Love You a Little Harder

At night, when I tuck you in, I hold you a little longer
I keep on kissing your cheeks, your hair, your hands, because
Right now, I love you a little harder

In the morning, when I brush your hair, I take a little longer
I want these kinds of moments to last forever, because
I have no way of knowing how many more there may be

When we read a story, play tea party, or share a snack
I can't stop staring at you
When you laugh, when you sing, even when you cry
I want to memorize the feeling
When I hold your hand...
I find it hard to let go

If I hug you a little tighter
If I cuddle with you a little longer
If I just want a little bit more
Of everything

It's because, right now,
I love you a little harder

Toddler No Longer

This blog originated with posts about trying to toilet train a daughter who wouldn't go near the toilet and who responded to the suggestion of underwear as one might respond to sampling toxic chemicals. It detailed escapades like chasing a half-naked child around the backyard while the neighboured looked on with amused interest. But that toddler is all grown up now. For starters, she's now five and a half (and about as tall as your average nine year-old). And then there's the fact that last night, while playing a game where she describes a shape and I have to guess what it is, she said this:

It has no sides and no vertices.

Vertices!?! "How the heck do you know what vertices are?" I asked.

Jacob quickly chastised me for swearing (heck) before Hannah patiently explained that vertices are corners. It's a bit disconcerting to hear your baby use the word vertices so casually.

What's next? Translating Latin texts?

The Tooth Fairy: A Few Concerns

Recently I was talking to Hannah about the fact that she will soon start losing some of her baby teeth. Naturally, this led to a discussion about the tooth fairy, and Hannah raised some fairly legitimate concerns.

1. If I put my teeth in the pretty box I decorated for them, the tooth fairy might take the box. 
2. If I put the teeth I want to keep in the pretty box, and the ones she's allowed to take under my pillow, she might still find the box with the other teeth and take it. Then she would have the teeth I wanted to keep.
3. What if, when the tooth fairy comes in, I am sleeping with my mouth open? Then, she might take the teeth out my mouth!
4. What if I wake up when she's in my room? Then I would be really scared and scream. And that might scare her too.

These concerns create a real dilemma for Hannah. In the end, she might just leave her teeth in the bathroom to avoid any confusion.

Dear Jacob,

I posted this on facebook a few minutes ago...

Jacob just attempted his first solo attempt at doing #2 on the toilet. When he began calling to me excitedly to say he was going poo on the potty I was excited too. Until I entered the bathroom. Then I performed an academy-award winning acting job of keeping my face entirely neutral while congratulating him, disguising my horror and desire to throw-up as I assessed the poo all OVER the toilet, down the sides, on the floor, covering his legs, etc. But, as he pointed out, there was none in his pull-up! 18 wipes later, 6 paper towels, lots of cleaning product, and a bath, he is one proud boy. And I still have to give him the nerds I promised for this amazing feat.

I'm sorry.

Love,
Mom

Hannah's Manual

I've often heard people lament the fact that newborns do not come with a manual. Recently, I thought about what Hannah's would have said if she'd been born with one attached. I think parts of it would read something like this:

I want you to remember what you are thinking right now as you gaze upon my precious sleeping face. I know, I look so tranquil. But this will pass. Before you have a chance to fully appreciate this stage in my life, I will learn to talk. And to manipulate the way I talk in order to get what I want. I will whine. A lot. Even when I'm five and you think I'm much too old for it. I will also pick up the nuances of what you consider to be "teenager-ish" attitude and employ them while still in kindergarten. This will annoy you a lot which is why I want to you to remember how sweet I look right now.

I will be a bit shy. Okay, for a little while I will be so shy that strangers will wonder if I can talk at all. Loud noises will startle me. When I'm a bit older, you will discover that merely opening a can of pop is enough to wake me from a deep sleep and that ripping a piece of paper in my presence has the power to reduce me to tears. Even though I will eventually make more noise than you ever thought possible, and sometimes in the presence of strangers, I will continue to be sensitive to noise. And anything slightly scary. Like Swiper the Fox on Dora. He is so disturbing that I will need to leave the room whenever he appears. So encourage me to be brave, but be patient when I'm not.

