The World According to the Peevish Kitty
Feb
15
Well, two balloons, actually.
Yesterday, as you know, was Valentine’s Day. We don’t generally do much for Valentine’s Day here. Never have done. But Stinkerbelle is home sick with a cold this week, and had to miss her Valentine’s Day party at school. So I thought we could do something special to mark the day since she wasn’t at school celebrating with her little pals.
So we decided yesterday to make cupcakes. We weren’t going out to a store for mixes or anything, so it had to be from scratch. That’s fine for us, because that gives That Girl the chance to use The Mixer.
She loves The Mixer. It’s a KitchenAid stand mixer, and between the pouring in of ingredients and the turning on of the beater, she’s positively giddy about baking. So that’s good for an hour or so of fun, plus the time it takes to bake the cupcakes and frost them.
So that was good. We made pink-frosted vanilla cupcakes as a surprise for Daddy. And Stinkerbelle made him a homemade valentine covered in stickers.
What we didn’t realize, however, was that Daddy had plans of his own for HIS valentines. These were revealed to us when, half an hour after his anticipated arrival time, the doorbell rang. And there stood BDH, with flowers for me.
And two GIANT balloons for Stinkerbelle.
When I say “giant”, I mean these balloons are as big as she is. And they play MUSIC.
Specifically, the same line from a 70s pop song. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. All that is required to get them to play is a tap on the outside of the balloon. Or, since they are full of helium, bumping up against the ceiling.
Which, you have probably already surmised, happens VERY FREQUENTLY when there’s a three year old tugging on the ribbons attached to the bottom.
VERY FREQUENTLY INDEED.
This means that the same line from the same pop song plays every time — sometimes in a weird out-of-sync stereo when both balloons are being yanged around by That Girl. And she commences a little jig of joy along with the music every single time.
Fingers pointed in a little disco dance vibe, arms waving, bum wiggling, little feet jigging up and down… Stinkerbelle loves a good dance party. Even one that is balloon-generated.
So, you know, it’s hard to get annoyed when that happens. No matter how often I hear the snippet of song (and I won’t tell you what it is, so that I don’t earworm you — I LOVE YOU THAT MUCH, MAN) whenever I see that little dance of happiness, or see her hands clapping together with glee at making the music start again, it’s totally worth it.
(Although in the interest of full disclosure, the balloons say they’re good for 50 plays of the song. I’m counting.)
Feb
13
My daughter got invited to attend her first actual birthday party on the weekend. By a friend from school. Who is a BOY.
Two weeks ago, I got a call from the mom of one of Stinkerbelle’s classmates, who wanted to invite her to his birthday party. There would be three other little boys plus Stinkerbelle at the party. When I told BDH about the invitation from a boy, he was surprised. So I asked him what he was going to do. He replied: “What any reasonable man would do. I’m calling a building contractor and installing a dungeon. . .and a moat. A BIIIIIIG moat.”
(Okay, he totally didn’t react that way. I just made that up just then. But it’s a line from Sports Night that we like to throw around any time Stinkerbelle and “boys” are used in the same sentence. So I thought I’d use it here, too.)
We were actually really pleased that Stinkerbelle was invited to a party. We were thrilled that she has found friends in her little school, and this little fellow is one of her Bestest Peeps Evah. She talks about him all the time, and he about her, so we were also quite chuffed that his parents were okay with inviting her as well. Sometimes it’s weird for some parents, I think, to try to accommodate one of the opposite sex in a room full of what they are familiar with. But his mom was making it a very low-key “party” in that there were just a few kids invited and it was in the morning, for a couple of hours of play and a pizza and cupcake lunch, so it would be no problem.
So, last week, Stinkerbelle and I trooped to the mall to buy a birthday card and present and wrapping for the birthday boy. She was VERY excited to go to his house and play.
And when she arrived, we watched as she dove in with the cars and the action figures and the floor hockey with the boys. There was even a bouncy castle in the basement that they could play on (with no one cracking heads together, thankfully). And the boys included her in everything and fired floor hockey balls at her and were generally pleased that she had come to play.
It was nice. I was a tomboy as a kid, and never really got the whole “girly” thing. I was always more comfortable with the boys, and got along better with them, and was in sports so, yanno. So I kind of “get” that.
But Stinkerbelle is not sure what side she comes down on, whether she’s about the sports and the boys or the princesses and the girls. And that’s fine. She might love to jump and kick a ball and will choose a Buzz Lightyear bandaid over a Disney Princess one, but she still loves to dance and wear swirly dresses and play with dollies and look at her pretty hair in the mirror. She has lots of time to decide.
Anyway, she had a lovely time and was sad to leave. When the time came to go, the birthday boy’s mom gave her a special treat bag with a pink ball and some princess dolls — including a brown one, which instantly endeared them to us for being so thoughtful. And when she got home, at naptime, she would not take off her special ladybug birthday hat (all the boys got dinosaurs, which she would have been equally happy with.)
It was a great time for all, I think. Stinkerbelle was so happy to go have playtime with her friends, and we were so pleased to meet and chat with some of the other parents. And while the best part for Stinkerbelle was, I think, the bouncy castle, the best part for us was to know that our daughter has made some friends. It’s all most parents want in life, really — for their child to be happy and comfortable with and loved by those around him or her.
