Adjusting Expectations

One piece of advice my mom had for me when my son was born: "Don't be too fastidious". That is to say, don't have expectations of the house being in perfect shape all the time now that I have a kid.

She knows what she's talking about. As a kid, I rarely cleaned up as I went. It wasn't on purpose. It just did not occur to me, ever, to clean up anything until I was asked. Kids don't have radars for work that needs doing, and in fact I think they have selective filters. My parents would get home and say to my siblings and me, sprawled on the couch, "didn't you NOTICE the breakfast dishes still on the table when you came home from school?"

Kid Me: Too busy reading Archie Comics

When it was time to clean my room, no fooling, once Kid Me actually brought up a leaf rake to first bring everything into a pile in the middle of the room. Somehow, if the floor was clean save for one giant heap, it seemed more manageable to go through.

As I got older, though, I realized that these giant clean-ups due to procrastination were for chumps. It's much easier to clean as you go than to spend half of Saturday digging yourself out.
So now Adult Me much prefers the relaxing feeling of a clean and organized environment, and I could achieve that with a little effort and maintenance.

Until now.

 Small children are, metaphorically speaking, the plows that put snow back in your driveway after you've shoveled. Everything gets pulled off and out of its place. Such curiosity. Such mayhem. And he's not even officially walking yet. I know, don't tell me. It's gonna get worse. 

Even the baby book I have informs moms of mobile babies and toddlers to accept the mess at this point, embrace it even, because it would be a lesson in futility to constantly follow after your kid and try to clean up (not to mention, not much fun).

But, but, but, I protest! If I let my guard down for even a moment, this is what would happen:

So it's time to set limits but adjust my expectations, lest I become a humourless all-day cleaning machine. He's gotta be able to check things out a bit. And hey! I have to have my own time too, right? So leave the books there on the floor for now! I'm not in leaf rake territory just yet.

In the meantime, I remind myself that the mess won't be forever. I model 'clean up!' for my son, singing the song (to make it fun, or something) as we put blocks back in the bucket, in the aim that he'll eventually be able to clean up after his adventures. Even if it's never on his radar.

In fact, my dear boy already puts things in the garbage for us. This includes my husband's watch, mind you, but it's a start.

Toys that Make the Noise

"Don't buy the toys that make the noise." -Denis Leary

I got a Busy Ball Popper from the local consignment store. The balls go down the track and pop out the top while silly music plays. Giggles guaranteed, apparently. Sounds neat. Figured it'd be something my son could have some fun with. It was for 9 months and up, so it was a timely purchase as well.

Well. Have you heard this thing? It sounds like a hootin' and hollerin' musical hairdryer on full blast. Plus, it shoots the balls all over the room. "Popper", my foot. Cannon, more like.

Also, the "Busy" in its name should have tipped me off as a warning sign. I should've known from my substitute teaching days that "busy" can be code for "wild like a baboon". But then, I guess "Wild-Like-a-Baboon Ball Cannon" may not sell as well. My first thought was that I paid money for something that makes a racket and a mess. I already have someone that does that for free!

So, at first, Sonny boy was freaked out by it and tended to come crashing down while trying to pull himself up on it more than anything else. Meanwhile, half the balls bounced down into the basement and I had to go get them. The only one who was having fun was the little voice going 'yippee! Hooray!" every time the plunger was pushed.

Sonny has figured it out now, though, and you know what, he actually really likes it. It's one of his favourites, and the other babies who come over tend to love it, too. Go figure. I have come to find him seated in front of it, pushing the plunger and giving babbling lectures to each ball as he puts it down the chute. Plus he can stuff big Legos in there, which the cannon popper shoots out as well. Good Times!

All the same, I think I'm going to see if I can maybe put masking tape over the speaker or something.  When my mom calls, she says it sounds like I'm living in a nut house.

I think it's one of those toys people only get as gifts from people who won't be living in the house with it. Surely no one would buy it for their own house... well, not on purpose, anyway.

"...Like you're living in a nut house" (Click to Enlarge)

Adorable At First...

I remember a few months ago the first time my little boy crawled up to me, grabbed on to my pant legs and pulled himself to standing.

I looked down into his big brown eyes with pride, amazement and delight. My big boy was getting so strong! He would be walking soon, I remarked to myself. Aww, he's showing me that he wants to be with me. I melted a bit at that thought. I'm even pretty sure I called my husband over to witness this fantastic milestone in our son's development.

It's still pretty cute, but I admit my reaction isn't always the same a few months and hundreds of pant-leg climbs later.

Click to Enlarge

This is Why We Don't Co-Sleep

I don't know how people can co-sleep with their kids.

I know a lot of people do it successfully and love it, but I don't know how they do it.

We had the little tyke in our room in a bassinet for the first few months, and while convenient and comforting in many ways, it was certainly not conducive to good sleep. We would leap into action at the tiniest gurgle. So he's pretty much had his own space to sleep from early on.

Recently, our little guy was a bit feverish and feeling out of sorts. We were in a hotel away from home, so we thought we'd let him sleep with us. Maybe having us near him would be reassuring for him, we thought.

I guess it worked, because by morning (and by "morning", I mean "3:30 in the morning"), he was all better.

Click to Enlarge

Ah well. It was worth a try. I guess co-sleeping just isn't for everyone.

Shackwacky

Well, we're officially in the depths of winter. Though it hasn't been as brutal as other winters have been, it's still enough sometimes to affect my motivation to get outside.