When I sleep when my arms raised above my head in a pose of utter relaxation, it will be hard for you to imagine that as I get older I will often reside on the edge of panic. If I can't get my shoes on, I will become so frustrated that I will essentially have a full meltdown because why won't they just go on?  You will tell me to relax but how can I relax when life just won't work? Oh, and about the whole panic thing, I should warn you about my reactions to minor injuries. It will be a bit dramatic, but I assure you I feel entirely justified about my responses. And when I say I can't help it, I really mean it. I do want comfort, but I don't want you to touch me while it's happening. I will accept hugs about an hour after the fact, though.

Right now, the biggest thing I need is love. That won't change. But it might get harder. There will be times you will look at me and be overcome with how much you love me and there will also be times when love isn't the first emotion that comes to mind. I can not describe the person I will eventually become, but I will always be your daughter. And your baby. Even when I'm not speaking to you because I think your ideas about a curfew are ridiculous.

The Unanswerable Why

Jacob, like most toddlers, is going through the "why" stage. I've witnessed other children in this stage; in fact, I must have gone through it with Hannah. But Jacob has taken it to a level that is nothing short of impressive. He can stretch the original why along a tangent so long that it's hard to believe each question is actually connected to the one that preceded it.

A sample (but even it won't do justice to a real conversation - I really just can't remember all of it):

Jacob: Why does the floor have a hole in it?
Me: Because it's an old house.
J: Why is it old?
Me: It was built a long time ago.
J: Why was it built a long time ago?
Me: That's just when the builders decided to build it.
J: Why did they decide to build it?
Me: Someone needed a house.
J: Why did someone needed a house?
Me: So they would have somewhere to live.
J: Why did they want a house with a hole in it?
Me: It didn't have a hole in it then.
J: Why didn't it have a hole in it then?
Me: Because it was new.
J: Why was it new?

And on and on and on. You get the general idea.

The ones I love though stem from misunderstandings. Such as:

Me (reading a story about ducks watching the geese fly south): The ducks watched their long-necked neighbours take off for the winter.
J: Why did they take off their necks?
Me: No, they watched them take off, like fly, like how a plane takes off. They watched them take off and fly away.
J: But why did they have to take their necks off first?

Public Bathroom Etiquette

Warning: this post contains explicit references to bodily functions.

The other night we went out to dinner as a family. As per usual, Hannah needed to use the bathroom (she likes to check out public bathrooms). This one happened to be pretty full and as soon as she sat down I began to cringe for the sake of the other occupants. Within seconds, Hannah announced she had to poo; then, she began grunting with theatrical force. Gripping the wheel-chair accessible bar located beside the toilet, she informed the room at large, "If I hold this bar, I can push even harder." More grunting. I tried politely to convince her to keep it down, but she didn't understand my implied rationale. Instead, she continued with her commentary by stating, "Now, I just have to shake until a piece falls out."

Enjoy your meals, everyone!

After returning to our table, Jacob wanted to use the bathroom and as he's only just started using a bathroom at all, I was happy to oblige. So, I returned to the scene of the original crime and comforted myself with the fact that it was now full of different people. Hopefully those people didn't mind his commentary... as it was about them. "I can hear someone peeing, mom! Who's peeing? Do you hear that? I can hear it splashing. Why are they peeing, mom?"

Public Bathroom Etiquette: it should be standard in those potty-training books.

I Don't Know What's Happening!

Jacob has many quirks: some cute, some rather annoying. His most recent is a combination of the two. It manifests in a variety of forms where some "force" takes over his body and causes it to do strange things.

A few examples:

When asked to sit in his chair at the table to eat, his legs stop working rendering him incapable of climbing onto his chair. "I can't. My legs won't work. See? I can't get up. They keep falling down!" And then he tries, over and over again, to get back into his chair but his legs mysteriously turn to jelly and he slides off. Twenty times in a row. 