So while we joke about having to build a moat to keep out all the boys as Stinkerbelle gets older — and we may still, if she continues winning over all the boys as she does — we’ll also have to consider building a drawbridge to let in all the friends she seems to be making as she laughs and charms her way though life. I hope so. I’d like that.
We can always pull the drawbridge up by the time she’s a teenager, right?
Feb
9
Yesterday, Stinkerbelle and I came home from school at noon, as we normally do. After we got our coats and shoes and bags put away, That Girl ran into her playroom to play, while I went into the kitchen to start making lunch.
She came into the kitchen all sad, with a seriously deflated purple balloon. She asked me to fix it and I said I couldn’t. But we normally keep a little bag of balloons in the junk drawer, and it takes a matter of moments for BDH to blow one up. (I, the asthmatic, am full of FAIL at balloon inflation.) So, I suggested, maybe she could ask Daddy to get her a new one when he came home.
So she left the kitchen. And she fussed with her toybox for awhile.
A short time later, I saw that she had gotten her (disconnected, cast-off from Dad’s computer) computer keyboard out of her toybox, and brought it into the kitchen.
I asked her what she was doing. She told me she was typing a message to Daddy so he would fix her balloon.
“Good idea”, I told her, and left her to type while I finished lunch.
She typed very intently and then said “All done!” and put away her keyboard. She had “sent” a message to her dad to tell him about her sad balloon.
Off we went then, to have our lunch, and afterwards, for Stinkerbelle to have her nap.
When she got up from her nap, she came into my room and saw me typing on my laptop. She held up one finger very purposefully and told me that SHE had typed a message to Daddy about her purple balloon, for when he comes home.
“I see”, I said. And quickly fired off an email to let BDH know that he had been messaged about his balloon.
We went downstairs, so that I could start planning and preparing for supper while That Girl played with her toys. She went into the playroom and saw her sad balloon and burst into tears. I told her not to worry, because she had told Daddy about it and maybe he could fix it.
She got her keyboard out, and again set to typing ANOTHER message to Daddy.
Meanwhile, I messaged Daddy again, lest he did not know about The Balloon Disaster yet. He did, and, asking me to check that we had balloons in the junk drawer, made plans to “fix” her balloon. He asked me to put one out in the mailbox, but when I mentioned how it might not be good to have it out in the cold waiting for him, he changed his mind.
I went back to preparing supper.
Stinkerbelle did not forget about the balloon, however, and periodically mentioned her balloon and her messages to Daddy. Then, as he was on his way home, she went to the front window and began calling out “DAAAAADDDY, WHERE AAAAARE YOU” and “CAN YOU FIX MY BALLOOOOOOON PLEEEEEEEEEASE”.
Finally, I had to put a stop to the calling and the typing and such, and get Stinkerbelle started on dinner. She burst into sobbing. “Daddy’s NEVER coming home again! He NEVER fix my balloon!”
I got her calmed down by putting on some video of herself, dancing. Nothing That Girl enjoys more than video of herself.
Just then, Daddy came home. She ran from the table to greet Her Hero, who was holding a shiny red heart-shaped helium balloon and a plate of Valentine’s sugar cookies.
He had stopped at the grocery store to get Stinkerbelle a balloon, but found that the florist dept. (which sells the balloons) was closed. He had the manager called down, who explained that the floral department had recently changed hours and closed at 6 pm now, a full hour previously.
The manager left, and BDH found himself explaining the story to one of the checkout ladies, who ALL know Stinkerbelle well and fuss on her whenever she’s in. Just then, one of the senior checkout staffers, who ALSO knows Stinkerbelle well and has a dance party with her whenever she is in, stopped by and heard BDH’s story about the sad balloon and the emails from That Girl.
“Oh, just go cut him one of the display balloons!”, she told her colleague.
And with that, Stinkerbelle suddenly had a bright, shiny heart balloon. Free of charge, because they wouldn’t take any money for it. (BDH felt grateful and slightly guilty, so he bought the plate of cookies to make up the difference.)
Now, That Girl has a balloon that she loves (well, two actually, because BDH blew up the one in the junk drawer, just in case), and a Daddy she knows gets her messages that she needs his help. (And, as it happens, a couple of friends at the local grocery store who get them, too.)
Feb
7
I set myself a lot of goals, knitting-wise, for 2012. I’m a notorious project-starter, so by setting goals I will be compelled to finish what I start. And by that I mean, I work well on a deadline so I have something to push me to get things done. Plus, I said it out loud, on Teh Interwebs, so there’s the whole guilt factor.
I promised to make at least 15 hats for Melissa for distribution to herd boys in Lesotho. I’ve got four done, plus six or seven I made previously. So that’s good progress.
(click photos to embiggen)
I said I’d make 12 projects in 2012 for another challenge that I am using to get some long-standing, much-neglected projects done. Like a quilt I had planned for Stinkerbelle, originally planned as 16 squares… and somehow I stalled around 8 squares. Plus she’s bigger now, so I should make it bigger. Anyway, I am plugging along on that one, and have added a couple of squares to the pile. I’ve also used that project to do some charity squares at the same time.
