August 12, 2014
February 04, 2014
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret motherhood at all. I just miss my mind. At least it served me well while I had it. I think it did, anyway. I don't really know. I forget.
Right now it's kindergarten registration time. That's tougher than it sounds. I am juggling multiple contingency plans as I try to navigate through the catch-22s of poorly aligned education and daycare systems. Someday Kai will laugh at me when he hears how much I stressed out over arranging a junior kindergarten placement. He'll have no idea unless he becomes a parent -- nay, a mom, which isn't likely.
I need a break, a massage, a vacation, a stiff drink, a whole whack of me-time. I won't get most of those things. Understand this, though: I wouldn't trade parenthood for anything.
February 04, 2013
Kai went through a phase of "five" fanaticism. The number five was the best number. It was worth watching the clock-radio display until a five showed up -- or, better yet, TWO fives! For several consecutive weeks, every single night after finishing his bedtime bottle Kai would twist around to stare at the clock, remarking excitedly whenever the numbers changed.
Kai occasionally enjoys being playfully contrary. If I say something is high, he'll say it's low. If I say dark, he'll say light. When I told him he was a big boy he corrected me, saying, "I'm a LITTLE boy. A CUTE little boy."
One day our ketchup bottle sputtered as I squeezed it over Kai's dish. We don't have ketchup often, but whenever we do Kai will remind us that "Ketchup toots."
At 26 months
I administered ear drops and Kai's reaction was to inform me that "It pops in my ear.... like a balloon." I don't know if that's word association or a comparison or maybe a simile, but I'm thrilled that my two-year-old can make it.
The first time Kai encountered egg salad was at my parents' home. His reaction: "Nana, what stinks?"
Kai paused during dinner, reached across the table toward Scott and said, "Hug Daddy! Daddy too far!" Scott obligingly stood up and moved within reach. As Scott opened his arms for a hug, Kai turned his attention back to his plate and said, "I'm eating, Daddy."
At two and a half
Actual conversation with Kai:
Kai (eyes watering): Poop.
Me: Are you pooping?
Kai: Yes. (grunts) It's a hard poop, Mommy.
Me: Tell me when you're done and I'll change your diaper.
Kai: Change my diaper, Mommy.
Kai (in a fresh diaper): I want to eat prunes in my rocking chair.
Kai has reached a stage where he spontaneously tells me that he loves me. I found it heartwarming... until we pulled into an Esso station and he exclaimed, "I LOVE gas!" Nice to know that I'm right up there with petrol.
Kai was studying the word "Minigo" on his yogurt container and, turning it upside down, he remarked that the small "g" looked like a 6. He then asked where the seven was. I said, "There's no seven, Kai. You're looking at the 'g' upside down so it _looks_ like a 6, but there are no numbers on your yogurt." Kai pointed at the expiration date – June 7 – and said, "There it is!" As I praised him for his keen eyesight and observation skills, he said, "YOU were talking about NO seven." I'm surprised that he wasn't shaking his head at me in exasperation.
After a diaper change, Kai decided that he did not want to wear pants or socks. Since it was comfortably warm in the house, I obliged. When I asked him shortly thereafter if he wanted a hot dog for lunch, he replied, "I want a hot dog with no pants and socks. I want to eat a hot dog in my diaper."
My usual term of endearment for Scott is "sweetie." Evidently this has not escaped Kai's notice. Recently, while I was clearing the dishes, I heard Kai call to me from the dining room, "Sweetie, take me out of my high chair."
We tend to shop at Loblaws, which Kai pronounces "Bloblaws." One day we opted instead to go to the appropriately named No Frills. For those who are unfamiliar with the chain, its logo features a pair of bananas. Kai had been pleased about the prospect of grocery shopping, but when we pulled into the No Frills parking lot he exclaimed in horror, "Not the banana store! I want to go to Bloblaws!" Much to my surprise, Scott pulled out of the parking lot and headed straight to Loblaws. It turns out that Scott hates the banana store too.
One day Kai's daycare phoned me at work to report that Kai was sick. When I arrived at the daycare to bring Kai home, I found him sitting on the floor with flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Staff told me that he had been lying on the floor most of the morning, had a slight fever and was so congested he was struggling to breathe. As I bundled Kai up in his hat, mittens and winter jacket, he asked where we were going. I explained that I had come to take him home since he wasn't feeling well. He was quiet while I strapped him into his stroller and wheeled him out the door and across the yard of the daycare. As we passed through the gate onto the street Kai yelled out, "Yay! I'm better!"
At 34 months
At my niece's birthday party there was a small bouncy castle that could safely fit about four children. To facilitate turn-taking, my brother would ring a small handbell every few minutes so that the jumping kids would know to come out and allow the next group of kids to go in. Kai was eager for his turn. When he spotted the handbell unattended he ran over, rang it, and quickly returned to his place in line. Sure enough, it worked.
I usually read Kai two stories as part of his bedtime routine. The other evening I decided to make up my own story. I began, "There once was a wonderful boy named Kai." Kai interrupted, saying, "I don't want to talk about me." As you can see, that makes one of us.