Just out of the blue, he will run backwards and say, "Hey! What's happening? I'm going backwards. All the way over here (to the couch). Hey! Now I'm going over here (to the fridge). Look, now I'm going over here. What's happening? Why am I going here?"

When he should be eating nicely at the table, his head often does strange things. "My head is tipping. Why is it doing that? Look? See it tipping? Now it's turning? Why is it doing that? Oh, it's turning again!"

In small doses, it's cute. When it happens in response to specific requests (like to sit properly and eat), it's not as cute. When it happens fifty-three times, it's kind of annoying. Creative, yes. And also very, very weird.

A Measure of Success

Moms use many things to gauge their success as a parent. Comparing themselves to others, for example. But sometimes, we just know when we've done something right. Or when we haven't.

I recently realized something I didn't do right and now I can't go back in time and do anything about it. And I am one to lament missed opportunities because I have a bit of an obsessive personality. Not the good obsessive that would mean I have a clean house, but the kind of obsessive that means I don't let things go.

So here is my confession: I have failed to keep track of my two beautiful children's milestones. Any of them. I have no idea when they got their first teeth. Learning to walk? A guess, at best. But the one that is on my mind the most is measuring them. They have grown so tall! All I want to see is a record of them shooting up like weeds. I want one of those charts that good parents have showcasing growth spurts and month by month changes.

I know I could start one now, but it's a bit late. Hannah will be five in a month. I want those first five years tracked! I want to see her from a teeny, tiny baby to the willowy girl she is today. I want to compare how and when she grew to how and when Jacob is growing. But I can't. And I never will get those years back. No matter how much I obsess about it.

The Masterful Stall

I am a big fan of quick, easy bedtimes. Put on your p.j.s, brush your teeth, read some stories, then lights out. No drama. No delays. Depending on the story, everyone is tucked in and quiet in under ten minutes. I don't like to linger... until very recently when Jacob discovered a "new" stalling technique. None of his others had worked, but with this one, he's hit a jackpot. At least judging from the last two nights. 

It goes a little something like this...

Jacob (when the final story is done): My snuggling with you (staring straight into my eyes).

Me: Okay, just for a minute. (Really, this is quite precious.)

Jacob (sensing movement): I want to whisper something in your ear.

Me: Okay, what? (I want him to share his secrets with me, after all.)

Jacob (while starting to play with my hair): My like snuggling.

Me: Me, too.

Jacob (again sensing movement): Nope, not done yet! (Said in this special cherubic voice he reserves for occasions when he needs to be really cute.)

And of course, the whole time he is snuggled right up against me, looking so sweet and cuddly with his big innocent eyes. Oh yes, he's figured it out. Whining, pleading, dying of thirst - none of those work. But the snuggle! How can a mother resist?

I can't. And now bedtimes are much longer. But I don't mind at all.

 

More Hannah-isms

Me: I hope I get a green turn signal.
Hannah: Say "yay" if you do.
Me: Nope, I didn't.
Hannah: Oh, flock.
Me: What did you say?
Hannah: Flock. It's how I say shoot.
(A little close for comfort...)

Hannah: My hand's asleep. I can feel it snoring.
(I see another picture book title forming...)

Mills Anatomy

Lately there has a been a certain preoccupation of sorts in our household with body parts. First, Hannah came home from school with a cut-out of a person she drew. Her people have become increasingly detailed. This one even had eyelashes. It also had breasts. "What are those?" I asked, pointing to the two semi-circles on the cut-out's torso. "Those are your, you know," she replied, pointing at my shirt. Oh. Of course. And here I thought they were barely noticeable.