Another 12-in-2012 challenge I am using to get some personal projects done. Things like covers for the chair legs in the kitchen (“chair socks”) and for the Kobo e-readers BDH and I got for Christmas.
Part of that 12-in-2012 is a blanket. It’s called a Weather Wrap throw, and it means knitting two rows each day to reflect the weather for that day — so, for example, if it is sunny, I knit two rows of yellow. If it snows, two rows of white. That kind of thing. It’s a stashbuster project, a way to use up yarn that’s been sitting unused in my stash FOR EVAH. I’m really enjoying it though, and if I can keep it up, I think by year’s end it will be cool to have a record of what it was like this year.
So it’s been a productive month so far. Let’s see if I am as productive come the sweltering summer months.
Feb
1
Today I went to the dentist. It was nice.
Not that I enjoy going to the dentist, mind you. Although sometimes I can get freaked out when I know the probe-under-the-gums thing is happening and I dread it for days, most of the time it’s just a cleaning and I can relax and treat it like a massage. I even almost nod off sometimes. Today was one of those days.
But also, now that we have a good routine and BDH handles the school run when I need to go to an appointment, it’s a little time to myself. And, more and more, BDH and I both are finding that we are starting to reclaim some of our “me time”.
Although we miss the babyhood years and do not regret them for a moment, the fact that Stinkerbelle is growing older and more independent does have some benefits. The routine of school has certainly lent itself to me getting to see the dentist regularly, as well as providing a regularly scheduled time for me to do some work.
Also, now that That Girl is growing more independent, having to take time in the evening to go to the doctor or for BDH to go to soccer or for me to go for a hair appointment is not the challenge it used to be, when Stinkerbelle was more needy and more reliant on us, or as she grew and would cry with separation anxiety when one of us left. Now, we are able to explain what we are doing and why we are leaving, and the tears only happen when she is tired or hungry (or, sometimes, has missed time with BDH during a busy week).
The next step is for BDH and I to have a date night. It has been three and a half years since we have had a night out alone together. (I always laugh to myself when I meet new parents who are complaining about not getting out for SO LONG OMG IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS. Please. Try three YEARS.) Part of that is because we have no support system here, family or friends, to step in and babysit. Part of it has been because, with her issues and delays, we were unsure that the regular old neighbourhood teen babysitter would be a good fit for Stinkerbelle’s challenges, or that she would be able to understand fully what was going on. So family or friends would have been a better fit to babysit, if we had had them.
A large part of it is because we are homebodies, readily entertained here at home with computers and hobbies and videos and INTERNETS FOREVER.
But part of it is, we waited for so long to have this child in our lives, we just enjoy doing things WITH her. We go as a family to restaurants or out to places or events or to visit friends. We didn’t do a lot of things then that we can’t enjoy now as a family.
Except going out to a movie. We miss going to movies. We were big movie people, way back when. And it has been almost four years since we’ve been to the theatre, so we’re kind of looking forward to doing that again.
Way back when, before Stinkerbelle was a glimmer in anyone’s eye, before we were waiting to adopt, before all hopes of infertility treatment had failed, I made a promise: that if ever we were blessed to have a child, just one child, I would not complain. About anything. I would be grateful for the good providence that brought that child to us, and enjoy every moment, and let the tough stuff just roll off. I would take whatever came and remember that it is all good fortune, because so many people I know will never be able to experience ANY of it, the joys and the challenges, of parenthood. And for a long time, we believed we would be those people. So I would not complain about anything.
I think I have done pretty well, all things considered. But if I am totally honest, we have had precious little to complain about. We were totally ready to bring a child into our lives, and went in with our eyes completely open and prepared, some would say over-prepared, for whatever that child would bring us. And looking back, we were so unbelievably lucky to be united with such a wonderfully laid-back, funny, easygoing child. We didn’t have a lot of the challenges that a lot of adoptive parents do. We were incredibly fortunate, and blessed beyond our wildest dreams.
So, three and a half years passed pretty enjoyably, really. Not complaining has been mostly a non-issue.
And now it occurs to us, three and a half years later, that maybe it might be time to go out on a date again.
Stinkerbelle is independent enough now that, after she gets comfortable with a babysitter, she probably won’t notice much that we’re out for a few hours, and sociable enough that she will be chuffed to just have somebody NEW to play with. So… maybe dinner AND a movie. And we have a night out planned with Janna and Andrew in March that will be a real big time out for us.
But even once we get set on a sitter and her comfortable with us, I don’t think it will change things all that much, homebodies that we are. It’ll give us a little more flexibility, and we can take more opportunities to go out and do stuff that we didn’t before, like movies and Christmas parties and such. Maybe we’ll get out and JOIN groups and PLAN stuff and DO things, As People Do.
Or not. We’ll probably still have most of our fun at home with each other. (And some knitting. And THE INTERNETS.)
We’re enjoying this time that will pass so quickly with our daughter, so we’re still not prepared to miss TOO much of that. And we’d miss her, that kid we waited so long for, and the fun she brings to our life together.
