TurtleHead

Fait Accompli

Mon, 26 May 2008 18:40:50 GMT

Well, it's done and over with, I guess.

I have a new blog over at Wordpress. Yay!

The standard designs are AWFUL, so very very ugly. I've slapped one up there but I'm already working on learning CSS so I can make something prettier.

Anyone who wants to make a CSS for me, leap forward!

Anyway, starting nowish I'll be trying the new blog on for size, when it comes to writing at least.

Feel free to leave comments on my newest post regarding suggestions for layout and workability.

See you over at TurtleHead the second!

Teaching A New Dog

Mon, 26 May 2008 13:39:32 GMT

I don't know if it's springtime, or that soccer has started, or that we've taken him completely off milk products, but man, has Captain Jelly Belly ever had an excess of energy lately. He's always been kind of a low-key kid, and when I see other five-year-old boys bouncing off the walls and throwing things and wrestling each other to the ground, I notice that the Captain isn't like that.

Usually.

For the past three weeks or so he's been jumping off of furniture and randomly smacking his sisters around and getting down from his chair at dinner so he can run a few laps around the table between bites. He goes to soccer and runs and runs and runs for an hour and a half straight, then he comes home and wants to go for a bike ride. It's exhausting just watching him.

On one hand, it's fabulous so see him being so exuberant and full of life. He's happy and bouncy as a Tigger, and that kind of energy tells us that he is also feeling really healthy, which is great because we always have the nagging doubt that something in his diet is making him feel sick.

On the other hand, it would be good if he would stop smacking his sisters around.

I think what we have here is a very typical five-year-old boy, and I'm noticing that they are a bit more of a challenge than a typical four-year-old boy. Because now we have eye-rolling when he gets sent to the naughty step, instead of hysterical tears and vows to never do anything wrong again, ever. Now we have bleep-bloop robot sounds drowning out the sounds of lecturing and rule-making, instead of rapt, wide-eyed attention. Now we have A Series Of Crazy Death-Mask Faces: A Performance Art Piece By Captain Jelly Belly over every meal, instead of focused, polite eating.

In short, it's discipline time, and I think both sirmonkeypants and I are feeling a little lost in the woods. What do we do now that all our usual punishments are being laughed off? How do we raise him to be a person that can live in society without annoying or offending everyone he meets, yet keep his spirit and personality intact? How do we find constructive outlets for his energy and creativity?

I feel like I don't have a lot of answers to these questions right now. It's a new frontier and it's time to learn some new tricks. Hopefully I'm not too much of an old dog.

W is for Who

Fri, 23 May 2008 13:38:50 GMT

We just picked up the new Barenaked Ladies CD for kids, called Snack Time. It's totally adorable. My favourite song on it is called "Crazy ABCs," in which Ed goes through the alphabet saying unusual words for each letter -- "aisle" for A, "czar" for C, "psychosis" for P, that sort of thing.

The best one is X:

Ed: X is for Xian, an ancient Chinese City.
Steve: Ancient Chinese City, eh? My guitar player, some hotshot.

Referencing, of course, the famous Calgon ad that I totally blogged about not two months ago. Ha! I am totally still on the cutting edge of pop culture!

Or else, the Barenaked Ladies are as old and decrepit as I am.

Also good from the song:

Steve: By Zed, for the benefit of our American friends, you mean Zee, right?
Ed: No, I mean Zed, as in Zed Zed Top.

I've heard that before, but it still made me chuckle.

Speaking of Zed Zed Top, I finally got around to watching the finale of American Idol on the PVR yesterday. I've been watching AI for the past four weeks or so; this is the first time I've ever actually watched the show since it started. I blame Neil Diamond for getting me engrossed.

Since this was my first AI finale, I must ask...do they always have such grotesque product endorsements during the show? I'd guess that at least half the show was basically commercials. Thank goodness I was watching it on the PVR, so I could skip over the whole Love Guru extended bit. Even a few seconds of that was more than enough to make me want to stick my head in the oven. I am not without goodwill towards Mike Myers but damn, that looks like a bad movie. And not bad in a "so bad it's good," Evil Dead kind of way, either.

Of course, I was watching the finale while making muffins and standing two feet away from a running dishwasher, so maybe I missed out on some of the subtler points of humour.

Funny story about the AI finale. AI always runs a few minutes late, but I've been too lazy to get around to setting the PVR timer to record for a few extra minutes each week. While watching the finale I noticed the timer on the show getting down to less than two minutes left, and they still had not announced the winner.

Uh oh.

With about 20 seconds left of recorded time, Ryan Seacrest finally gets around to..."And the winner is...David..."

Three seconds left...two...one...

"Cook!"

CHUNK. End of recorded time.

Whew. It would have been pretty funny if I had avoided the internet for a whole day in order to avoid the spoiler, only to have to turn to the internet to find out who actually won. Ha ha ha. Hilarious.

At least this way I was spared the AI Big Ballad, which I understand is something the AI winner is expected to record and release right away. Right? It doesn't matter, I've already completely lost interest. It must be tough to be an AI finalist, and have to do all these crappy show numbers and sing and dance to the tune of the producers for weeks, causing mass hysteria and total fan devotion, only to find yourself forgotten and unwanted like, three weeks later. Crazy.

Watching the AI finale kept me from working on moving the blog last night. I think I've decided for sure on Wordpress, but now I am at an impasse. I can't decide if I should continue to call my blog "TurtleHead" -- in which case, I need to find a non-TurtleHead URL -- or if I should just rename it to something else. Last year I actually wanted to rename the blog, but now I find I am all sentimental about TurtleHead and I want to keep it. But what for a URL? Something like, "IHaveATurtleHead"? Or "IAmTurtleHead"? Or "RockOnWithYourBadSelfTurtleHead"?

Any ideas, anyone?

Alternately I could rebrand, but I had a ton of trouble coming up with a new name last year, hence we still have TurtleHead today. Here are some of my new name ideas this time around:

Unmade Beds And Dirty Dishes (a nod to my mother)
My Fun With Words Dictionary (in which case I will post words from this fabulous book on a regular basis)
Bowl Of Cherries (a nod to the great Erma Bombeck)
Bear Sheep Monkey (my kids' special stuffed animals -- I've already decided to name my company this, should I ever start a company)
Canadian Tired (because I love the pun)
Cereal Fetish (because I have a cereal fetish, and it has a nice domestic flavour to it)
Crispy Flakes Of Bran (because Bran Flakes are the greatest food ever)
Three Brunettes (because I have three brunette babies)

Any other ideas? Anyone?

