Haydenisms

This past week has been filled with wonderful Haydenisms!

On Wednesday, I had my hair done, bringing back my curls for the first time since Hayden was just a wee baby. When I picked up Hayden up from school that afternoon, he looked at me all wide-eyed, pointed to my hair, and said "Pitty hair mummy."
Then burst into tears and threw himself to the ground crying "I don't like your pitty hair!"

Over the weekend, we camped out at my parent’s house while Adam enjoyed his birthday weekend in Ottawa. The stage was set for his honest observations.

Hayden: Poppa, I have a baby in my tummy. A wittle baby.
Poppa: Oh really? What does mummy have in her tummy?
Hayden: Mummy has a wittle baby too.
Then he cocked his head to the side and looked at my dad thoughtfully.
Hayden: Poppa – you have a big baby in your tummy!

Gran: I’m going to go and get washed up now.
Hayden (looking at me): Gran’s dirty?
Me (laughing): Yup buddy, Gran needs to go and get washed and dressed.
Hayden follows Gran into the washroom and lifts her nightshirt.
Hayden: Get naked now Gran. Take your clothes off.

Gran: Come and give me a hug Hayden. Poppa and I will be gone when you get up from your nap.
Hayden: Sowwy Gran, I too busy.

Me: Okay buddy, time to close your eyes and go to sleep.
Hayden (with a pout): You sleeping upstaiws mummy?
Me: No baby, I’m going to sleep in this bed with you.
Hayden: Weally? I like that.

You just can’t help but love him….

The wisdom of carnies

This past weekend, a carnival rolled into our end of town. All weekend I hummed and hawed over whether to take Hayden or complete the mountain of chores at home. When a kindly old man gave us a free sheet of tickets at breakfast, the scales tipped and Hayden and I dashed off to the fair before nap time.

The first ride we came to was the merry-go-round. Hayden pulled on my hand and pointed to every horse that galloped by as we waited our turn in (a thankfully very short) line. Once we got through the gate, Hayden carefully chose his horse with the concentration of a seasoned jockey. I hoisted him on the horse and stood beside him, watching the smile widen across his face.

As the ride began, Hayden's grip tightened and the smile spread right up into his eyes. It dawned on me at that moment that this was Hayden's first ever carnival ride...and his daddy wasn't there to witness how much joy it brought him. The reality mixed with my overabundance of hormones left me with tears streaming down my face as we spun in circles. Crazy preggo meet touching first childhood experience.

We left the merry-go-round with a spring in our steps and toured the rest of the carnival. Hayden was drawn to all the large, vomit-inducing rides like the twirling strawberries and the drop zone. When he set his eyes on the giant ferris wheel, I knew I had to compromise. Amazingly, we both enjoyed it. Hayden would point out the "too fast for mummy" Matterhorn ride every time we reached the top. Clearly this child has his father's need for speed. I was beginning to think that I was holding him back.

Lately, Hayden has been growing in leaps and bounds developmentally. Every time he tries to master a new skill (potty training, sleeping in a big boy bed), he does it almost flawlessly and with much less prodding than I anticipated. Keeping his advancements in mind, I decided to loosen the baby reigns a bit. Hayden had been pushing to ride the "dragon" - a mini coaster built just for kids under 6. Given that I couldn't ride with him, I'd written it off. But in an effort to keep from holding my son back from experiencing life, I relented.

Hayden JUST graced the minimum height restriction. As I sat him in the seat, he grinned back at me, gripping the safety bar for dear life. I bit my lip and reminded him to hold on tight and not stand up. Then I pointed to where I'd be standing and left my baby in the hands of the carnies.

As the ride started with a jolt, Hayden's face just crumpled. By the time he came around the first corner, he was wailing. Three times I had to watch my son's panic stricken face rumble past me. By the time the ride slowed to a stop, I was crying almost as hard as he was. I raced to pull him from the seat of terror and he clung to me almost as hard as I gripped him.

We sat on a nearby bench, both of us in tears. Hayden turned to me and sobbed "Too fast mummy. Dragon was too fast for me!" I hugged him harder and said I was sorry about a dozen times. My mind beating itself up over letting my toddler get on a scary carnie ride by himself. A few long minutes later, with an offer of a hamburger, his traumatic experience was forgotten and the tears dried.

It was the first time I gave in to myself to let Hayden do something I felt was too much for him. The first time I pushed my little bird out of the safety of my nest. He wasn't hurt, wasn't scarred for life (I hope), and yet I beat myself up over it all night. I half expected him to wake up with nightmares of the terrible dragon that night. But he didn't.

It was a learning experience for us both. For me, I learned that Hayden's first times are not always going to be magical moments and I should expect some bumps, bruises and tears. For Hayden, he learned that sometimes mummy says no for a reason and, hopefully, that there are some things better left to the big kids.

Who knew a carnival would hold such important life lessons.

Love from near and far

It's funny how time marches on without you realizing it.