But the siren song of the cinema IS calling to us. With a giant bag of popcorn. With REAL BUTTER OMG YES. And not having to do The Potty Tour of every bathroom within a mile’s radius of where we’re sitting. That might be nice.
Jan
24
BDH is taking a week’s vacation this week. He’s been sick, like we all have, for six weeks now, and it’s been a good five or six months since his last vacation. So he opted to take a week off and just rest and hang out.
One of the nice things is that, during this time, he gets the opportunity to get back in touch with what his daughter does in the course of a day. Being at work all day, five days a week most weeks, he gets what she does, on an intellectual level. Of course. But he doesn’t really get to experience what she does, or see the little things that I get to see but don’t mention, and perhaps take for granted.
Take swimming class, for example. Today was the first time in two years of swimming lessons that BDH has had the chance to see That Girl in swim class. He had not even been in the recreation centre before today. He just didn’t have the opportunity. But he got to sit and watch his girl paddle about — well, dunk underwater, mostly, because that is all she seems to want to do — and he really got a kick out of it.
I forget, sometimes, that these things are new and fun for him, because I see them all the time. And I forget that the little things that I take for granted may be the things that give him the greatest joy in a day with Stinkerbelle.
He has done the school run this week, and gotten to be the recipient of the joyous run-and-hug at the door that finishes each school day for Stinkerbelle. Tomorrow he’s going to get up with her and get her fed and ready for school, so I can have a sleep-in day. He’s going to sit in with me at a meeting with her developmental coordinator tomorrow. He is having breakfast with his best girl every day. And lunch. And playtime. We may even get out for a walk in the woods one day, if the weather cooperates.
I forget all the little things that make my day full and rewarding, that he gets to experience new on these days off. I think that, although he’d also love to be able to sleep in and play is online game and relax all day, he is enjoying his week as a stay-at-home dad.
It’s no week in Barbados, and no mistake. But he wouldn’t get as many kisses and hugs and moments of joy in a week in Barbados, either.
Jan
20
When I was living in Japan, being tall and athletic, I couldn’t buy clothes. Most conventional sizes stopped where I began, and certainly would never have been tall enough. So, because I needed clothes, I had to make my own.
Now, back in junior high school, I was not what you’d call a girly girl. And, to be fair, I am STILL not what anyone would call a girly girl. But back then, having no mom or similarly female frame of reference on which to base my ideas of what was feminine, I was not schooled so much in the finer arts of cooking and housekeeping and sewing.
So, when the time came for Home Ec class, I was so incredibly inept at sewing that by about the middle of term, my lovely Home Ec teacher recognized that sewing was going to be an exercise in frustration and failure for me, not to mention any machine I touched, and gently banned me from ever using the sewing machines again. (Cooking proved to be a lot more successful.)
Bearing this in mind, when I was in Japan, and needing clothes, I decided it was time to suck it up and learn, else I go naked through the train system of Osaka. So I sent home for my sewing machine to be shipped to me, and thus began my generally pleasant and mutually respectful relationship with my Singer.
The clothes I made were functional, but looking back, pretty awful. I bought remnants of cheap poly-cottons, and I knew nothing of lining and interfacing. But for the most part, my seams were straight, my zippers and buttonholes worked, and I looked relatively respectable from a distance.
When I came home from Japan, during the 30 or so hours of travel, I must have looked a ridiculous sight, schlepping through train station and airport, carting my faithful Singer in one hand and a fairly large stuffed toy duck in the other. The duck couldn’t fit anywhere else. And the sewing machine? I was not taking ANY chances shipping, and so carried it and stowed it and made sure it got home safely. It got a crack in the case, but otherwise arrived unharmed.
And then, it sat neglected for much of the last 20 years in closets in the various places I have lived.
I have taken it out, but very rarely. I was making real money, when I got home, so if I needed something I bought it. Sewing was not something I LOVED to do, like knitting. It was something I learned how to do and needed to do, but I didn’t love it. Occasionally, I made something like curtains, and planned and gathered fabric for a quilt for Stinkerbelle, and mended clothing and other items that needed it. But I never really loved it.
And, over the last 20 years, my machine has begun to show its neglect. It is still in good working order, but the once cream-coloured plastic bits of the machine — the case, the handle and some facing bits, the removable tray part on which you put your fabric — has now turned a dull gold-yellow colour from dust and age, and combined with the still-cream metal parts, gives it an oddly retro two-tone look.
But although I don’t love sewing, I do love that machine. And so, this year, I saw it sitting neglected in my closet and decided to use it once again.
Back in September, you may recall, I made a bag for Stinkerbelle to take to school to bring home all her crafts. I found an easy pattern online and whipped up a cute little bag in an afternoon. And I had fabric under my bed that I had purchased a few years back because it was totally up my alley but had never used. So, when at New Years I decided on a bunch of knitting projects, and I realized that I had no storage for them, I thought of that little bag.
I decided to make some knitting project and storage bags out of that fab fabric.