Wow, did this post meander. I blame the head cold. Maybe that should be my new blog name! "I Blame The Head Cold!"

I need some rest.

It's Not You, It's Me

Thu, 22 May 2008 10:48:47 GMT

Dear LiveJournal...

We have to talk. I think it's time I moved on.

We've had some great times, you and I. I still love my layout and I love my friends page. You've been good to me, but I don't want to get into that too much because I promised myself I wouldn't cry.

The thing is, I don't like the way you handle comments. Not everyone who reads my blog wants to create an LJ userid and log in to leave me a message. I want other people to be able to leave me links to their blogs, so I can go and read them. And you just aren't meeting my needs in this area.

So I've decided. It's for sure. I need to find a new home.

But we'll always be friends. I'll be back for commenting. I hope things won't be awkward between us.

I'll be moving out as soon as I find a new place.

Love,
TurtleHead

Dear Wordpress...

You're cute and you have a nice package. I like the fact that I can import my old LJ posts. I like the fact that I could buy my own URL someday and have it redirect to you. I like the fact that I can create stand alone pages to go with my blog, like an "about" page and an "I love turtles!" page. I think you've been responsive to my flirting and we could really click.

But sadly, you won't let me have TurtleHead as a blog name, even though no one currently has that blog name -- someone is just using "turtlehead" as their log-in name, so you've reserved it. And you don't allow dashes or underscores or anything, so I can't even have Turtle-Head or Turtle_Head or anything like that.

I am annoyed.

I'm going to take your offer of a second date under consideration.

Love,
TurtleHead17

Dear Blogger...

Seems like everyone is partying over at your place and I could really pick up some swinging cool buddies over there. But again, you won't let me have TurtleHead, even though it is owned by some guy who made ONE test post, back in two thousand and THREE. Which SUCKS.

Plus, you want to tie my blog to my gmail account, which means I either have to publish and reveal the gmail account that is my own first and last name -- meaning my mother will find this blog -- or I have to use my SnowBelly account, which is troublesome because when I log in as SnowBelly I can no longer view my Google calendar in a different tab, which I update about 20 times a day, so I'll constantly be logging out and logging in and hell, if I wanted to log in all the time I may as well stay with LJ.

So I'm thinking it over, but don't wait up for me.

Love,
SnowBelly

Dear TypePad...

Why oh why would I spend $150, US, per year to have a blog, when I can have one for free on several other sites?

What's that? You say I could have...TurtleHead?

Interesting. Let's meet for coffee.

Love,
TurtleHead

Yum.

Wed, 21 May 2008 13:34:14 GMT

Last night we had pancakes for dinner, as we do every other Tuesday.

(I was going to use the word "biweekly" in there but I'm never sure -- does "biweekly" mean once every other week, or twice a week? English is so hard.)

When it's pancake night, we always have a wide variety of fruit on the side. I like to have at least four or five different fruits, even in winter. I like to have at least one fruit that is unusual and new and challenges the kids to expand their food horizons.

They always stick exclusively to the apples and grapes, though. Sometimes the pineapple will go. But watermelon and mango and kiwi are just too weird. And strawberries? Just try getting that crap past them. They're on to you! They can tell just by looking that strawberries are like to rat poo!

Nice try, Mom.

At last night's meal we had bananas, grapes, strawberries, mango, and raspberries. The older two were having...grapes.

Meanwhile I had a nice fruit assortment on my own plate and had just tucked in when I heard a little "Ah, ah, ah" sort of cooing from the high chair.

The Wee One was looking at me with an expectant look like, "Excuse me, but what is that bit of deliciousness that you thought you were going to keep all to yourself?"

And I said, "This is a raspberry. RAZZZZZZZberry. Do you want one?"

And she was all, "Do I look adorable in a teeny yellow raincoat and jeans? YOU KNOW IT."

So I gave her a raspberry, and she bit into it, and squealed with joy. She also apparently loves mango. And bananas.

Oh, and strawberries. Yummiest food ever.

Where did we get this one? If she didn't look exactly like the other two, I'd be worried about a hospital switcheroo.

Don't Be Sad If You Lose Something

Wed, 21 May 2008 00:45:59 GMT

Last week in the blogosphere there was a minor uproar about blogging about your kids. Heather Armstrong ("The Dooce Lady", as she is known in our house) was on the Today show, and Kathie Lee Gifford implied that Heather's writing about her daughter Leta was perhaps dangerous and perhaps exploitative and perhaps an invasion of privacy. Heather did not get any chance at all to defend herself due to time constraints and Kathie's blathering, and so Mommy Bloggers Of The World got mad, and blogged about it.

I swore I wasn't going to write about it because I thought it was a whole lot of fuss about nothing. Who cares what Kathie Lee -- self-proclaimed computer hater -- thinks?

But this week I found myself thinking about the whole privacy thing a lot more, because Captain Jelly Belly wrote a book.

His very own book. The front cover says right on it, "Written by Captain Jelly Belly, Illustrated by Captain Jelly Belly."

The Captain is extremely proud of his book. He even gave up his traditional pre-bed round of Mario Party to work on it the other night. Once it was finished he read it to me, then to sirmonkeypants. Then he put it in his backpack so he could take it to school and read it to his teacher.

I really, really wanted to blog about this book. I was so crazy proud of him and happy for him, to see him feel so excited about a project and so accomplished (he thought maybe they would want his book for the library, but I told him I could never part with it). I love him so much and seeing his eyes shine with joy that his teacher gave him a sticker for his good work on his book made my heart just about burst.

But in there with the pride and the joy and the overwhelming love...there is also hilarity. Oh yes. And there's no way I could include page-by-page photos of the book -- entitled, "Don't Be Sad If You Lose Something" -- without getting a giggle or two out of you. Admit it, you'd just love to see a drawing of me, trapped in a tornado with a microwave, wouldn't you? And that's not even rock bottom for the protagonist, not by a long shot.