Today, my little man is going on his first ever sleep-over without mum or dad there. Yup, he's nearly two and a half and he's never spent the night anywhere without his parents. I don't know if it's circumstance, my over-protective nature or maybe a combination of both. But tonight he will have his first sleep-over party with my in-laws. They've filled his mind with thoughts of playing soccer, going to the park, feeding the ducks and watching a new movie. He was giddy all day with anticipation.

As we waved him off not an hour ago, I was so conflicted. Part of me wanted to jump for joy to have a whole night and morning to myself. The other half of me wanted to sob that my little man is getting so big. Such an independent little man that he waved back to us from the car with a smile on his face and adventure in his eyes. He is no longer the unsure, clingy little boy that he used to be. That solitary moment just smacked home how much he's grown in the past year.

At the same time, the little life inside of me continues to grow every day too. Just yesterday I felt the first little flutters and tickles of life. That feeling makes the pregnancy so real and so miraculous. Feeling a baby move inside of you reaffirms the reality that you house a life that is simultaneously independent and completely dependent.

And so as one of my heartsongs sings his tune from afar tonight, the other has begun to sing from within. A symphony of love.

Not just hearing

To keep my sanity and actually get anything done, I often continue cooking dinner or reading blogs while Hayden waxes eloquently in the background. But my bright little boy has realized that mummy is not always very good at multi-tasking. He recognizes now when I'm concentrating on my other task and not on his important news. Now, when he feels that he's not being given his due attention, he holds my cheeks in his little hands and turns me to face him.

"Yook at me mama."

He stares intently at me through long lashes, his face a picture of seriousness.

It's only after he's sure that I'm focused solely on him that he will continue, usually talking very slowly to make sure that I understand every important word that passes his lips.

With this small act, this purposeful touch and look he reminds me how fleeting life is. It won't be long before I have to drag the words from him. Before I'm met with the grunts and shrugs that epitomize the teenage years.

My sweet heartsong, I promise that from now on, I wont just hear you, but I'll listen to you. Every precious word you care to share.

Vomit comets and wishing stars

Why do sickness and Christmas preparations seem to go hand in hand? It seems that whenever I'm ready to inject a little holiday cheer into our family, someone gets sick.

This time it's my heartsong. He emptied the contents of his stomach twice this weekend. As we strung Christmas lights and picked our beautiful fir tree from the local tree farm, poor Hayden was fighting a stomach bug. We didn't get to decorate the tree, finish the cards or do any baking as priority turned to cuddling on the couch. At least we managed to achieve a twinkling porch and get the gorgeous scent of pine permeating the house before the vomit comet arrived.

I completely fail the mother test when it comes to kids throwing up. I was fine when Hayden was an infant and only had milk to regurgitate. But now that there are solids present, I fall apart. I can deal with any bodily fluid except vomit. When I'm faced with that mess, it takes everything in me not to add to the pile. Yesterday was one of those days. Thankfully Adam was here to take care of the floors while I stripped down the sickie.

Today he seemed in fine spirits and with no fever, so I dropped him off at school, hoping the worst was behind us. I'd been at work for maybe half an hour when I got the call from my husband. Daycare had called him (I guess they tried me while I was in the underground parking lot). Hayden had exploded from the other end. Could I please come and get him?

In true toddler style, I showed up and my little man was dancing around the classroom, oblivious to the fact that he was supposed to be sick. I'm home with him now, trying to balance work, play, fluids and chores. Being at home during the week always makes me long to be a stay-at-home mum. Monday is definitely more fun with Hayden around. Even if there is a vomit threat. Wish us luck.

Morning wake up call

As I plodded through my morning ablutions, a dream-tussled toddler shuffled clumsily through the bathroom door. As soon as his sleepy eyes adjusted to the light, he raised his arms in the air in a silent plea to be picked up. He snuggled into my shoulder before holding his hands on either side of my face to give me a kiss. Afterwards, his face wrinkled and he went noodle as a wordless request to get down. He plodded over to the bathroom counter, opened my drawer and pulled out my mouthwash.

"Mummy tinky. Dink dis peas."

Out of the mouths of babes....

Oh no you didn't!

So tonight I was giving Hayden a bath. Our usual nightly routine: bubbles, bath crayons, lots of splashing and mummy trying to stay somewhat dry. Just your every day bath...or so I thought...

Near the end of his bath, Hayden decided he wanted to hide in the bath cave. He insisted that I pull the shower curtain across and then would lay on his tummy, giggling to himself. Every few seconds, I'd peek around the curtain and he'd shriek "No mummy! I iding!" And so the game continued for a few minutes.

And then it happened...

I pulled back the curtain to peek on him again and what did I spy?

Oh no...

Oh yes.

"I poop mummy!" He proudly exclaimed. "I poop a big poop in de baf! Yook!"

And then you are two

My heartsong. My sweet baby heartsong. In less than a month, you will turn two years old and leave all traces of babyhood behind you. Those two years feel like a lifetime for me. Because when you were born, I started a new life too. A life as a mother. And it's been the most amazing journey.