Sewing is not something I can do with Stinkerbelle around, what with irons and ironing boards and pins and moving machine parts, but during naptimes on the weekend I have managed to make a few.
They’re nothing fancy, and on close inspection the seams are pretty shaky and there’s an errant half-a-buttonhole where I began a buttonhole for a drawstring only to realize it has been over 20 years since I used the buttonhole feature and could not really remember how it was supposed to work. So I abandoned it mid-buttonhole. We’ll call that “a feature”.
Each one has handles to grab and go, and a drawstring to pull tight so as not to lose any balls of yarn or needles or whatnot. And they’re various sizes, so I can tote small projects out to keep me busy during Stinkerbelle’s dance class or store larger projects and their yarn like my large Weather Wrap throw blanket.
But the handles on some are slightly wonky, and the drawstring holes are a bit makeshift due to the buttonhole issue (I’ll practice that for next time). And they’re unlined poly-cotton which means they won’t last as long as a lined bag or stronger fabric would. But each one is a learning experience, and will do for the time being, and so I am quite pleased with them.
Perhaps in future I’ll invest in some thicker, stronger fabric, or, more likely, line the bags with other fabric. But for now, they’ll do the job.
Now, my problem is no longer where to store my stash of yarn and projects, but where to store my many bags of yarn.
Jan
17
Stinkerbelle is recovering from a fairly nasty chest cold. And while she does, we’re housebound, for the most part.
This is good. She needs the quiet time. She’s not been sleeping well, so she’s pretty tired, but also, whenever she gets active, it sets her to coughing pretty furiously. So we have been trying to keep things pretty low-key.
This means we’ve been trying to find quieter activities. We have watched A LOT of TV, mostly gentle things like Kipper and School House Rock. We’ve folded loads of laundry. We got out the purse and hair bows and costume bling that That Girl got for Xmas and spent some time getting GORGEOUS, DAHLING. And I have done more laps of the attic than I care to count, pulling Stinkerbelle and assorted stuffed pals around in the wagon she got for Xmas from her Auntie Tena and Uncle Randy.
But it’s hard, being quiet and stuck at home, for both of us.
A couple of days ago, Stinkerbelle had a pretty rough night, and so the next day she was feverish and tired and her sleep schedule was totally effed up. Consequently, we found ourselves at 8 pm with a little girl who had no intention of sleeping. So we thought we’d let her sit up with us and watch something on TV.
The problem? We were watching one of our favourite movies, Pirate Radio. Which, set in the 60s in a rebellious floating rock radio station, you may know is peppered with a lot of the more colourful language that a pair of potty mouths like BDH and especially me have been trying to censor around the small parrot we call Stinkerbelle, at least until we can teach her the concepts of “appropriate use” and “power of language”, which won’t be for a long while yet. So.
But, remote control in hand, we figured we could just skip past the more colourful moments and just enjoy the brilliant music and the fun of the movie. So we did. Well, you can’t skip ALL the cuss words and off-colour references. PARENTING FAIL. But That Girl was pretty lethargic and quiet, and mostly was in it for the snuggle time with Daddy, and kind of dozed a bit of the time. So we had a nice time and when it was over, she was plonked into bed with no argument and went right to sleep.
But that night, I made note of the mess that is our movie collection since our reorganization of the attic space. And yesterday, I thought it would be something quiet to do for Stinkerbelle and I to sort and organize our movies together. I could sort and shelve, and Stinkerbelle had piles of movies to stack up and use like big blocks. So that was fun. We completely reorganized our shelves of movies, into what I thought was a good personal system but most people would find completely unfathomable.
So that was good for a couple of hours of fun for That Girl, AND I tacked a project that has needed doing for quite a while. And we chatted and played and sang songs while we worked.
Stinkerbelle has finally given up singing Christmas songs, and for the last week or so has been singing her usual school songs and kids’ songs. Sometimes she just sings random snippets of tunes or little songs she’s made up. But for the last day or two, she’s been singing a little song over and over again. It’s not been one I recognized, but that’s nothing new. I often don’t clue into the songs she’s picked up at school until I hear it from the source — Stinkerbelle’s versions tend to be faithful in spirit but not so much in lyrical accuracy or tunefulness.
Yesterday she kept singing this song, though. And then she’d look to me and say “Now your turn, Mommy!” I couldn’t join in because I had no idea what it was. She was growing frustrated that I could not clue in.
And then, yesterday afternoon, I asked her what she wanted to watch. She kept saying something about “The Girl” but I had no idea what she was talking about. So I sat here and watched her walk over to the shelves of videos. She looked through the spines of the videos — she can’t read, remember — and eventually, on the fourth shelf, she pulled out a video and said “THIS ONE, Mommy!” and thrust it at me.
Not a Disney movie, or a cartoon, or one of the many kids’ movies we have in our collection. Oh no. Not my kid.
It was Pirate Radio.
And she started singing her little song. And suddenly, I clued in.
I put Pirate Radio in the DVD player, and watched as Stinkerbelle sat, enraptured, as one of the best, most joyous opening scenes in our movie collection unfolded, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s awesome deejay’s intro and the opening strains of The Kinks’ “All Day and All of the Night” burst from our speakers. And in time with the music and the people dancing through the opening sequence, Stinkerbelle suddenly started singing along and dancing for all she was worth, a little jig of joy around the room.