The more I thought about blogging the book, however -- the more I wrote a humorous page-by-page commentary in my head -- the more I worried about the possible effects on the Captain. It would really make for a great post, but I just could not stand the idea that he would ever, ever, EVER think that I was laughing at him. ESPECIALLY about something so incredibly important to him. ESPECIALLY about something that I love, too, that I really, honestly feel so proud of him for producing.

I want him to know that I'll always be a completely supportive and proud audience for his endeavors. That I'm always in his corner. And it killed me to think that someday, he'd read this blog and be so hurt that I made light of something so meaningful for him.

So I won't be writing about it in detail here, I don't think.

I always imagined that this blog would be a fun thing for my kids to read in the future. That one day, they'd be adults and they'd stumble upon it and they'd be curious to read my thoughts on being their mom. That they'd enjoy reading funny little stories about them as children. That they'd be happy that I had recorded our every day lives with such detail.

This book incident, combined with the Kathie Lee incident, was the first time I'd ever stopped to think that maybe one day they'll just feel bitter and angry that I told the world about that time that they had trouble learning to poop in the potty.

Imagine how mad they're going to be when I pull out the best of my blog posts to read at their weddings.

Anyway, I don't intend to stop blogging or anything like that. More than anything else, I want to preserve certain magical and amusing and endearing things about my kids for my own memory, so I can look back with fondness and love and sentimentality. Already, if I have to look back in the archives to link to an old post, I find myself engrossed in reading about them, unable to stop, chuckling and getting a little teary eyed and desperately wanting to find them and hug them tight wherever they are or whatever they are doing. So it's a good thing, this blog.

But I guess I've discovered that there is a limit, a boundary that I'll be keeping. Because I love my kids, but I also respect them, and I want them to know it.

Future Captain Jelly Belly, who can read? I hope you know how much Mommy loves you. And your book. I'd definitely be sad if I ever lost you.

TV Slaves

Mon, 19 May 2008 18:22:01 GMT

Andrea at QuietFish made an innocent little post yesterday about possibly getting rid of their extended cable TV, because it's very expensive. Lots of people commented, almost universally to say that they either do not have cable and are living fuller, deeper lives for it, or that they have cable but meh, could totally live without it.

I was going to comment to say that we are slaves to our TV, but I felt myself getting INSANE, so I had to delete it. I thought I'd rant over here instead.

I recognise that TV is my personal hot-button issue, as a mom. I've noticed over the years -- here's a piece of wisdom for you soon-to-be moms -- that it is so, so easy to offend another mother with a seemingly innocuous remark. Mothers have a real need to feel that they are doing a good job of raising their kids, that they are making the right choices, and anything that remotely smells of criticism will get you kicked out of playgroup with lightning speed. Every mom has their own little thing that will get their back up against the wall right away. For me, it's TV. There's nothing that pisses me off more, makes me feel more like a crap mom, makes me want to punch something and then run away to Jamaica, than other mother saying smugly, "We don't let our kids watch TV."

GRRRRRR.

We get well over a hundred channels, on satelite. I'm not always proud of this, but our kids watch plenty of TV. Probably in the range of two hours per day, I'd say. I don't think I could maintain my sanity without it. A half-hour TV show gives my older two kids a half-hour of quiet time, calm time, time to stop hitting each other and to stop jumping on the couch. It gives me a half-hour to care for the baby or get ready for us to go out and do another activity or just to make dinner in peace.

At Christmas this year, we had dinner with some friends we don't see very often. They were in Ottawa to visit their parents and their kids were glued to the TV which was showing...the news. I thought that was weird but my friend explained that her kids don't get to watch TV at home, so they are excited when they go somewhere else that has a television.

I felt bad until further conversation revealed that they actually do have a TV, just no cable. And that her kids are allowed to watch DVDs. DVDs of shows like Lunar Jim and Wonderpets and Go Diego Do.

And I ask you, what the hell is the difference between that, and my kids watching those exact same shows on Treehouse? Treehouse -- along with PBS, CBC, and TV-Ontario -- offers hours of commercial-free, semi-educational programming for preschoolers all day long. My kids have a few favourite shows and that's what they watch. We collect a few episodes of their favourites on our PVR so any time they want, they can sit down for a new Go Diego Go, or Wonderpets, or Lunar Jim. So the difference between their TV and other kids watching a video is...what, exactly?

We do try to use the TV responsibly. The kids watch mostly commercial free preschool programming (especially since the great failed American Gladiators experiment). They never turn on the TV by themselves -- they don't even know how to work the remote, except to pause the show so they can go to the bathroom. They're only allowed to watch shows that I know, usually with me in the room. There's a limit to how much they can watch in one sitting before they have to turn it off and get outside, or run around the house a bit.

I also try to use the TV they watch as a jumping off point for discussions and activities. The other day we were watching Fetch! With Ruff Ruffman -- a science experiments show -- and the kids on the show were testing various items to see which would float, and which would sink. That lead to a whole afternoon's worth of at-home experimentation that made me feel pretty damn virtuous.

But I do not want to imply that I am all perfect mother all the time, so I will admit here that there are days when the Wee One has not slept, when I'm trying to make dinner with one hand while comforting a baby with the other, and Gal Smiley and Captain Jelly Belly are hungry and getting tired and thus are pushing and shoving and hating on one another...and on those days, the TV goes on and they watch whatever is on Treehouse for as long as they can stand it.

Those aren't A+ days.

But we do survive them.

Before we had kids I thought I'd never use the TV as a babysitter, but I have to admit, there are times when it has done just that. Our days here are very long -- especially in winter -- and sometimes, there just isn't anything left to do. We need a break from each other, the kids really need a break from each other, and watching a show gives us a nice, quiet, parallel activity during which we can all calm down and refocus and not strangle each other.

As for myself, I'd love to be able to say that I spend my evenings knitting booties for premature babies or raising money for the Third World or finding a cure for cancer. But I have three small children, and I still get up anywhere from once to four times a night, and I'm tired. So very tired. At the end of the day it's all I can do to give the kitchen a half-hearted tidy, come up with a blog post, then collapse in front of some mindless entertainment for an hour before bed. I was a pop culture junkie before we ever had kids, and now that it's so much harder to get out to movies and concerts and other events, the TV is my big excitement, my new hobby. It sounds sad I guess. But dammit, Lost is a good show. Watching Pushing Daisies filled me with delight. I love Don't Forget The Lyrics (don't judge me!).