When you entered our lives, you were very angry and unsure of the world. The only place you stopped crying was in the arms of your parents. You hated baths, hated sleeping in a crib, a bassinet or a cradle. You hated loud places or changes in routine. You were super sensitive to everything around you. The world was like a loud, obnoxious disco in your mind. We used to spend close to an hour putting you to sleep only to have a phone ring or a dog bark and startle you awake with a cry. Your smiles and giggles were shy and vastly outnumbered by your tears and wails. What a difference a few years can make.

Now that you are nearly two, you have decided that this world will no longer assault you. Instead, you will conquer it. Without fear. You leap from tall places, climb structures more than triple your height without a hesitation. You run like a deer and shout your exuberance over the rooftops.

You have a natural gift for anything that involves a ball. You can dribble a soccer ball better than your teachers. You've also mastered the art of a drop kick to get that ball airborne. You can hit a baseball when I pitch it to you and whack a golf ball on the ground with amazing accuracy. If you spot golf on TV, you insist on watching and you clap every time they putt it into the hole. You've also started shooting hoops and amaze us all with how skillfully you can toss it through the basket. I have no idea where you get your love of sports. It must be ingrained in you from long-past genes.

You still need a lot of touch to feel comfortable and secure. Every morning, you cry out and ask to come and cuddle in our bed for the last hour of your sleep. You curl yourself into me and are soothed and slumbering within seconds. We weaned a couple of weeks ago and you did fantastic with the adjustment. You still reach down my shirt and grab your sisi's when you are scared, tired or need reassurance. Once in a while, you ask for sisi's but you seem content with my answer that the milk is all gone and don't push for them.

You are a creature of habit. Every morning you ask to go "stays" (downstairs) and once we hit the bottom step, you request your "yogut din" (yogurt drink) and a "taw" (straw). Then you sit quietly on the couch under a blanket watching Big Comfy Couch and Little Bear on TV while you wake up and mummy gets ready fro work.

You make your dad and I laugh all the time. You do funny dances, you tickle us, you run away and drop to your belly, covering your eyes to disappear. You skip and sing and can count to five. Just today, you identified your first correct colour - yeyow. Sometimes you point to mysterious booboos (usually on your fingers) and request a "banday" (bandaid). Once we put it on and give that finger a kiss, you're instantly healed and on your way.

You are incredibly caring and loving. Any time I sneeze or cough, you ask me "K mama?" and will keep asking until I tell you that I'm alright. Then you usually follow it up with "I k?" and I must ask if you are okay or face the same barrage. The other night when I came home in tears, you were nearly beside yourself with worry. Although your dad tried to reassure you that I was fine, you wouldn't quit until I told you myself. Then you offered me a hug to make it better. And you know what, it did.

Your cousin Gage is unequivocally your very best friend. You two are inseparable at school. Gage has taught you to stand up for yourself, to trust others and has helped you to gain confidence in yourself. Gage seems to understand you even when no one else can; He acts as your interpreter sometimes. You guys apply the "monkey see monkey do" philosophy whenever you're together - which usually ends in mischief and fits of giggles. You can't understand how much it warms my heart to see you treat Gage not as a cousin, but as your brother.

You love your Puppy (who you call Salem) and give him about 10 cookies a day. You'd give him a hundred if I let you. You gently put your hands on either side of his face and get yours close enough to kiss him on the nose, all the while whispering secret things to him in a high, song-song voice. You love to let him in and out of the yard and we even play hide and seek with him when Daddy isn't home to find us.

Speaking of hide and seek, it's your all time favourite game right now. It usually starts with you "hiding" in the middle of the floor with your eyes covered. I'll find you, tickle you and then run and hide myself. You stalk around the kitchen like a hunter, gently calling my name and listening for my laughter. You have amazing hearing and can usually pinpoint where I am just by sound. Once you find me, you squeal with delight and run to hide yourself. If you think my hiding place is particularly good, you will huddle in with me and call for daddy or Puppy to find us.

You love to help me. Whether it's putting things in the garbage, pouring ingredients for baking, making me tea, vacuuming, cleaning up your spills, or pulling me out of bed in the morning - you are all too willing to lend a tiny hand. Your teachers at school tell me that you are the most helpful in your class and even clear all the kid's dishes after lunch.

In short, you are a joy. You have your moments, like any toddler, but I spend most days completely enamoured with you. It's hard to believe that it's been two years already. And yet, in those two years of life, you have grown to become a completely different person. I can only imagine what you will be like in another two years.

Every day with you is a blessing. You are my little miracle and I love you more than I can put into words. Happy soon-to-be second birthday my big boy. My big, beautiful, loving boy.

The end of a nursing era

Yesterday, after two days of no breastfeeding, Hayden declared that he needed his nursies. As we lay in the dark, together as a family in one big bed, I quietly explained to him that he's been nursing for so long that mummie's nursies have run out of milk.
"I see mama?" he asked gently.
So I let him access his nursies one last time to test them out. I could feel his little mouth pulling and sucking like his life depended on it.
"Ah side mama, pees." he requested.
I rolled him gently over top of me so that he could test the other side. I lay silent, stroking his hair as he again strained to pull even a drop of milk from my breast.

