Stir In Some Guilt

Last night my kids tried some mango at a neighbour's house. "Do they like mango?" she asked. I shamefully admitted that I didn't know. The last time I gave them mango was when they were eating pureed baby food. And, I might add, it was homemade pureed baby food. So, apparently, for the first 6 months of my babies' lives I pay special attention to what they eat. I make sure they are getting a variety of flavours, textures, nutrients, etc. I am so diligent that I make my own food. Then, as soon as they start solids, they are stuck eating what I eat which is not even an approximation of what Canada's Food Guide would suggest for a healthy diet.

I freaked out on my sister when she offered my firstborn a cheesie at 6 months. Now, I count cheesies as a serving of dairy. Chips? Aren't those the same as potatoes? As for mangoes, well, that would require serving real fruit. And exotic fruit, to boot. We eat apples and bananas here.

But if I used to offer such an eclectic variety of fruits and vegetables, there's no reason I can't go back. Especially given my Martha Stewart ambitions (http://marthastewartme.blogspot.com/).

So instead of serving snacks that come complete with a dose of guilt, I am going to offer my picky toddlers such an array of fresh, healthy food as to erase the very memory of chips and chocolate. And the next time somebody asks if my kids like mango, I will answer with confidence. "Mango? Oh yes, they love it!"

Don't Waste the Sun

I was re-reading some of my posts, and this one made me think. (Originally posted January, 2011)

Today I asked Hannah to open the curtains in the dining room and then to turn off the lights. "Why?", she asked, in keeping with her constant need to question every utterance, sight, thought, fleeting feelings, etc.

"Well," I answered, "We don't want to waste the lights. So if we open the curtains, we can let the sun in and then we won't need to have the lights on."

She thought for a minute, and then replied, "But we don't want to waste the sun!"

I started to explain the concept of renewable resources, but then decided simply to agree with her. Don't waste the sun. It sounds like good advice, in its own right.

And the Oscar Goes To...

Right now, Hannah is recovering on the couch from a grave injury to her foot. It is a very serious injury which has her doubled over in pain - sometimes. When I picked her up from the babysitter's house, she needed a kleenex. Her injury was so severe she could only partially hobble into the house, bent over at the waist. It caused her to moan extensively. I asked to see it, but was unable to as it was completely hidden from view under a very small bandaid.

We made our way extremely slowly to the car. The car ride home was filled with such torturous sounds as to suggest some sort of amputation occurring in the backseat. I wasn't sure she was going to make it. By the  time we pulled in our driveway, Hannah was barely coherent. She asked for her blanket, but requested not to be removed from the vehicle. The thought of moving was just too much. When I suggested she should come inside and snuggle with her blanket on the comfort of the couch, she reluctantly agreed. But, oh, the short trip to the door was excruciating! This surface scrape on the top of her foot somehow made it impossible for her to straighten her body. So she limped, still hunched over at the waist, all the way to the couch, whimpering and moaning intermittently.

I was just putting some chips and dip out on the counter when Hannah appeared at my side. Standing up straight! And on her tippy toes to boot. Hallelujah! She was healed... until we finished our ultra-healthy snack. Then she made her cautious way back to the couch where she remains currently.

Oh, wait. It looks like she's up again. With no visible sign of her injury causing any further distress. However, I'm sure some of her symptoms will return when her dad comes home. Or when Dora ends.

Abducting a Cat

After dinner tonight, Hannah convinced me to go to the park "just for a little bit". I agreed, although at first I said no because a) I had yet to clean up dinner; b) it was bath night and getting late; c) Jacob was not wearing any pants.

Hannah replied that I could clean up after the park, then we could still have baths, and she would personally run upstairs and get Jacob a new pair of pants. Hard to refuse logic like that. So off we went.

While at the park (a good plan of Hannah's, I might add - the weather was perfect and both kids were having so much fun), a cat ran past us through the grass. "Look, a cat!" I exclaimed (because although we have 3 of our own, cats outside are very interesting to my kids). Then I looked again. "Is that Stryder?"

Stryder is one of our very-much-indoor cats who loves to escape every time the door opens. Usually he makes it to the edge of the porch or sometimes onto the grass right beside the deck before he is scooped up and tossed gently (always gently) back into the house. The park is very far from our house, for a cat who has never been more than 10 feet away from the nearest door.

I went over for a closer look. He meowed like he knew me. I picked him up. Yup, right size and weight. Same facial expressions. Exact colouring. He must have escaped and followed us here! Holy crap. I had to get him home!

I scooped up the cat, encouraged my children to hurry back onto bikes and into strollers so we could bring our wayward feline home. Filled with a sense of urgency that matched my own, they eagerly abandoned the park and prepared to leave. The cat, however, didn't want to leave. He began to resist me. I had noticed his sharp claws so was reluctant to allow him to struggle too much. Carrying a cat in one hand, while pushing an umbroller with the other, doesn't really work. Especially when the cat really wants down.

I urged Hannah on, "Don't stop! Keep moving. I'm going to drop Stryder." And I did. Several times. I also almost lost Jacob every time I had to let go of the stroller to regain my grip on the cat. He veered off onto the grass, onto driveways, and once right toward the road. This wasn't working. At all. One of my neighbours was getting his mail so I tried to solicit his help. He politely declined and looked at me funny. Then took the long way home. Eventually I had to put the cat down. I decided to check the house first to ensure Stryder was indeed missing and then go back for him if need be.

Upon entering the house, Hannah immediately started counting the cats. "Here's Pekoe. That's one. There's Vader. That's two. Oh no, where's Stryder?"

It really was Stryder. And I left him under someone's van 20 houses away. Before going back out, I decided to feed the cats in case Stryder was simply hiding. I dumped the food in. Pekoe came sauntering down. Then Vader. And, miracle of all miracles, then Stryder.

I hope no one (other than my neighbour who now thinks I'm insane) saw me carrying that cat. I hope its real owners weren't watching. The really sad part is: I think I knew it wasn't Stryder. This cat had too much brown in its fur and its claws were really long when I had just cut Stryder's. Yet, still, I felt compelled to make a spectacle of myself just in case.