most likely never would. Smootch was a little ticked off, I mean, look at how much fun Birdie has with his, but was interested enough in the following anatomical discussion to set aside her irritation. As it happened, in the course of our very frank and open conversation, the word 'clitoris' entered Smootch's vocabulary. Upon further reflection, Smootch figured that a clitoris was the female counterpart to a penis. Belonging only to females, the clitoris is actually the epitome of femaleness, which, with her five year old gender rigidity, also means the very essence of femininity. Sort of like girls are princesses and boys are either princes or frogs. Right, mom?

Yesssssss. I suppose.

"Then I'll be Princess Clitoria, and you can be the Queen," says Smootch.

Uh-oh.


In other news, I've somehow committed myself to learning to roller skate. Or, I should say re-learn, since I fancy I was somewhat of an diva of the Almost-Competent roller skating set when I was younger. At least I was until grade five, when I sort of broke a bone and stuff. After that I was forced to drop out of the Almost-Competent set down to the Danger-to-Self-and-Others skill level.

Ahem.

But, as it happens, Smootch is completely gobsmacked by all sorts of strange wheeled and bladed boots. She loves ice skating. She cruises right along with out holding onto anything, which means she's got me beat. Her father was a power skater as a youth ("It sucked, though." Edit: he sucked. Sorry. The Man has just clarified.), but her grandpa was pretty good on his pointy, slidey boots, so maybe there's something there. Anyway we look at it, the whole skating thing seems to make her excited enough to bug us every bloody day to hit the ice, so we take her take her every chance we have.

And then she found out about roller blades. By a girl who would climb over playground equipment in them no less. Oy-vey. My position was that she could get a pair in the spring, along with the necessary safety equipment (no need to break bones and stuff) and, hey, go have fun kid. But there's this whole thing with dad going ice skating with her. Shouldn't, in the interest of fairness and balance (another five year old thing) Mom go roller blading with her?

Um, no.

I've owned roller blades for years and spent a total of five minutes on them. I don't think it's going to happen. Nope.

Somehow, though, roller derby has come up in our family culture. You know roller derby. It's that very strange thing people used to do back when roller disco was something people could talk about without laughing. Where you race around a track and knock each other over? Well, it's back in popular culture (though it never actually left completely) and there is a roller derby league now in almost every town. Hey, there's even new movies about it. Hmmmm. Fun stuff!

We've been doing some explorations (okay, watching You Tube videos) and, damn, I can see now why it's the fastest growing sport among women with children. Roller skates and cool nicknames like 'Calamity Carnage' and 'Haul Ass Hanna' and stripey tights and naughty underwear and helmets and, yes, hitting people! Good stuff for moms! I probably don't need to mention this, but moms generally have some rage to work out. And they aren't particularly afraid of pain, being on the other side of child birth and all.

I'm in!

Oh, wait. I can't actually roller skate. Well, only there's only one way to fix that. You can see Smootch grinning ear to ear when she figures out what I'm thinking. "Hey, mom, are we going to get some roller skates? Like, now? Now? Now?"

So, I said, yes, we can look into getting roller skates and yes, we can do it soon, since we'll probably be able to use the pavement throughout most of the winter here, and yes, yes, yes.

Now. Ish.

I'll keep you updated on my bid to break bones and stuff. In the meanwhile, I'll be trying to think up a funky handle for when I become a roller girl. What do you all think of 'Queen Clitoria'?

the organizational man

I know I'm not supposed to compare my children (as if) and if I do, I certainly shouldn't go on about it (but people with blogs always go on about things), and I definitely shouldn't be applying over-simplied cliches to them (me bad sociology major) but I find the similarities and differences between Smootch and Birdie continuously fascinating. Why are they similar in some ways? It it genetic or they way they are being raised, or it because they are growing together and, like anyone who spends a lot of time with someone else, they tend to develop similar interests and characteristics? What about their differences? And how much is it got to do with them wanting to individualize themselves or stages in their lives or social programming or vaginas vs. penises?

(Okay, maybe me good sociology major... there's a reason why I was able to stand four years of the stuff.)

Even more so, I find children to be interesting to watch all in themselves. People watching in general is absorbing, and people watching on the level of observation from conception and onwards is the greatest journey. What a blessing it is to have a front row seat.

Both kids have, of course, secret inner lives that I can only glimpse from time to time. I try not to intrude too much there. They are vulnerable, particularly to me, Mama: giver of food and hugs, and I have this feeling like I'd be like a rhino in a restaurant, banging into the furniture and knocking over all their careful constructs. I am content to sit outside and guess what's inside.

With two kids there is an added bonus of different manifestations of their stages of development. Smootch, as brilliant as she is, still only made, say, half the list of what your baby/toddler/preschooler may be doing put out by the What to Expect type popular literature. For instance, Smootch never did wild tantrums as a toddler, or were so rare as to not even register. She always, even as an infant, would sit down and listen to as many stories as you had the breath to read. She did 24 piece puzzles at 18 months. She can't throw a ball to save her life. She follows instructions and works on pleasing people (for the mixed blessing that is). I had no idea that kids could be different. I thought it was my wise parenting that was producing such a smart and focused kid.

Ha.

Birdie is the other part of the list. He is so the tantrum drama. He'd rather throw a book than read it. He does not listen. If he doesn't physically experience something (read: grab, shake, poke, taste and eventually smack his sister with), he will not be able to learn about it. There is no still, only action. Even his little feet are always roving around, kicking, and scratching with his impossible to cut toe nails. He frequently tosses puzzle pieces a good 6 feet.