There's no way I could live without the TV, I know. So I'll just sit over here, noisily grinding my teeth, standing up for all moms who deign to subscribe to Treehouse. Represent!

You Want A Piece Of Me?

Fri, 16 May 2008 14:06:25 GMT

I am so very, very cranky this morning. It's one of those days where I hover right on the edge of hysteria all day, I can tell. Every little thing is bugging me far out of proportion to the offense. Anyone who calls my house today trying to sell me something better WATCH OUT.

I really hate the fact that I never get any private bathroom time anymore. Someday I'd like to be able to shower and get dressed without being peppered with a million questions. "Why are you putting that on? What is that stuff? Can I have some? Why are you doing that? Why do you have big ones, and I only have small ones? Why do you have so much hair? Was that sound the sound of poo?" I feel desperately in need of a little personal space, so BACK OFF, kid.

I really hate the fact that our backyard is a total mess and we haven't seen the patio guys in two weeks now. They lost the window of time they had set aside to finish up our patio due to the rain a few weeks back, and now they are tied up in other projects. We don't know when they'll have time to come back and finish our job. Even though we knew that was the deal when we hired them -- they fit in jobs like ours around their main job, which is doing patios under contract for a pool company -- we're getting a little pissed. Actually, this morning, I am upgrading to a lot pissed. There's tools and rebar and deep holes all over the backyard, which makes it very hard for the kids to play back there safely, which means we are stuck in the house every time the Wee One has a nap, and it may as well be wintertime for all the outdoor playing we are doing. All the crap all over is also making it impossible to take care of the lawn -- we can't cut it or fertilize or anything else.

And speaking of that, I really hate our lawn and all grass in general. Our lawn is a mess of weeds and bare patches and frankly, it looks like ass, but due to the patio work we can't take any drastic steps right now. Personally I would like to rip it all out and then throw it against a wall and then stomp on it a bunch and then feed it through a wood chipper, and then pave over everything that used to be a dandelion field. But that's probably just the bitchiness talking.

I really hate the fact that more than half the houses on our street now have pools, or are getting one this summer (three more going in on the street as we speak!). What the hell is this, Los Angeles? Actually, it's not the pools themselves that I hate, it's that I totally blame them for having standing water in the spring, which has led to there being approximately ONE BILLION mosquitoes on our street. The other night I walked out to get the mail from our Super! mailbox at dusk, and there were hundreds of mosquitoes swarming around my head. You probably think I am exaggerating but I am not -- it was like a scene from The Birds only it would have been called The Mosquitoes. I was actually afraid to breathe because I thought for sure I would suck a few of them up into my nose, that's how thick they were around my head. I'm trying to raise the kids not to have an irrational fear of bugs but I hate mosquitoes, they give me the heebie jeebies, and incidents like this do not help. On Wednesday I walked home from MyFriendJen's house after book club, which is a distance of about six houses, and I got SIX mosquito bites in that time. Mosquitoes SUCK, and pools SUCK, and anyone else with standing water SUCKS.

At least it's garbage day. And I have last night's Don't Forget The Lyrics on the PVR. Time to turn this day around.

Modern Times

Wed, 14 May 2008 14:15:55 GMT

I attended the Mother's Day Tea at Gal Smiley's preschool this morning. The kids sang songs and did a little dance, then presented us with a lovely gift, all while the moms were served tea or coffee, and cake. It was as sweet and adorable as you'd expect.

The funniest thing happened, though. These kids are all three years old -- a handful of them have turned four already. During the little dance, one of the boys dropped his cell phone.

It was a real cell phone but I assume that it did not have service and was being used as a toy. Otherwise, I have moved beyond fogey and into Neanderthal Man territory.

Along a similar vein, sirmonkeypants tried to explain to the kids last week that when we were young, there was no Elmo on Sesame Street. No Elmo! The kids totally cannot understand that. Where was Elmo? Why wasn't he born yet? Who did they get to host the Elmo's World segment? Who would be best friends with Zoe?

When sirmonkeypants told them that Zoe wasn't on the show either, it pretty much blew their minds.

And on another similar note, a couple of days ago I told Gal Smiley that when I was a little girl, my house had no computer. I realized as soon as it was out of my mouth that I sounded exactly like my own mother trying to make us believe that when she was little, her family did not have a TV. That's just crazy! That's so totally old school! Gal Smiley doesn't really believe me, by the way. It's so crazy to me that they'll grow up in a world where the internet always existed and you've always been able to pause the TV when you need to pee.

News flash! I am old!

Good Neighbours Make Good Fences

Tue, 13 May 2008 19:11:18 GMT

I like our neighbourhood, I really do. There's lots of great families here and we've made some good friends, as have our children. It's a friendly community where people wave hello to you as they pass you in their cars or stop to say hi and chat about the weather if you meet them while out walking -- even if you've never actually met them before. People bring baked goods to new neighbours and get together for street parties and all that sort of thing.

So it's totally incongruous, I think, that no one around here seems to engage in that age-old tradition of getting a fence in co-operation with your neighbours. Am I crazy, or did it used to be commonplace for people who got fences to chat about it with their neighbour first? Maybe decide on a style together, then split the cost? Invite some input, get together as a group of five or six houses to save money? Or at least give out a heads-up?

It seems that the thing to do, around here at least, is to just pick out a fence, then put it up all around your property, without asking first. To avoid having to ask, you can put it about three or four inches in from the property line. Then, it's all on your property, and you're paying for the whole thing, so your neighbours can just suck it, I guess.

This "three inches in" thing is so common that many properties have a six-inch dead zone between them, a narrow band between two completely different fences, where weeds grow and garbage collects. It's ugly and a hotbed for allergy-causing plants. I really, really dislike the dead zones. It's insane how many of them there are, too.

We have fencing on two sides of our backyard right now. Across the back we have a glaring white fence which we do not like and did not want. The guy who lived there two years ago -- before the Princess Charming family moved in last summer -- chose the fence and ordered the fence and made all the arrangements. Then he came by to "talk to us" one week before the fence went in, to ask us to pay for half of the back strip. We told him we wanted some input on what the fence was going to look like. He responded by -- naturally -- putting the fence three inches in from the property line, and putting up the fence he wanted anyway.

The good news is that after twenty years, we can claim that three inches as ours, because we've been the ones maintaining the grass on that side. So I guess, if he hadn't have moved out of the country, I could go over there and tell him to suck that.