"Any milk in there buddy?"
"No miyk mama." he declared sadly, shaking his head.
There was silence for a moment while we both digested this information. Both beginning to realize and understand that our nursing relationship was over after two fulfilling years.
"Cudews?" he questioned.
"Yes baby, you can have all the cuddles you'd like, and then some more."

As I enveloped him in my arms and kissed his wispy curls, I couldn't decide whether I was thrilled or miserable. Such a big milestone for us both. My little man...growing up. Our last physical tie dissolved.
"I ya you mama." he mumbled sleepily into the night.
And with those words, he tipped the scales. I made my mental declaration: This is a wonderful thing. I'm proud of how well he handled this change. How we handled it. No tears, no tantrums, no pain, no feeling of loss.

I feel that we're both inching our way through his development; not rushing, but making sure we savour every moment and make the most of every day. I believe that you never know when it's going to be "the last time" so you have to make every experience count.

Danny Kaye once said "Life is a big canvas. Throw all the paint on it you can." I love this quote. And it gave me an idea. This weekend, Hayden and I are going to paint a picture together. A picture to symbolize the end of our nursing relationship. And you can bet we'll throw all the paint on it we can!

My baby. My sweet angel baby,

No one ever told me that becoming a mother means resigning yourself to a life of guilt. From the day you find out you're pregnant, you start to feel guilty.
"I shouldn't have had that glass of wine three weeks ago."

As your pregnancy progresses, you find more reasons to feel guilty.
"If only I'd remembered to take my multivitamins every day, he'd be healthier."

And then they're born and the opportunity to make bad decisions just multiplies.
"Maybe if I hadn't started him on solids when I did, he wouldn't have this wheat allergy."

And when they start moving, oh boy the chance for regret and guilt just skyrockets. (For proof just look at this post.)

After this weekend, I am absolutely riddled with guilt and can not suppress the feeling that I am the most inept and horrible mother ever.

We went to Ottawa for a four day vacation. The first two were wonderful and filled with reunions with our closest friends. Then, on the third day, Hayden and I were playing outside before we went out for breakfast. He kept splashing in our friend's dog water dish and I kept dragging him away and trying to get him interested in the birds and flowers. He ran back and picked up the dish, about to pour it all over himself. So I grabbed it to tug it out of his hands before he soaked himself in dog drool. When I yanked it from his grasp, he squealed and I assumed it was a tantrum. Then I looked down to see his hand covered in blood. Little did I know, the protective rubber seal that normally covered the handle he was holding was gone, leaving a sharp metal edge. When I'd pulled that dish from his hands, I'd actually pulled that sharp metal edge into his fingers. The guilt immediately rose like bile in my throat.

I ran inside with him, my grasp putting pressure on his heavily bleeding fingers. I ran them quickly under cool water and he screamed out in agony. When I opened his fingers to assess the damage, my heart flipped and my eyes instantly welled up. His middle finger had a deep gash on the first finger pad (closest to the palm) and it continued up and in past his first joint. It looked deep and angry and not something I could fix. Beside it, his other finger had a deep gash to the pad. With the help of our dear friends (and please guys - I hope you know that we don't at all even remotely think you are the least bit responsible) we bandaged up his hands and headed to CHEO (the local children's hospital). 11 hours, a conscious sedation (horrible to watch), a whole lot of blood, a horrible doctor, and five sketchy stitches later, we hobbled back to Adam's uncle's house.

I was hoping that tonight it would start looking a little better, but when we changed over the dressing, the biggest wound has turned black...not a good sign. We're going to see his doctor tomorrow and she's referring us to a pediatric plastic surgeon to make sure his little hands will work perfectly.

The guilt continues to overwhelm me whenever I think about it, if I try to sleep, when I see his little hand or hear him cry when it touches against something. The reasonable part of my brain tells me it was an accident and I couldn't have foreseen the result of my actions. But the deeper, darker part of me is needling my heart, asking again and again how I could hurt my own child this way. Snidely reminding me that if I had a little more patience, maybe I wouldn't have pulled so hard and Hayden would be fine; That all three times Hayden has been really hurt in his short 20 months of life, it's been under my watch; That I am one horrible mother. I can't stop thinking it. I can't stop blaming myself. And the thought that he might need more surgery or have more trauma twists my stomach until I gag on the guilt.

Every mother I tell this to tells me that this won't be the last time. That there will be many times in my life that Hayden will hurt himself and I'll relive the moment forever and think "if only I'd..." or "If I had just..."

I never would have believed that I would have three such moments before my baby's second birthday.

Say a prayer or think good thoughts...My gut tells me we're not through the worst of it yet.

Sexy mama

Last night I was in a flirtatious mood and decided to tease my husband. I began dancing seductively for him, moving and humming to the music in my head. When he burst into gales of laughter I was completely confused...until he pointed out that the song I was humming was the theme music for Elmo's World.

*CRACK* .....did you hear that?

Lately my body hasn't been working up to par. I've been plagued with various illnesses from strep and scarlet fever to stomach bugs and headaches. I went to my doctor last week to try and get to the bottom of why my immune system seems AWOL. I brought a list of symptoms with me, as I figured any one could be the key to unlocking the mystery.