I stifled the tears of pride and joined her singing and doing my best worst 60s dance moves.
When the opening sequence was done and the song was over, she shouted “AGAIN MOMMY!”
We watched it over and over, maybe ten times or more.
So much for restfulness. It seems That Girl had some energy to burn. And that pretty much indicated she was recovered from her cold.
She’s got a bit of a cough still, and we’re keeping her out of swimming today until the meds she’s got have had a good kick at the ear infection she had brewing. One more day at home will be good, and then it’s back to school tomorrow.
But I am sure today will be a more energetic day. And probably there will be some 60s rock and roll to keep things interesting.
Jan
13
For some people, the glass is half full. Others find it is half empty. Some people are just happy to be offered a glass.
Stinkerbelle is sick.
HATE: She was up all night coughing and feverish.
LOVE: Her little voice is all squeaky and froggy and it’s so cute when she talks.
Stinkerbelle is sick, Part Deux.
HATE: She’s feeling poorly and just wants to lay on the sofa and watch TV.
LOVE: More knitting time for me!!
There’s snow in the forecast.
HATE: It sucks for those of us who have to go out and commute to work in it, and those of us who worry about those who commute in it.
LOVE: It gives us an excuse to stay in. For some it is time to recuperate. For others, it is time to be lumps of knitting, period-drama-watching laziness.
I have a Kobo but it is temperamental.
LOVE: When it works, I want to READ ALL THE BOOKS.
HATE: WHY WON’T YOU WORK FOR ME???
Temperamental Kobo, Part the Second.
LOVE: It is seriously cutting back my online time, which is good because the Interwebs have been annoying me lately.
HATE: WHY MUST YOU DIE WHEN I AM WAITING ON EMAIL/SURFING IMDB/LOOKING FOR PATTERNS??
I am getting up early and exercising.
LOVE: It’s good for me!
HATE: OMG WAKING UP. NOT MY BEST THING.
I am a super online bargain shopper who got several pairs of slippers for myself and Stinkerbelle for around $6 apiece.
LOVE: I have warm feet during the day. Stinkerbelle has warm feet at night because she sleeps in hers, so that means fewer 3 AM wake up calls to cover her up.
HATE: Mine are slip ons and because one of my feet is about a size smaller than the other, I am forever blowing a shoe walking up or down the stairs. My slippers shall kill me. DEATH BY SLIPPER IT SHALL BE.
I have new glasses.
HATE: I am not getting used to them, and feel like I am drunk all the time, without the fun party beforehand.
LOVE: They cover up the embarrassing blemish on my nose and the raccoon-eyes caused by lack of sleep.
I got 4 tins of David’s Tea for Xmas.
LOVE: So delicious.
HATE: OMG DAVIDS TEA Y U NO CHEAPER.
Jan
11
Okay, so. Guess who’s sick again?
NOT ME. But, BDH has bronchitis. AND post-bronchitis, which means when he was sick at Xmas? THAT was bronchitis. And then he got better. And now he has post-bronchitis. But since getting better, while suffering with post-bronchitis, he’s managed to get bronchitis AGAIN. So, both bronchitis AND post-bronchitis. AT THE SAME TIME.
NICE. That takes a special gift, that does.
And, this afternoon, guess who started coughing?
NOT ME. But Stinkerbelle’s nap was punctuated with coughs, and she’s been coughing ever more steadily since then. TWO DAYS BACK in school, and ALREADY she’s come home sick. Or picked up Daddy’s bronchitis. Whatever.
EXCELLENT. I expect the next few nights are going to be GREAT FUN.
So, who’s next in line, do you think? The one who’s gotten sick every other week since September? The one who’s got asthma and is already prone to these sorts of things? The one who’s just gotten over the whole viral nastiness at Christmas?
SICKNESS GODS, I HATE YOU.
Hopefully I shall dodge this bullet, and avoid getting whatever it is these two have.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA BWAH HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAAAAA.
No, I am not laughing AT you, sickness gods. I am laughing NEAR you. Would I laugh at you? After all, we’ve become SO CLOSE this year.
You bastards.
Jan
9
Today is the first day back to school for the kids in our area. What this means for us is that it was the first day back to school for Stinkerbelle, as well as the week wherein all her rec programs resume. We are resuming our regularly scheduled programming.
We can now exhale.
I had forgotten how much we like a schedule around here. Not just me, mind you — although I have expounded repeatedly on the subject, I know — but That Girl as well. She loves to know what is coming up for her day, and to have things to look forward to, and to plan to see people. That last part is especially important for her. She has been a very sociable child, since her very earliest days, apparently, and she remains so. She loves to see people and have kids to play with and have friends to talk to.