On the one side of the backyard we have a lovely beige fence that we picked out with the neighbours on that side, because we love them and they are reasonable and we both wanted each other to be happy, so we were easily able to find something we both liked.

Now we still have about 10 feet across the back to complete with a different backing neighbour, and then we have to put another strip of fence on the other side. We've been wanting to finish the fence for a while now, but the side neighbours just moved in six months ago, and we didn't want to attack them with fence discussions. Like, "Hi! So nice to meet you! Here are some muffins, and hey, want to put up a fence so we never have to see you again?" That sort of thing seems unfriendly somehow.

But on the weekend, we came home from doing some shopping and hey, there are stakes on the side neighbour side! Outlining a fence! We like those people! We talk to those people! Were they ever going to mention this?

So sirmonkeypants goes over to ask them what's up, and they said they've entertained a couple of quotes but still aren't sure what they want. They'll get back to us when they do know what they want.

Isn't that a little late to be bringing us into their process? Is this going to be another, "We've picked out this, you can pay for half or else?" situation?

And just now, I was sitting with the kids having a snack when I glance out at the backyard and I see...our 10-foot back neighbours STAKING OUT A FENCE.

I'm sitting right here, people! I can see you! Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on? Anytime soon?

I fear that we are going to end up with four different kinds of fence all around our backyard. Which SO sucks, it will be SO ugly.

But I really, really don't want to go out and get our own fence and then line the existing fence with our own PISS OFF WE DON'T WANT YOUR OPINION style of fencing, complete with dead zone all around.

BLURG!

We have good neighbours, we really do. So why can't we make good fences?

Buddy Buddy

Mon, 12 May 2008 13:49:28 GMT

The social interactions of five-year-old boys are very mysterious.

The other day I was walking with the kids to the park, and we had to pass by the house of Rocker, who is a boy in Captain Jelly Belly's class. Rocker was in the backyard and saw us walk by his fence (he has a corner lot), and started to yell out, "Hi, Captain! Captain! Over here! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

The Captain just walked on by, looking around all, "Ho hum, nice day, I wonder what we'll do at the park, and what is that weird yelling sound?"

So I said, "Um, don't you want to say hi to your friend Rocker?"

The Captain turns around and casually, very quietly, says, "Oh, hi Rocker." Then he continues walking like he's Tom Cruise and a non-Scientologist was trying to catch his attention. No interest here, buddy! Move along!

On the way home from the park, Rocker had moved out to his front driveway. Again he rushes over to the Captain calling, "Hey, Captain! This is my house! Want to see what we're doing? Want to play with us?"

And the Captain walks on by like he doesn't even know the kid. I actually thought that I must have the wrong house, and this kid must be some random Joe who the Captain did not actually know at all, who just happened to correctly guess his name. So once we'd moved on I asked the Captain if he actually knew that boy, and what does the Captain say? "Oh yeah, that's Rocker from my class."

I felt terrible! Since when are we raising a snubber? Since when am I forced to describe my son by likening him to Tom Cruise?? We have a problem!

Today all the kids woke up really, really early, so we weren't as rushed in the morning as usual. sirmonkeypants decided to walk with the Captain to school.

On the way they passed Rocker's house. Rocker was already out on the road, walking on his way to school.

This time, Captain JB was all, "Hey! Hey Rocker! ROCKER!! Hi!!"

And Rocker was like, "Did you say something to me? Do I know you?"

So apparently, the Captain is nothing more than a normal five-year-old boy. And apparently, the proper way to greet a friend who is accosting you with HI! and HOW ARE YOU! is to ignore it, and pretend that it just never happened.

Who knew.

Oh, Mother's Day? I thought you said, More Sugar Day!

Sun, 11 May 2008 20:59:21 GMT

It's almost 5 p.m. on Mother's Day. Here's what I've eaten so far.

coffee with cream and sugar
jam sweetheart cookies for breakfast
a grilled cheese sandwich made with full-fat cheese
half a bag of barbecue rice chips
a glass of chocolate milk
half a giant bag of cotton candy (for the love of GOD, will someone please pry the cotton candy from my hands before I go into a diabetic coma?)
half a banana
a Nutrigrain bar (sort of like a soft-shell PopTart)

It's a very good thing I took the day off DietPower. I have a feeling my comments for the day might include, "Your daily sugar is trending far above target."

Now I Get It

Sun, 11 May 2008 13:30:03 GMT

I do the grocery shopping on Sunday mornings with the Wee One. I like to get to the Superstore right when it opens, at 8 a.m., so we can shop and get home in time for the Wee One's morning nap.

Usually we have the place pretty much to ourselves.

This morning, when we arrived at 8:05 a.m., I noticed there was a decidedly unusual number of cars in the parking lot.

While I was loading the Wee One into a cart and getting my bags and list ready, at least ten different scruffy-looking men in baseball hats came out, each carrying nothing but one bunch of flowers or a potted plant.

Happy Mother's Day!

Etsy Addict

Fri, 09 May 2008 23:57:28 GMT

Yesterday Mrs. Carl Sagan and I spent all morning surfing at Etsy and emailing our finds back and forth. Every five minutes one of us would continue to ignore the needs of our children, and instead would dash off a quick link or two to some really cute ragdolls, or crocheted cupcakes, or thank-you cards, or bracelets. I'm sure the kids will forgive me when they see the super cute homemade puzzles they'll be getting in their stockings this year!

We are quite far gone with the addiction, you see. It's sort of like going to one of those Arts and Crafts shows, which we used to do all the time before it would have involved bringing along three kids apiece with grabby hands and bathroom needs and really whiny voices when bored. Only with Etsy, there's like, a hundred thousand exhibitors. It's so fabulous I could die swooning.

This morning, it's been more of the same. We've both discovered the "pounce" feature in which you can see a constantly updating list of what just got sold a few minutes ago. I have a compulsion to check it every six seconds to see what I've just missed out on buying. I could have owned that! It's like I'm about five years late to the eBay party, what with the constant refreshing of my browser and the bitterness over things I am no longer allowed to buy. Which is typical for me, I'm a late adopter. Have you heard about this new thing called the internet?

Mrs. Carl Sagan upped the ante yesterday by actually purchasing two lovely pendants from Madison Craft Studio. I loved them, and wanted some. But buying stuff for myself is always so hard, so fraught with guilt. Last night sirmonkeypants encouraged me to just go for it, get crazy, spend $15 on myself and call it a Mother's Day gift.