My doctor did some blood work (which came back fine) and then sat back thoughtfully and listened to my grocery list of ill health. When I was finished, her first question was whether my family had a history of mental illness. I was sort of taken aback as none of my symptoms were mental, they were all physical. I quickly dismissed her idea that I may be depressed or over-stressed. I mean, I have a very supportive husband, an equally supportive extended family, a pretty perfect life...what the heck would I be depressed or stressed about. But now, a week later, I'm thinking back on her diagnosis and wondering if she might have touched on a truth.

As you know, I have a huge aversion to admitting that I can't cope with things or that my problems are anything more than trivial. I can always find someone out there who has a much bigger burden than I have and who (outwardly) is coping fantastically, so I clam up. Afraid to admit that I'm having trouble dealing with much smaller issues. And yet, something in me seems to be cracking. There's a fissure behind the pressure and I think a large part of it is self induced. This effort to maintain a perfect exterior to the world is actually causing more harm than good.

I am stressed. In the past two years, we have had a baby, moved 500kms, changed jobs (Adam many times), lived through some pretty major infections, bought a house, started a business, and struggled to pay the bills. And the whole time all of this was going on, I kept my brave face on. I told everyone that we were fine. That it was just another hump and we'd push through. And yet, when I look back, our road of life looks like the car-eating potholed roads of Costa Rica. There were so many times we were balanced on the edge of one of those huge holes and somehow we teetered past. Often by the skin of our teeth. But I didn't talk about it. I didn't admit to anyone that we were struggling. I was too proud. And with Adam chugging along beside me, often picking up my slack, I felt that if I caved, I would bring him down with me.

Now that we're on the other side of the storm (I hope), the weight of it all is catching up with me. It's not easy being a working mum. And it's definitely not easy being a working mum who kept a stiff upper lip through some major life transitions. I think it's time I cut myself some slack. Let myself admit that I'm tired and drained. This is a tough gig, a 24-7 job. And anyone who can do it without breaking a sweat is probably wearing the same perfect mum mask I've been lugging around.

So I heed this call: Imperfect mothers of the world unite. Let's air this dirty laundry and admit that it's a grueling, filthy, stressful, never ending job to be a mother. That our hours stink and the list of duties grows daily. That every time we master the skills we need, a new one is required. That there are many days that our minds and bodies are pushed to the breaking point. That sometimes despite our best efforts, we can't fix the situation at hand. That the most important job on the planet, that of raising the next generation, is unpaid and under-valued. That we race to the ends of the earth and attempt to overcome insurmountable obstacles for those we brought forth into the world. And that we wouldn't have it any other way.

Confessions of an imperfect mother

Pride weekend presented me with my first episode of blogger's block. I had so much that I wanted to say but sadly, I was too concerned with my reader's perceptions to write openly and honestly. I find that blogging about motherhood and work is easy because hey, those things aren't at all controversial. But when it came to Pride and my gay connections and this whole other side of my life that few people know about, suddenly my tongue was tied.

I've been disappointed in myself ever since I posted the 2nd This and That edition. Because it was a total cop out. It was the generic, conservative and totally un-Lucy version of the facts. In my efforts to not offend any of my readers (and let's face it, aside from one coworker, my mother and a very kind southern stranger, I have no idea who you are), I ended up offending myself.

I am not at all embarrased or ashamed about who I am or any of the things that I have done in my life. These experiences have made me who I am today - and I like that person! But I think that a large part of me is still this acceptance-seeking teen from high school. I have this need for people to like me. Doesn't matter if I'm at a party or at work or with family, I'm constantly seeking the love of people around me. (Sounds pretty desparate and I pray that I don't come off that way, but that's what's going through my head.) I think that insecurity is filtering into my blog.

I had a great conversation about the blogophere with one of my coworkers, who also blogs. In her posts, she freely admits her hardships, racy past, and weaknesses and I envy her that confidence to put herself out there. I find myself glossing over events just to try and paint this picture that my life is perfect (like mother's day, when really my son was in a terrible mood and threw screaming, flailing tantrums nearly the whole day). I know that my life isn't perfect, that no one has a perfect life. So why do I try to portray this idylic fantasy? I think it goes back again to wanting people to like me. Maybe you'll find out that I can't bake a cake from scratch or that I'm germaphobic and slightly neurotic or that I sometimes lose my temper with my son and you'll decide you just don't like me any more. Somehow, that would bother me. Even if I don't really know you, to know that you disliked me would irk me to no end.

All this to say I'm turning over a new leaf. This blog was started with the intention that one day, my son could read it and know who his mother really was. Know how much I love him. Know a little bit more about his family and his childhood. But it wouldn't be a truthful biography if I only talk about the sweet things in life. I want Hayden to know I have faults and insecurities and that that is okay. From here on in, I vow to be truthful in my blogs and not worry about what my readers will think. I'll blog knowing that I am not a perfect person and that I really shouldn't pretend to be one. I'll talk about the more controversial parts of who I am and what I do because I'm proud of those parts of me and I'm tired of whitewashing them to please an audience who does not exist. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.