I think the holidays was hard for her. She was sick, like we all were, and so she was tired and needed a lot of sleep and generally didn’t mind laying around or watching TV or whatever during the holidays. FOR A WHILE, anyway. But she was also the quickest of all of us to recover and consequently, she was reaching OMG SO BORED status by about New Year’s Day. And it took a little longer for her parental units to be back up to fighting trim in that time, so we were unable to or unwilling to do a lot of activities we normally would do to keep her busy and burning energy, like going outside or whatever. Sure, we shovelled the drive and walk and the neighbour’s drive a few times, and we walked in the woods once, and we played in the snow a couple of times (or, to be honest, she played and I watched), but it was just not enough, often enough, to burn off the energy of a very busy three-year-old.
So she was bored. And thus EXTREMELY HAPPY to be back in school today.
I was glad to see her go back, too. I hate seeing her bored and unhappy, and school just pushes all the kid’s contentment buttons. She gets to play with friends, and talk to other people, and run around in the gym, and she comes home aglow and buzzing with excitement about what happened during her morning. So that was lovely.
And for me? Structure returns to my day. A schedule is back in place around which I can plan. THIS IS GOOD.
I got work done, and did some chores that needed doing, and had some tasks I was able to catch up on. I had time to have a pot of tea. I started thinking of the week stretching out before me and making plans. And this makes me contented. I like knowing what hours I have to do what tasks. I like having plans and accomplishing things on my list.
Don’t get me wrong — hours of knitting and watching Lark Rise to Candleford as I have had over the last two weeks has been lovely. I have enjoyed it. But if you’re going to have hours of leisure, you want to be well enough to enjoy it, and have it be part of everyone’s plan.
And while I have enjoyed knitting and TV time, that is not ALL I want to do, ALL THE TIME. Even during time off, I also like to get things done, and on my schedule. MY schedule. I am sure several of you can relate to the emphasis — it is good to have a measure of control over your day, and to dictate what you will do during that day, and when. When you are stuck at home for a longish period of time, or have no schedule to meet, or have someone else relying on you to meet their needs or making the plans, it may be fine — for a day or two, even a week if you are, say, on a beach in Barbados or whatever. But when you are at home, it gets old after a little while. After that, it’s a pain.
But we are back in our routine. We are well again (for the time being… except for BDH, who is still suffering) and glad to be getting out and doing things. We have places to go and people to see and things to do.
We can exhale, and it is not a cough or a yawn or a sigh of frustration.
Jan
4
There’s a lot about three-and-a-half that will drive you crazy. The endless drama. The saucy talk. The being-contrary-because-I-can. The endless WHYs and the random HOWs. And there are days when I think THREE = NOT MY FAVOURITE.
But then, to remind you of how cool this age can be, you have days like today.
My child, with her speech delays and oral motor issues, can be a challenge even without all the three-and-a-half stuff going on. Even being her most pleasant, sweetest, funniest self, spending an hour and a half on a meal can drive you mental. Telling her not to do something and having her immediately go right ahead and do it because she had NO IDEA WHAT YOU SAID can make even the most patient parent lose it.
But today, that stuff was not in the house. She was almost, ALMOST, like what I know children of her age to be. And it was lovely.
With her extremely limited food options and incapacity to cope with new foods, when she a) says she wants to try to eat something, and 2) says she likes it and wants more, you learn to go with it. So, today we did.
For New Years, we bought some assorted sweets from the grocery store bakery. We had leftovers the next day that we put out on a tray, and as a matter of habit, as I do with anything new, I asked Stinkerbelle if she would like to try a cookie. It was a macaroon, dipped in a little chocolate.
I thought no way, there’s no way she’s going to want to try it, and certainly if she does there’s no way she’s going to be able to cope with the stickiness and the chewiness and the texture of strands of coconut.
She tried it. She liked it.
SHE ATE THREE.
So I was all DUDE YOU LIKE THESE? WE WILL HAVE THEM ALL. THE. TIME.
So I got out a cookbook and found a recipe for macaroons. And I said to her today, we will make some of those cookies. My kid loves the mixer, and loves to participate in baking. So I thought we’d run to the grocery store, get what we needed for the week and for the macaroons, and then we’d do a little baking together.
It was the only time I have ever seen my child be impatient at the store (other than when she’s sick). She LOVES the grocery store and talking to everyone and being out and about. But not today. Today she was all about going home and making cookies. All through the store she politely complained that it was time to go home. And she told anyone she encountered that we had to go home and use the mixer.
So we did.
We came home, and got everything ready. (The recipe for macaroons is so simple, it doesn’t need a mixer — it can be done easily with a spoon and a bowl. So I had to promise we’d make something else after naptime.) And I cannot tell you the pleasure I took from the simple act of making these cookies. Standing there in my kitchen with That Girl on a chair beside the counter, letting her pour ingredients in and stir things. Squatting down together in front of the oven to watch as cookies bake. Having the give and take of a conversation in which she understands what is going on, and can identify things and sounds and tastes.
And the best part of all, having her sit at the table and eat something we baked. Actually ENJOY it. No complaining, no resisting, no flailing, no crying. Just eating and enjoying.
It was lovely.
Sure, she flung (flinged? flang?) coconut all over the counter with her spoon. And sure, she knocked a glass of orange juice everywhere in her excitement. But those are things you expect when cooking and eating with a three year old.