So this morning I put two pendants in my cart...and there they sat for several hours while I went all around the circle of "I don't need it" to "They're too expensive" to "I don't have anything to wear them with" to "TurtleHead, YOU SUCK."

So then I clicked "Purchase." Even though there was a big scary warning under the button that said that once I clicked "Purchase," there was no backing out, ever, EVER. Eeep!

End result, apparently, there are necklaces in the mail. I'm excited! But guilty. So typical.

In other news, Mrs. Carl Sagan also bought some reuseable vegetable bags from Etsy seller Daisy Dots, because she was tired of waiting for ReMarket to restock. The Daisy Dots version are larger than mine (16x12 instead of 10x13) for a little less money, and have pretty coloured ties to boot. They haven't arrived yet, but they look like a good option for anxious environmentalists.

Now I must run. At least 100 things were pounced on at Etsy while I wrote this post!

Crazy Monkeys

Fri, 09 May 2008 10:51:08 GMT

On Wednesday, Captain Jelly Belly had his first Junior Soccer game. He was so excited; even though it was pouring rain he didn't hesitate to put on his new little cleats (so cute!) and run out onto the field.

Before the game, the team had to pick a team name. The Captain and I had talked about this a few days earlier. He'd just finished jumping off the edge of the bed onto a pillow and I'd called him a Crazy Monkey, so the Captain said he'd like to name his soccer team the Crazy Monkeys.

I thought that was pretty good.

I warned him, though, that the other kids would all be allowed to submit an idea. Then everyone would choose as a group and maybe they wouldn't pick his idea. And if that happened, he was NOT ALLOWED TO CRY, instead he just had to shrug and say, "Oh, well, maybe next time."

Every day for the past week I've been emphasizing that they might not pick his name. SO BE PREPARED.

So what happens on Wednesday? The coach asks if anyone has a name suggestion.

One lone hand shoots up in the air. "Captain?" "CRAZY MONKEYS."

No one else had any other suggestions. One boy kept saying that he did not like Crazy Monkeys, but he had no ideas of his own. He's going to grow up to be one of those naysayers in meetings who poo-poos on everyone else's hard work while contributing nothing of his own.

Too bad, naysayer boy!

Crazy Monkeys it is.

We're so proud.

Glamour Gal

Thu, 08 May 2008 13:15:31 GMT

Some of you may be wondering how my little shopping excursion went last week.

It went pretty well.

After five minutes in the store I had my usual closed-throat reaction to clothes shopping and almost burst into tears. But I fought through the terror and forced myself to stay. I grabed like, 50 things and headed to the changeroom -- because there is nothing I hate more than getting naked and putting on a shirt, only to find out that it is too tight and I need to get all dressed again only to go back out into the garish store light and the booming music to search for another size, and repeat. One changeroom visit only, that's my limit!

Most of the stuff did not work at all. But some of it did.

In the end I walked away with three very nice spring-like short-sleeved shirts, and one cute denim jacket which I like but I already wonder where the hell I'm going to wear it.

Here I am wearing one of my new shirts and my hot-ass pants, on my way for a duty day at Gal Smiley's co-op nursery school:

Even though I was very pleased with this outfit, looking at this picture of myself leaves me cringing because my hair and face are such a mess (I admit I chickened out and used the smallest possible photo so you don't get a lot of face detail). My hair is in that tragic state called "eight-weeks-post-cut," when it can't quite decide if it wants to be straight or curly and is really in need of reshaping to calm it down. This is when I usually start to wear it exclusively in a little pigtail all the time but this time I've decided that I'm a grown woman, dammit, and I should probably try for a more adult look, so this day in particular I decided to try wearing it down. Unfortunately my hair did not want to cooperate. Of course, it would probably point out that it was not helped by the fact that I completely refuse to blow dry. It makes me cranky. No more blow dryers ever!

As for the rest, I'm really past the age where I can be running around town with a makeup-free face but I hate makeup -- I have a ton of pimples STILL, apparently my pores have not yet received the message that I am THIRTY-SEVEN, for God's sake, and makeup makes it worse because I hardly ever remember to wash it off my face at night. Plus, I can never seem to remember that I have the stuff on, so I'm constantly rubbing my eyes or licking my lips or sitting with my chin in my hands, only to discover my hand is now a lovely shade of plum while my face is now naked.

I feel committed to making over my wardrobe in the upcoming year, but the nice pants and cute tops are only highlighting the fact that I also need to do something from the neck up.

Man, you get one pair of hot-ass pants and it all steamrolls from there, doesn't it?

I think I need more products in my house. Something to smooth hair. Something to even out my facial skin without feeling heavy or requiring a lot of blending like foundation. Maybe some pretty shiny lip gloss. And eye cream. Do I need eye cream? And night cream? Who can say. I totally skipped that whole part of adolescence where you experiment with face wash and eyeshadow and learn how the hell it all works together to produce a glowing, beautiful you, so I need lots and lots of advice. Please leave me your product ideas!

Literary Bran Flakes

Wed, 07 May 2008 13:56:50 GMT

Meme! From burrito19!

What we have here are the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing’s users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you read for school, underline the ones you started but didn't finish (or are on the shelf waiting for a free week).

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment -- I got soooo close to finishing this one, I only had about 75 pages left...but I'd had capnplanet's copy for more than a year and I just couldn't seem to push myself to get to the freakin' ending so I gave it back!

Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife -- I'm reading it right now!
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange -- started several times in the ol' book room -- but I could never finish it

Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King -- halfway through this one right now, but it has gotten really dark and violent, so I had to set it aside for a while

The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon -- sirmonkeypants had this book several years ago, and I started it when he finished it, but he wanted to lend it to a friend of his, so I said okay, I'll read it when it comes back, and I'M STILL WAITING.

Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything -- again, halfway through this right now, but it keeps getting bumped for exciting new novels on-loan from others

Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield

Poor Margaret Atwood and Jane Austen. They appear to be the literary equivalent of Bran Flakes -- everyone thinks that they will be boring and only buys their books because they are supposedly "good for you" and then ignores them, when really they are a truly tasty treat.