And to launch it - my first controversial confession: In college, Phil and I ran the gay support group for students together. That's how we met. And yes, I fit in just fine.

*cringe* (You have no idea the mental strength it's taking to hit "publish" on this one.)

This and that - Second edition

So far this morning, I've written three blogs that I know I'll never post. I just can't seem to get into my writing groove. I have a dump truck of things I want to talk about but can't get it all out in a sensical way. Maybe a bullety edition is called for:

• I love the gays. More specifically, I love my boy Phil and I love Pride. As Phil describes it, "Pride is like our Christmas!" and it's so true. The air of anticipation, the playful atmosphere and the prickles of excitement are like what you felt as a child on Christmas morning. Everyone is happy, hugs and given to complete strangers and for one day, there's a little peace on earth. But what really made Pride fun was spending it with Phil. That boy is truly my long-lost brother. I love ya Philly Dilly.
• Good gravy - those boys put Shakespeare to shame with their dramatics. But, like a good play, it's incredibly entertaining to watch!
• Leaving my son for 24 hours was harder than I thought. I've left Hayden for a few daytime hours and even overnight. But this was the first time that I was gone for a whole day. Every time I'd see a child around his age at Pride, I'd get a little pang. He really is my heartsong. Seeing his face light up when I pulled in the driveway was priceless.
• God bless my husband for understanding that I needed a "girl's night out" and taking care of Hayden. Not every husband would be cool with letting his wife hang out with a bunch of lesbians and sleep in another man's bed. But Adam gets it. I love ya baby!
• I'm really proud to see how Canada as a whole has accepted and embraced the gay culture. The parade had celebrities and politicians marching, the booths along Church were hosted by everyone from the military to the local police forces to Universities and even Crest!
• I hope that one day being gay holds as little stigma as being a woman. Society has come a long way since the 40's, but we still have a way to go. I can't wait for the day that people stop caring what colour, race, sexuality, gender or ability people encompass. And I really hope that it happens in my lifetime. I'll be teaching Hayden this lesson in the hopes of bringing us one step closer.

So to all of you in the blogosphere - Happy Pride. Spread a little love in celebration!

Argh! Idiot!

*Warning - parental rant ahead! *

I am amazed and sickened by the number of completely clueless, irresponsible parents out there. Last night I went shopping for hubby's birthday and saw some things that just infuriated me! Now, as a preamble, I'm no perfect mother myself and people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. But screw it, I'm tossing some rocks today.

Sunscreen - When your child is unable to apply sunscreen themselves (let's say 5 and under for argument's sake) it is your responsibility to do it for them. And when your child has red hair and fair skin, you must be extra vigilant and teach them young that it's very important to protect your skin (being a red head, I know this lesson well). Last night I saw a little red-headed boy of about three who was so red that it made me wince. His little eyebrows looked like white streaks against the burned background. I know that it could have been a number of circumstances, but please people - lube up your kids for goodness sakes!

Seatbelts - It's just common sense that whoever gets into your car has to wear a seatbelt. But when you're driving a convertible and your child is four - STRAP HER IN for God's sake! Some complete idiot was driving down the road with his preschooler sitting on top of the seat waving at everyone like she was in a freaking parade. Where are the cops at times like this?!

Gum - It was not invented for babies. I don't care who you are or how much they complain, you should not feed gum to a child who can not yet walk!

Pop - Again, this is not a drink that was designed for children who don't yet have all of their teeth. Buying your baby a Coke is never a good idea.

Whenever I see parents being so bloody clueless it reminds me of the process people have to go through to adopt. You are screened and need to give references from everyone you know and have to go to classes and then get screened again and your house is inspected and on and on and on. If all parents had to go through this process, maybe we could weed out these people who obviously left their brains in the delivery room.

*Rant complete*

Six words

In the shower this morning, I had an epiphany about why I am who I am. It stems from a moment when I was just on the cusp of the precarious childhood-adolescent line, maybe 12 tops. I was arguing with my mother about the unfairness of life and how if only she had done this differently and done that differently, I could be a genius and my artistic talents would be masterful. I was ranting and launching pointed accusations about the perceived failures of my upbringing. I remember my mother staying very still and quiet through it all. When I was done and looked to her for justification of my imperfect life, she gently shook her head and with slightly misty eyes said six words that have never left me.

We did the best we could.

I’m not sure that she knew just what an impact that phrase had on me. Through these simple words, I suddenly became aware that my parents were not mythical beings who had all the answers and resources I ever dreamed of. They didn’t make choices based on whether to torture me or hold me back or deprive me, they made them out of love and need. They were just humans. Humans who were doing the best they could with what they had. It’s weird, but it changed my entire outlook on life.

For me, the teenage years were an egocentric time; One where you were supposed to live without any concern of how your actions had an impact on others. In that horribly judgemental and materialistic age, it was all about us and our lives. Every thing that happened to those around us should only be important because of how it could impact our lives. Screw your parents, they were only there to f*ck you over and make your life unbearable.