I always wanted to make sure I got out with my baby. I wanted to test the limits of where we could go together. I didn't want to be housebound! The baby was to come along with us on our adventures, and he wouldn't be an excuse to become recluses.

That's still my goal. But, realistically, sometimes I have big plans, then I look out the window. Then I consider my options.

Option 1: Going out.

Click to Enlarge

Option 2: 

Hard to argue with that. So I end up deferring my plans to another day.


So sometimes I wonder if I'll spend half the winter inside just because it is apparently too much of an ordeal to go out.

But then, not long ago we had some bad weather. School-bus-cancelling bad weather! Freezing rain, etc.! And it lasted for a few days. The first day or so I was very content to stay inside, get stuff done and have quality time with the little papoute.

By day 2, though, I was shackwacky. So was Kiddo. So after a few hours following him around as he flung things out of drawers and climbed my pant legs and whatnot, I decided we were getting out of the house if we had to tunnel out. It was Gymboree or bust.

And, as it turns out, there was a surprisingly good turnout at the Gymboree class. Even with the bad weather. Apparently I wasn't the only parent who had gone shackwacky. The instructor just thought we were all really dedicated.

So maybe I'm not at risk of becoming a recluse after all.

10 Months is a Cool Age

You know how they say that babies will bypass the toy and play with the box it came in?

Keep that in mind as you take this quiz I have for you.

Question 1:

The answer is 'c'! The grating is the perfect size for little fingers. I figure he's interpreted "NO, not for Owen" as "Thar be treasure in there if ye kin get the cover off."

Question 2:

The answer, again, is 'c'! Bath time is officially over when there is no water left in the tub.

Question 3:

Did you pick 'c'? Right again! You never know what will be most appealing to your curious kid.

In all, 10 months is a pretty cool age. My son's excitement for...  well, pretty much everything, is contagious, especially as it becomes evident that he is starting to grasp how the world works.

WOW! The train moves if I put a cube in the caboose! 
WOW! If I chuck it on the floor, Mum picks it up! Whoa, she did it again! Sucker.
WOW! You were under the blanket! I totally knew that.

I'm also impressed by the effort he is willing to make in order to make these discoveries.  I see him huff and puff and grunt as he crawls through the base of the kitchen table, for no apparent reason but to get to the other side. Dude, go around. I'm tired just watching him. If only he could save some of that enthusiasm for when he's 15.

It's fun to get down on the floor with him, though, and discover the world alongside him with new eyes. Opening cupboards. Blanket rides through the kitchen. Suspenseful games of Peekaboo.

Once again, though, he often has his own agenda. I'll set up a big ol' discovery scenario for him on the floor with different-sized plastic containers and big spoons (as suggested by the baby books), and he'll go right by them in delighted pursuit of the heating vent cover. Again. So now what; do I have to wash all these Tupperwares I took out?

And then there are the times I'll get all carried away, getting in full goof-mode, only to discover he's moved on to something else and I'm playing baby games by myself.

Parlez-Vous Français?

I think having a kid will finally motivate me to keep the New Year's Resolution I've been making for years! That resolution is to finally become (more or less) fluent in French.

I have many reasons why I've always want to improve my French, and maybe should have by now; I have French-Canadian heritage on my dad's side, I live in the very bilingual city of Ottawa, and I'm married to a francophone whose entire family speaks only French (well, most of 'em).

What does this all have to do with having a kid? Let me explain.

Though my French is pretty good, there was always a 'but' between me and my goal.

Usually that 'but' was 'not getting quite enough good practice', since it had to be more by decision than necessity.
Practicing in the real world is tough, as other native English speakers can attest, because so many French-Canadians are bilingual. Take Montreal, for instance. Once they'd hear my Anglophone accent, they'd switch to English. I can remember I'd be all psyched up to try it out at a restaurant:

Server: Bonjour!
Me: Bonjour!
Server: Smoking or non?

Argh. Busted with only one word!

More "BUT"s...

I took courses and language programs and even lived in a French-speaking community for three years, BUT I worked and mostly socialized in English. I did learn a lot about the culture and become excellent at ordering a single-double at Tim Horton's, mind you.

I even had a colleague that a friend and I would meet on Sundays for what we called "Parlez-Vous Français" brunch, BUT soon we became friends and had too much to chat about to muddle around practicing French. Foiled again.

Now I have my hubby as a real-life potential French tutor to practice with. BUT (there's that word again), we would practice for a while and then run out of steam. It is out of one's comfort zone, after all. Plus, it felt more like we were playing a game than conversing. "Next, let's do PIG LATIN for an hour! Ease-play ass-pay the etchup-kay! Har har."

So while I improved a lot over the years, I never quite had the real push to get to where I want to be. Yet.

So this year, daily practice. No more excuses.

Why?

Because my little boy will be learning French, both from my husband and likely in school. He's going to start talking before long, and HE is going to be bilingual. And currently, when I spend time in French-speaking environments (e.g., at the in-laws'), I can keep up a half-decent conversation, but I search for my words and make mistakes. Plus, once the conversation gets lively and slang-filled (which is pretty much all the time), half of it goes over my head:

This is not the French they taught us in school! (click to enlarge)

And there's no way I'm gonna let my little baby boy grow up to laugh along with everyone else and translate for me at parties!


So now I have real motivation. Kids-- They can make you more accountable to yourself.