It’s when you make things time and time and time again, and offer them to her, and have her reject them out of hand, that it begins to get a bit wearing. It’s when you find yourself making three separate meals sometimes so that everyone in the house is happy that it’s a challenge. It’s when you have a very limited number of options of what she will eat and you worry about how to get more nutrition into her diet that it gets challenging. It’s when you realize that she has never eaten a fresh uncooked vegetable, or never eaten an apple, or most other fresh fruit, and that it’s been days since you can remember if she has eaten vegetables in her meals that you begin to feel like a failure. And you wonder if she will ever, ever be like other kids, or if it will always be a struggle.
So the simple act of making something together and happily eating what we made can seem huge. Monumental. It makes for a really good day.
And the bonus? Finding one more way my kid is like me — liking coconut — one more thing we share, is so much fun. As an adoptive parent, you get used to the idea that your kid is not like you, biologically, so you can’t say “we have the same eyes/nose/toes/whatever”. So you find ways in which you ARE alike and celebrate the hell out of them.
There are going to be a lot of macaroons in our future. That’s good. The future is looking bright. And sticky. And chewy.
Jan
2
It’s a new year, in case you’ve been sleeping or, say, time travelling these past few days.
The whole New Year thing has lost its magic for me in recent years. Nobody is ever transformed instantly with the stroke of 12 and the dawn of a new day, but as you grow up, you wait for that click-over and think “now things will be DIFFERENT”. They never are, and as you grow older, you begin to come to terms with that. So we have stopped with the hoopla of New Years Eve and just get on with it.
That’s not to say we don’t do anything to mark the beginning of a new year. It’s just that we’re no longer about dressing up and going out and drinking and partying and all that. We prefer to spend our New Year’s Eve/Day much more quietly. Some years we watch a movie and eat tasty noms. Some years we go to bed early but make a big meal for New Year’s Day. This year, we spent a very relaxed evening with Janna and Andrew, with way more food than should be allowed by law. And that was nice. So much so, we’re already all WE SHOULD DO THIS AGAIN NEXT YEAR.
I’m also finding, as I grow older, that I no longer feel compelled to make New Year’s Resolutions. Mostly this is because they almost always set you up to fail. Like I said, nobody can change overnight, and I think people make these grand resolutions in the hazy light of a dying year with the hope that some magic will make things different come the dawn. And it never works that way.
Instead, I find myself using the new year as a first step on a road to making some changes in my life, but changes that usually take much more planning or much more deliberately slow progress than a grand pronouncement will allow. I set myself off on the path to making something different. Usually, the path has a number of steps. The change is incremental. And I find that makes it much, much easier to succeed.
That’s the thing about goals: they need to measurable and achievable.
When I was a teacher, I learned to set people up to succeed, even if it was simply in small ways to begin with. People like to succeed, and it’s good for your progress if you do every now and again. So I try now to build that “need to succeed” into these goals for myself. I try to set myself smaller goals, sometimes as a way to make larger goals happen, but sometimes not. Sometimes the smaller goals are enough. I set myself some challenges, usually incremental things that I can do maybe weekly or monthly, so that each increment competed is a success.
So, what am I going to do this year to make some changes in my life, or in the lives of others, or both?
We’ve also got some Very Important Life Stuff to get done, and some other little changes we’d like to make around here, so we need to set out some goals and plans and get them done.
OMG YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS??? MORE LISTS! ::happy clap!::
I am sure there are other things to try to do, things I have forgotten. But that’s a good start. A good start and a good plan for what I hope will be a good year.
Dec
28
The holidays are over. It was not the fantastic Christmas we had hoped for when the whole getting-ready-for-the-Christmas-season thing began, what with being sick and exhausted for most of December and all. But it was good. It was a very good Christmas.
Dec
22
Still sick. And part of being sick for me is being tired, and weepy and sentimental. Which is not such a bad thing, really, in a season of tug-at-the-heartstrings sentimental movies and shows and songs.
I really like Christmas, and I really like Tim Minchin. So I really, really like this lovely, sweet song. It’s one of my favourites, especially so with a little girl of my own now.
Dec
14
If you’ve been looking for me, either here or to see what cookies I’ve made recently, I’ve been hibernating.
It seems that cold I got 6 weeks ago has blossomed into a lovely viral infection. So, for days now I have been trying to stay in the house, trying to rest but mostly coughing my brains out. Coughing until I almost throw up coughing.
And I have been so very tired. When I am tired, really exhausted, my natural instinct is to cry. Yesterday, I woke up, and after a sleepless night of painful coughing, combined with a ringing in my head and hormones to beat the band, I sat down at the kitchen table and cried. Cried and cried and cried.
So you know I am pretty tired.
Off to the clinic today, where antibiotics and probiotic yogurt and nasal spray have been prescribed. I am glad to hear it is not pneumonia or bronchitis, both of which have been making the rounds at Stinkerbelle’s preschool.
And so, I leave you now, to climb into bed and sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. Possibly cough my brains out, but hopefully the little antibiotics are doing battle and beating the crap out of whatever is bugging my lungs.
See you on the flip side. Or maybe later in the week. It’s hard to say.
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