I saw this attitude in many of my peers and was often pulled to adopt the same mentality. But I couldn’t. Because I’d seen the other side. I knew…

They did the best they could.

I think this was the secret of how I avoided those horrible, selfish, over-dramatic teen years. No, I wasn’t an angel and yes, I gave my parents their fair share of heartache and panic. But overall I was a good kid who, deep-down, always kept my family’s best interests at heart. Like most of my cohorts, I came from a good, loving family. But unlike most of them, I didn’t blame my parents for my shortfalls or see them as the ones who ruined my life. (And don’t get me wrong, these were not unusually horrible kids. They were just the quintessential teenagers.)

A lot of kids never have this “Ah ha” moment. And the sad thing is, you can’t force this knowledge on your kids. You can’t make them see that your very point in living and being is to make their lives as wondrous and fulfilling as humanly possible. That you bust your ass every day at a job you hate so that they can go to art classes and drama camp, play soccer, have a safe home and clean clothes. Children can’t see it. We need to keep this information from them to keep them innocent through their childhood. And then in the blink of an eye, they’re surly and self-centred and don’t want to see it.

But I did. Thanks to my mum and her six words and her perfect timing. I saw it. And I never forgot it. And now that I’m a mum, I know that in about ten years I’ll be desperately looking for that brief window of opportunity so that I can let Hayden in on this nugget of knowledge. Wishing and praying that I find that perfect moment for his “Ah ha” revelation and that he too becomes a better person for it.

Thanks mum.

Happy mother's day!

Happy mother's day everyone! I hope that your weekend was as fabulous as mine. For me, this felt like the best mother's day yet. My first one was last year and we had moved from Ottawa to Cambridge only weeks before. Our lives were so disheveled that I don't remember much of it aside from a gorgeous hand print Adam helped Hayden to make. This year, Hayden's school helped him to make two beautiful cards and a little pot of ivy. And daddy helped him to make another gorgeous card on Sunday morning.

On Saturday my in-laws came over and brought us their old pool and gazebo. My mother in law and I went to the grocery store before lunch. She's a wanderer. Every time I'd turn around she was gone. I don't know how many times I'd be in the middle of a story only to find out that I was talking to myself. It was sort of like shopping with Hayden but less panicky.

After the in-laws left we went and found some plants for the front yard. For under $100 we bought a lilac bush, two trays of chicks and hens, some forget me not seeds (my favourite flower), two blueberry bushes (Hayden eats them like candy), and a nice hanging basket. Back at home, Hayden and I transported rocks from the backyard while Adam dug up the sorry looking grass and made me a garden. Hayden absolutely hated the wheelbarrow rides! Every time I'd plunk him in (I didn't have much choice with him being a runner), he'd scream like a banshee! Anyhow, back to the story. We lined our new front garden with the big, round stones that seem to pop up everywhere. It looks very neat and natural. (photos to come) Oh and while we're on gardening - my ferns (that my lovely neighbour gave us) are starting to sprout under our big maple tree. I think our front yard is going to look spectacular! Seems I have a green thumb after all!

On mother's day morning, I woke Hayden up at 8:00. I know, I know, I'm crazy to wake a sleeping baby, but I wanted to spend my special day with my little heartsong. We had a yummy pancake and bacon breakfast courtesy of daddy. Then he gave me my mother's day present: a DVD of Hayden's birth! Hayden is a year and a half old and I've never seen it! I could never find the right tape and if I ever did, I couldn't find the cords to attach the camera to the TV. Now I can easily watch it over and over again. It was such a wonderful gift and I found myself biting back tears watching the doctor place him on my chest for the first time. He was so tiny and floppy and perfect. And oh his little cry. It made my ovaries (briefly) ache for another one!

Adam ended my wonderful mother's day with a sushi dinner. My absolute favourite food that I don't get to indulge in very often. I've finally found a great sushi joint too. We've been trying different restaurants around town and stumbled upon a tiny little place called California Sushi. Normally I'm wary of unknown sushi joints, but we bit the bullet and went for it. The sushi was the best I've had since I left Ottawa, it was cheap, the service was friendly and fast, and they even wrote a mother's day message on my take-away box! A great way to end the day.

So to all of you mamas out there - Happy Mother's Day! I hope that your children and husbands were as thoughtful and spoiling as mine.

A change of heart

I’ve noticed in the past few weeks that my love for Hayden has changed.

When I found out that I was pregnant, I loved him for what he was: a symbol of our love, a tiny little person growing inside of me.

When he was born, I loved him because he completed me. He made me a mother. He was a miracle of perfection and stole my heart. I developed that feral mother need to protect him against all odds. He gave my life a whole new purpose and changed me in ways I’m still discovering.

But now, as he nears his year and a half mark, I find myself loving him not just for what he is (my perfect, wonderful son), but for who he is. His personality has come shining through in the past few months. He shows me his sense of humour by performing funny dance moves just to make me laugh. He shows me uncanny patience as I try to understand his new words. He shows me tender love by coming undone if he accidentally hurts me. He shows his wonder of the world by proudly bringing me rocks, worms or ladybugs. He shows incredible intelligence as he quietly figures out how everything works: from the TV remote to flowers in the yard. He shows his exuberance by bellowing out his favourite words and running to me with arms outstretched. He shows his gentle nature with his hugs and pats for Salem.