Then, there's Jacob. His preoccupation is more of an obsession. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I find it a tad disturbing. At some point, on some day, he discovered his male part. Now, he can't stop talking about it or touching it. Every time his diaper comes off, he makes a comment. "I can see my pee pee." "It's giant!" "Hey, what's happening?" In fact, the other night during their bath, Hannah, driven to exasperation, told Jacob in no uncertain terms to "stop talking about it!" In the bath, drying on his towel, walking through the kitchen, you name it, he's aware of it. Even when he's dressed, half the time he has his hand down his pants. I'm assuming (hoping/praying/banking on it) that at some point the novelty will wear off...

It's one thing for him to discover and experiment. It's another to have a non-stop running commentary complete with detailed descriptions.

Snowman Guilt

It's March Break and the temperatures have been hovering around balmy. In fact, Jacob was outside playing in just a t-shirt the other day. And normally, this would be a very good thing. But right now, my enjoyment of the onset of Spring is being tempered by guilt. Snowman guilt.

All winter (what little we had of it), Hannah talked about building a snowman. Any time it snowed, even if just a dusting, she raised the possibility of a snowman. It's all she really wanted to do. First, there wasn't enough snow. Then, it wasn't packing snow. Other times, it was too cold (for me). Excuse after excuse. In the end, we never made a snowman. Ever. I'd like to blame the almost non-existent winter conditions and dearth of snow; however, a few facts remain. The people behind us built a snowman. Maybe even two. And the kids across the street built a whole family of snowmen. On more than one occasion.

Such a simple request. A snowman. Next year, I'm going to build that girl an igloo and a whole city of snowmen...

Hard Questions

Here are two questions from Hannah that I found difficult to answer:

1. Why was my picture in the garbage?

2. Do chickens like it when we eat them?

It's Hard to Sleep When...

Jacob is a reasonably good sleeper most of the time. Two nights ago, we had him share a bed with Hannah because we had disassembled his room to paint it. Other than taking longer to get to sleep, the night passed without incident. I have had him sleep with me on camping trips, etc. Again, no problems. However, whenever there are other people in the house, it's like he can sense it and turns into crazy-constantly-waking-up-kid.

So, last night, the night before a race for all the adults in the house, we had a few people staying over. Both Hannah and Jacob were sharing my bed (remember, they had just slept together the previous night without incident). Jacob inexplicably woke up hour after hour and cried. He didn't want me to touch him or to console him. But neither did he want me to ignore him as he cried out my name over and over when I tried that strategy. And obviously, this crying woke up the whole house, making my reaction to it a little less sympathetic. I was getting increasingly frustrated. As the night wore on, my nerves were starting to fray because I was hyper-sensitive to every move or sound his restless little body made.

The thing that makes this whole annoying phenomenon interesting is that he did the same thing in Haliburton at Christmas. First night - we're the only guests and he sleeps beside me like a baby. Second night - 13 people in the house trying to sleep and Jacob has an internal alarm waking him every 45 minutes.

And somehow, the somewhat sheepish line of "he's not normally like this" doesn't really appease tired guests who didn't get any sleep...

Another Reason Not To Litter

Hannah is learning about taking care of Earth at school. Here is what she explained to me:

We are learning about what you can't do to Earth. You shouldn't litter. That means throwing garbage on the ground. Then, when it rains it will get all yucky and slushy and someone will step in it and it will stick to their boot. Then they'll have to shake their boot and it (the boot) might fall off! So you shouldn't litter.

Be Good on the Bus

Hannah has many unique expressions that make sense to her, and if you know the background, make sense in general. One she uses often is "getting fired", by which she means electrocuted. The reason she uses it often is she associates getting fired with getting too close to an outlet (a.k.a. electrocuter). She is very safety conscious.

Then, the other night, she told me (casually, as if in passing) that a kid got "fired" on the bus. Knowing her definition of fired, I tried to clarify. She responded with, "He was being bad, so he got fired."

"Oh," I said, "You mean he got in trouble."

"No, he got fired." There was a pause. Then she sighed and added sadly, "I think his parents live alone now. Unless they have a pet. Then they'll live with just their pet."

The moral: Behave on the bus, or you'll be killed. And your parents will have to live alone. Unless, of course, they have a pet.

No wonder she has nightmares!