November 29, 2012
October 20, 2012
September 09, 2012
Kai is wonderful. Sure, he is already a typical two-year-old, with tantrums and a premature sense of independence, but that's just one facet of his blossoming character. He's an observant, polite, funny, affectionate, bright and happy little boy. Earlier today, while at my parents' house, he began walking down the street. My dad asked him where he was headed. Kai replied, "Park. Hurry." I might not have been able to give him a party, but he knows how to make his own fun.
Kai can count and he has been reciting the alphabet for quite some time. His vocabulary and comprehension amaze me. He is able to connect concepts, remember details and express himself to a degree far beyond what I would expect for his age. My capacity for loving him knows no bounds. I love watching him play, try new things, and squeal with joy; I love holding him and reading to him; I love seeing him off to sleep at night.
Happy birthday, my dearest boy.
September 05, 2012
August 07, 2012
I was going to use this post to bitch about the fact that things have gone from bad to worse, with another daycare crisis and both my job and Scott's in jeopardy, but I decided that complaining wouldn't make my remaining few readers happy to see a new post from me. I'll come up for air again once things are looking up (hoping that this will actually happen after such a long run of rotten luck).
May 12, 2012
And that's all she wrote.
March 11, 2012
1. Greek Mythology. A daughter of Priam, the king of Troy, endowed with the gift of prophecy but fated by Apollo never to be believed.
2. One that utters unheeded prophecies.
This reverse curse of mine doesn't apply only to things I have spoken aloud but even to things that I have blogged. Take my last post, where I cheerfully revealed that Kai's daycare dilemma was solved and that he was with a new care provider whom he loved. It wasn't long after I clicked "Publish post" that the provider announced that she will be switching careers. I now need to find poor Kai his fourth childcare placement. I have been having very little luck.
Another example regards my career. I was excited about the upcoming relocation of my workplace to an office closer to my home. Most of my coworkers were dreading the move, as the new building is in an area with few amenities. I tried to cheer them up by pointing out the positive aspects of the new space. I was also concentrating my daycare search along the route to my new office. While I was still unhappy that Kai was going to have yet another change, I was trying to view it as an opportunity to find a more conveniently located placement for him. My positive thinking was punished by the recent announcement that I was not, in fact, going to be moving along with the rest of the branch. Instead, three of my colleagues and I are being separated from our team and being redeployed downtown to the (sorry -- retching a little here) legal department.
I can't express how upsetting it is to be torn from a warm and fuzzy social-worker-filled team and thrown into a group of... of... I can't even type the word. Let's just say that there are many, many jokes about people in that particular profession. After our director delivered the news, she stood up and said, "I'll leave you to be together now; it's what you do so well." She left the room hurriedly before the tears welling up in my eyes could spill down my cheeks. I looked around and discovered that I wasn't the only one crying. My poor supervisor was in even worse shape than I was; she had been sitting on the news for two days and hadn't been able to say anything to us.
While all of the work groups under our employer are called "teams," ours epitomizes the word. We are close and united. We are a very small group that for many years has gone unnoticed by the 900 or so other employees in our organization. We were quite happy that way. Without going into too much detail, I will say that we provide a service that is extremely valuable to our clients, and that we deliver sometimes very difficult information in a sensitive, humane manner. A few years ago the government drafted legislation that we feared was going to negatively impact our clients. We were vocal. We contacted our sister agencies and we mobilized. We advocated. We made presentations to government representatives. We felt like we were making some headway, and as the legislation developed we noticed that some of our concerns were being addressed. Our two-year battle was paying off. I was feeling optimistic. Stupid me.
On the very day the legislation was to be enacted, it was repealed due to a court challenge. The act that eventually replaced it had a few improvements, but overall it was a disaster. To make matters worse, it was so vague that none of the agencies knew how to interpret it. We asked the government. They told us to consult our legal departments for interpretation. Unfortunately, we did. That put us on the legal department's radar, and it all went downhill from there. Now they are absorbing us and, we predict, stripping us of our warm and fuzzy social-worker-influenced approach to our jobs. There are many motives at play, some political, some budget-related, some strategic. The official justification purports that the change will streamline certain services, but my teammates and I do not believe that our clients' needs were taken into consideration at all. We certainly weren't consulted, and with decades of experience between us we know our clients very well.
After the initial shock of the news wore off, I began trying to view this mess in a positive light. Given my curse, however, I realized that optimism was probably the worst approach. I decided to embrace my disappointment and anger instead. At our very last staff meeting as a team, I was responsible for bringing treats. I was bitterly happy to do so.
I might as well use humour while I'm still permitted to do so. I have visited the legal department; it is quieter than a library and as solemn as a morgue. The staff sit silently in their cubicles and offices hunched over their keyboards, not looking up to greet visitors or even to offer a smile. On the upside -- no, I'm not going to make that mistake. There is no upside, there are no advantages, nothing is good, everything is awful, and my life is doomed. (Now can something go right?)