One Bag At A Time

Tue, 06 May 2008 10:57:06 GMT

Andrea over at QuietFish is a woman of great ideas, and I totally stole her idea to get some reuseable vegetable produce bags. You know, those clear bags for putting your beans and cherries and whatnot in, that are totally useless for any other application, that end up in the garbage?

Andrea made her own because she is a crafty woman who, apparently, does not waste her energy by getting overly involved in American Idol. But I did not have it in me to drag my 500 pound sewing machine up from the basement, especially when Brooke White so desperately needed my love and support sent through the TV, so I ordered some online instead.

They arrived. And I love them.

Here's what they look like:

They're wicked awesome. Lightweight so they don't add any extra cost to your food; see-through so you can tell what's what. Totally machine washable and dryable. Since we already bring our own cloth grocery bags to the store, it's no trouble to remember to bring these little bags, too.

I bought them from an Etsy shop (a site where crafty persons can sell their homemade items) called Re-Market. I notice that she's all out of inventory at the moment, though. She makes the bags in several sizes. I think I bought two packs of 3 in the Large size, which have been perfect for our family-of-four-and-a-half type shopping.

So, I recommend!

Monument To Regularity

Mon, 05 May 2008 16:38:59 GMT

I have a new love in my life. A totally new product that hardly no one has heard of.

It's called Bran Flakes.

Last week I was making a new crockpot recipe, Sweet & Saucy Meatballs, and it called for "all-bran cereal." So I put that on the shopping list, and sirmonkeypants bought me a small box of Bran Flakes.

Then I went to make the meatballs, and I thought, ew, flakes of pure bran? Do I really want to be feeding this kind of crap to my kids? Wouldn't it be better to replace these with something more nourishing like Cap'n Crunch or Froot Loops?

So I tried one, just to make sure it didn't taste like sawdust. And it did not taste like sawdust.

Rather, it overwhelmed me with waves of pure deliciousness. Then I ate handful after handful before I finally had to stop myself so that I would have room for dinner. Although to tell you the truth, the Bran Flakes were better than the meatballs.

The next morning I got up and I eyed the box of Bran Flakes and I remembered that Mrs. Carl Sagan has them like, every morning for breakfast, with frozen blueberries added. And hey, what do you know, we had some frozen blueberries in the freezer! So I threw some in the bowl and heated them up, then put in the Bran Flakes, and some milk, and voila...

Best. Food. Ever.

I've always thought if I were ever on death row, that my final meal would be either my mom's lentil soup, with tea biscuits and marbled cheddar cheese on the side, or perhaps some Kraft Dinner with chips on top. But now, there's no question. I'd want it to be Bran Flakes with blueberries. Did you know that the blueberries turn the milk a superfun purple colour? It's like a party in my bowl and everyone's invited!

When I was in my final year of university, I lived with smokingtoaster, and she was a Bran Flakes fan. She used to buy the really, really big boxes and have it every morning, and when she finished a big box she'd put the empty box up on top of our kitchen cabinets until the entire kitchen was encircled like a four-year-old's birthday party with a Bran Flakes theme. University guys have piles of empty beer bottles in their kitchen, with fruit flies buzzing around them, like a monument to debauchery. We had a neat circle of Bran Flakes boxes in our kitchen, like a monument to regularity.

It's a little hazy but if pressured, you could get me to confess to the fact that I may, MAY, have bugged smokingtoaster about the Bran Flakes a little bit. I may, MAY, have accused her of being an old lady. A really, really regular old lady.

I've been having Bran Flakes every day, sometimes twice a day, since last week. Now it seems I am a really, really regular old lady.

Only Zac Efron Can Really Pull It Off

Sun, 04 May 2008 13:23:44 GMT

Dear Teenaged Boys With Emo Bangs:

You are so totally going to regret that haircut ten years from now. Your children will mock you. Think about getting a trim before those grad pictures cement that hair on your parents' wall for the next 30 years.

Love,
TurtleHead

Drugs In My Pocket

Fri, 02 May 2008 13:43:48 GMT

Yesterday I had to get a prescription filled. I hope this is not TMI, but I have a yeast infection in my left breast that hurts like a PUPPYLOVER when nursing, and for a few hours afterwards. Thankfully, it's treatable, and there are beautiful, painkilling drugs in this world. Advil, you rock my world!

At least 99% of me is really annoyed and weepy and exhausted about the infection. But I must admit that a very small 1% of me is kind of happy about it, because this means that I have now had every single problem related to breastfeeding and childbirth that there is in existence. With the yeast infection my knowledge of all things baby-related has been completed, and now I can hold forth as the most Expert Expert on Babies Who Ever Experted. And trust me, there is nothing I like better than to pontificate on how to birth and care for babies.

Oh man, my future daughter-in-law is in SO MUCH TROUBLE.

Anyway, I had this prescription to get filled, so I took it over to the Superstore pharmacy. We usually get our prescriptions filled there just because it is convenient; we know we'll be there at least once a week, so it's not an extra trip to pick it up. I've always thought, though, that it was kind of a "no name" version of a drugstore, a place where you get bargain basement service and the bare minimum of care.

Turns out, not so much! I got to the Superstore about ten minutes before the pharmacy opened, and I was just standing outside waiting when the pharmacist slid the gate open a bit and told me she'd take my prescription even though they weren't open yet. Then she checked my script, which was a mixture of creams, to make sure she had everything, and told me I could pick it up in a couple of hours (mixing the creams would take longer than usual).

Then, after I had left, she noticed that this particular prescription was based on a recipe created by Dr. Jack Newman, who is the foremost expert on breastfeeding in Ontario (AFTER ME, of course). And the pharmacist realized that Dr. Jack had recently made a small change to his recipe, so she contacted Dr. Jack to confirm, then called my own doctor to tell her about the change and ask if she should change my script, then mixed up the new blend, then called to tell me it was all ready to go. Taken care of! Totally without my intervention!

I think that rocks.

Furthermore, just this past weekend we had taken in a prescription to get new epipens for the Captain, because the pharmacist there had warned us last time we got epipens (last September) that the Captain was pushing the weight limit for epipen juniors, and would probably need to move up to adult-sized ones in the spring. But later that afternoon, the pharmacist called because she had double checked, and the epipen people had just recently upped the weight limit for the juniors, so we didn't need new ones after all, thus saving us a couple hundred dollars' worth of unnecessary epipen replacement.