None of this is terribly surprising, given our ideas about girls vs. boys or birth order.

But these kids are full of curve balls. As soon as we think we have them pegged, "THIS is what this kid is about," they show us that they are, after all their own persons. Theory says, Smootch is the fussy, tidy first born girl. Not so, on any level. Smootch is an incredible slob. She thinks it's funny to see how long she can go with ketchup on her face before someone holds her down and washes it off. She keeps nothing organized. She is a girl who lives in her ideas and inspirations and can not be bothered with the mundane details of actually knowing where stuff is. (hmmmmm... sounds familiar.......)


It probably works out well that she is a genius of improv and able to create almost any prop needed with a bit of glue, paper, and felt pens. She thinks, "I can't find my magic wand. Guess I'll just make another one!" And is happy doing just that.

Birdie Boy, Mr. baby jock, is, in huge contrast, rather neat with his things. He's loves to clean up. He tidies with glee. He lines up, organizes, sorts according to colour and shape. (Smootch never did that. The shape sorting toy was her arch nemesis as a toddler.) Birdie can actually be a bit anal about some things, like having his hands cleaned after dinner.



And he holds a pencil properly, something that Smootch, in all her brainy and artsy gloriousness, did not learn to do until she was three.

I'd like to say that I will stop comparing the kids, but I know I won't. It just provides too much intellectual fodder, not to mention all sorts of entertainment. Everything I do with each one of them is new. I never really know how they're going to react, despite all my observation and note taking. I'm excited to see how their interests and passions will unfold as they grow, and, hopefully, be able to lay all sorts of helpful ideas and projects down in their paths so they can experience all that they want to. In the end, it really doesn't matter what I may think of them or if my guesses about who they are are correct. It only matters what they think of themselves and their place in the world.

Damn, I really hope I'm not screwing this up.

at the interent cafe, just a mile past the cows by Smith's ol' barn

Okay, so Shaw cable has no idea what they're doing. Apparently they can not use a calender ("we showed up three days early - that's good right?"), nor make simple logical connections ("Okay, we'll put you on the waiting list and give you a call if we have an avaliability to connect your telephone"). We are still without internet or phone until friday. That is, assuming they will show up.

Until then, I've got a coffee shop with wi-fi about a 5 minute walk away. Which is, frankly, a brillant thing, considering the rest of the place is rural and semi-rural, with the closest grocery store being a vegetable market with actual goats on the grass roof a 10 minutes drive away. Or, I could go into town, just 12 minutes away, but I have to make a turn right by the public beach to get to the store and I tend to get distracted by the ocean.

The ocean!

Alright, I'm still not over it. I've spent a lot of years in Alberta; it's going to take more than a couple of months to wear the shine off this place for me.

Vancouver Island has made good on its promise for a wet fall. November is usually rainy, so I hear, but this year has a been a good'er. Our firepit, just this past week, developed into a pond, then a river that flooded down through the yard, under the car and finally drained away in the trees 2 acres over.


A pond, with tree islands, makes a great play space, by the way, if you don't mind getting your boots filled every once in awhile.


The kids are good and sick. They've got some sort of hive creating virus. You'd think they have measles, but they don't. Weird, the stuff you pick up in Port Alberni. They're okay, though. They both had a day or two of fever (but not the same days, of course), but frankly they look awful, with pasty whitey white skin and red blotches. Their mood is good, still, and they definitely love exploring our new space. Again, as long as they don't mind getting a bit wet.


In our yard we can hear chickens, ducks, a turkey (everyone has birds) and goats (some people have goats. I hear they are not for everyone.) There's some llamas around too, but, then again, there is usually is. Oh, and a teeny tiny herd of cows (as in, there are a few cows, not that the cows are small), such a rare thing, that we actually use them as a landmark to remind me to take the next right to the shops.

It's not all mellow and laid back, though. There are some moments of excitement. A couple days ago, Smootch and I were walking to the store and I looked up into the antlers of a deer patiently waiting for us to walk by so he could cross the road. I did this (embarrassing) little shrieking jumping dance, scaring the deer and Smootch. I was surprised, okay? I know I used to accidently bump into the bellies of bull elk in Jasper walking half awake to work and yes, I just moved from a place where you are as likely to run into a bear as you are to your neighbor when walking around your block, but I'm still not that brave.

And, we rescued this guy from the flood (hope she doesn't eat all the trees).


So, that's it. Life is wet, happy, and novel. I've got a good amount of work done, not being distracted by the internet I suppose, and The Man and I have cooked up an ambitious new projects for the new year. More on that later...

For now, my big decision today is which way to go to explore next.


We are truly in love with where we live.

orange boy

Birdie boy has come to realize the world is just not built for someone his size. All the good stuff (chocolate) is way up high and even the most utilitarian things (chairs) are so difficult to use that alterations (booster seat) are necessary.


Which is why he loves when he finds something smaller than even size small.



Four days ago when he first laid eyes on these tiny mandarins he has eaten, oh, forty, fifty or so?



Which has been a little bit evil on the other side of the pipe.


What we suffer for love...

owly

Smootch's present fascination is owls. Which is why we were happy to discover these great printable masks today.

Night owl and owly girl. Birds a-feather.