He is truly becoming a little person. Not just my son Hayden, but this independent little boy with a mind of his own. And I truly love it. I find myself getting up early on my days to sleep in just so that I can bask in his wonder of the world just a few minutes longer. I don’t want to miss a moment of these magical toddler years where he begins to discover who he is.

Before I had children, I couldn’t imagine how parents could love their children any more than during the completely dependant newborn phase. The sheer innocence of a mind not yet tarnished and the tiny pinkness of those miniature features. But now I know better. I know the satisfaction of raising a child who has the strength and support to become his own person. I know the joy of watching them learn and the pride as they discover a new skill.

I know now that my little heartsong has taken my tune and is now adding his own lyrics, making his own masterpiece…I can’t wait to hear the final score.

Mother knows best.

I've discovered as of late, that I am an unconventional mama by western standards. Hayden is now almost a year and a half and he still nurses. It's trickled down to a few times a day now that I'm back at work, but we still enjoy some peaceful, cuddly moments in the morning and evening.

Now I'm perfectly fine with this arrangement. It allows me to eat what I want without gaining weight, gives Hayden some extra nutrition and fat and it gives us a special bonding time. What disturbs me about it is society's perception of our daily ritual. Somehow, those of us north of the equator have established bizarre guidelines for rearing our children. Strange ideas like: children must sleep alone, boys can only play with "boy toys," babies have to learn to self-soothe by crying themselves to sleep, nursing should only occur for the first year - tops. All very foreign ideals to me.

Hayden slept in our bed for the first year of his life. He didn't sleep one night in a crib until after his first birthday. And I don't regret a single minute of it. He now confidently falls asleep and sleeps 12 hours a night in his own bed without needing me. I think that knowing I'm always there for him when he needs me gives him the reassurance that he can do it on his own.

And as far as nursing past a year - it's the most wonderful thing to nurse a toddler. I was one of those naysayers before I had Hayden. I thought that if a child could walk up and ask for nursing, that child was too old to get it. But now I understand. I understand that with a busy boy, it gives you 10 minutes to just rest and cuddle. I understand that when owies happen, nursing is the best way to make it better. I understand that children have their own cycles and their own needs and you just have to listen. They will tell you when they're ready for a change.

The strangest idea of all for me is our stereotyping of what little boys and girls can play with. I got more than a few sideways glances when I bought Hayden his own kitchen. It didn't seem to matter that helping me in the real kitchen is one of his favourite things. While it seemed perfectly rational to me to offer him his own culinary space, I was barraged with statements that I might be effeminizing my son, turning him gay. Bullsh*t is all I have to say. If Hayden is going to be gay, he'll be gay. Buying him a kitchen is not going to change his genetics. And if he does turn out to be gay, he'll probably appreciate that his mum accepted him for who he was even before he had any idea of sexuality.

This is how I'm raising my son - by listening to his needs and guiding him when necessary. I'm not raising a spoiled child, but one who feels that his opinions and preferences count for something. I believe that his needs are way more important than society's views on what we should be doing. It sure doesn't hurt anyone else if we nurse for a few more months.

So to all you naysayers and those of you who just can’t help but give a mother your opinion on how she’s raising her child, just stop for a minute before you speak and consider that age-old adage, mother really does know best.

Bed bug!

Hayden and I have both been sick this past week with strep and scarlet fever (ya, I know, who the heck gets scarlet fever outside of novels from the 1800's). When Hayden gets sick, he gets clingy. Very clingy. And so, for the past week, he's slept more in our bed than he has in his own.

At first, I resented this little invader with his flailing limbs and persistent seeking out of nursies. I resented not having the freedom to flip over when my side was sore or being able to get up and pee without slithering out of the bed onto the floor like a liquid blob.

But then the other night he reminded me of why we had this co-sleeping arrangement for a whole year. He was having a particularly bad night and refused to even entertain the thought of going to sleep in his crib. And so I slung him on my hip and he kept me company while I got ready for bed. We climbed under the covers and instead of his usual giggling pleas for nursies, he climbed on top of my chest, flopped down so all four limbs were dangling to my tickly sides and promptly fell asleep.

I lay there for a minute, sure that he was just storing up energy for a melt-down before I realized that his breathing had become deep and even. And it was at that moment, as I kissed his wispy hair and breathed in his signature smell, that I remembered just how much I love holding him in my arms as we sleep. So I snuggled the heck out of him all night. And I'll keep snuggling him when he asks for it. I never want to think back and wistfully say "I wish I'd just held him more often. You know, back when he wanted to be held"

I love that Hayden is a cuddly child. I love that by hearing my heartbeat and feeling my breath, he calms and feels secure. I love that he still likes to sleep with his mama sometimes. These days are fleeting - soon enough he'll be taller than me and telling me how uncool I am. Till then, I'll keep him as my favourite little bed bug.