Which also, rocks.

In the past when I've had a prescription that I thought was extra tricky, or unusual in some way, or needed right away, I took it to a "real" pharmacy. But no longer! Superstore No Name Pharmacists...you have won my love and affection. Good show!

Happy

Thu, 01 May 2008 13:22:27 GMT

This past Sunday was my and sirmonkeypants' 12 year wedding anniversary. Twelve years. Sounds like we are old marrieds, doesn't it? We actually dated for six years before getting married, so that makes 18 years in total that we've been together. We've been together longer than the youngest constestant is old on American Idol, by God, and that is freaky.

Know what else is freaky? I still really love that guy.

I love him for all the reasons that I married him, that he is hilarious and clever and has beautiful chocolate brown eyes. These days I also love him for being such a great dad to these three kids I adore, for having endless appetite for stories about the kids that I love to tell, and for sharing his lovely chocolate brown eyes with all three of them.

So, happy anniversary, darling.

Just the other day I was thinking about being newly engaged. I had to go to the bank to get a big wad of cash for an unnamed house project that is doing a part cash-only thing, hush hush, and I felt really, really nervous about walking around with a few thousand dollars in my diaper bag and three little kids in tow. I was pretty sure I was going to be mugged in the parking lot or carjacked on the way home. It reminded me of being freshly betrothed, when I was terrified of leaving the house with my engagement ring on. It was by far the most expensive thing either of us had ever bought -- still is, except for cars and houses -- and I was sure that its dazzling sparkle was just a flashing neon sign to every thug on the subway, saying, "Rob me! Rob me!" I used to turn the ring around so the shiny bits were facing my palm, then make a fist to hide the ring, and even then I'd be a shaking bundle of nerves for the whole time I was away from home or office.

Nevermind that thousands, nay millions, of ladies leave the house with engagement rings every day, and survive to tell the tale. Mine was lovely, and a token of true love. It was sure to be worth millions on the black market.

I still have it, though. Totally outsmarted those thieves.

But making sirmonkeypants into the father of my children is what really makes me feel smart.

Blue is the new Black

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 19:20:22 GMT

My new laptop is here! Yay!

It's a Dell. It has XP on it, so y'all don't have to hear me vent about Vista anymore. Not that the venting wasn't fun.

It's blue, too. There were other options on the Dell site that were better priced, or offered more horsepower for the price, but they were black and boring. I wanted the blue one. Actually I wanted a pink one, but they were all out of pink, so blue had to do.

The blue one does have one bonus, and that's a built-in webcam. I never thought I'd use such a thing but the webcam has already bought me a whole afternoon's entertainment for the kids. They love it when we take little movies of them with our digital camera -- they can hardly wait to run around and watch themselves acting goofy. I have now set up the webcam so they can sit in front of the new laptop and watch themselves acting goofy in real time. It's a potent attractor, I must say.

And bonus!, the webcam software comes with all these fancy "effects" in which it will detect a face and then do something even goofier to it, like put it on the head of a superman and then have superman fly into a wall, or have the face change into a werewolf, or have the face wear a box of popcorn on its head. And that shit is HILARIOUS when you are five. Or three.

Or thirty-seven.

Out Of Focus

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 17:33:03 GMT

The older two kids woke up with hacking coughs this morning, and the patio guys are working the backyard, so after lunch today I let them watch Backyardigans instead of going outside to play. It wasn't quite time for the Wee One's nap, and I don't like her to play in the room where the TV is, so I took her in the front room with a few books for some rare quiet one-on-one time.

I had brought a picture book about colours that was one of the Captain's favourites as a baby, and I was showing her the various pictures in it when I realised that she totally has no ability to pay attention. I know it's unusual for a baby to be able to focus on a task for longer than a minute or so, but my other two loved this book because it has pictures of babies in it, and they were excited and would point to the babies and gaze at the babies and love the babies, even at this young age. Wee One is interested in the babies too, but she has no powers of concentration; she's constantly looking around to see what that noise was, what that toy is, what's going on outside the window.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since our house now is a crazy jumble of activity. Even while I was having my "one-on-one" time with the Wee One, Gal Smiley was coming in every minute or so to have me guess what she had hiding behind her back, and the Captain came in every few minutes to ask me which one of the Backyardigans I would like to pretend to be. While I was showing the Wee One the book, Gal Smiley wanted to turn the pages too quickly, and the Captain danced in to ask if he could play video games after the TV show was done. It's no wonder she can't concentrate on anything -- I can't concentrate on her, either.

When we had the Wee One, lots of random people we'd meet would say stuff like, "Oh, the poor third one, never gets any attention." And I'd smile and nod, but inside I was always thinking, "Not this one, she gets plenty of attention." Taking care of a baby takes a lot of time, and if you asked the Captain and the Gal, I'm sure they would say that Mommy is always changing the baby's diaper, or putting her down for a nap, or nursing her. She gets carried around a lot and she gets fed at all mealtimes. Besides me, she also has the older two buzzing around her all day, showing her things or singing her songs or just demonstrating really cool skills like walking. The Wee One certainly does not lack for entertainments or care; it's not like she is sitting alone in a corner all day while I go about my business.

But today's playtime showed me that what she is really missing out on is quiet, focused playtime with me alone. I remember when the Captain was this age -- I had so much time to devote to just playing with him. I'd read to him and I'd make up little puppet shows with his stuffed animals. At mealtimes I'd put on music and sing to him, and when he was done eating I'd pick him up and we'd dance. I'd use his naptimes to do stuff like cleaning and cooking, so when he was awake, I was all his, all the time.

The Wee One, in contrast, only ever gets half my attention. At mealtimes I feed her, but I'm up every 30 seconds to get someone else more juice, or to fetch the margarine, or to wipe up a spill. While changing her diaper I'm yelling at the Captain to get dressed, or telling Gal Smiley to go and put her shoes on for school. Even when I'm sitting on the floor with her, playing with her, the other two are usually hanging around, dominating the play and the conversation. So even though the Wee One gets attention, and is involved in our family, she doesn't seem to be getting a chance to focus on just one thing at one time; and I don't seem to be getting the chance to focus on just her at one time.

I know that she feels happy and loved here, and I'm sure she's going to grow up just fine. I guess I feel kind of sad about not giving the Wee One the same kind of attention that the Captain got, but each of my kids is different, our family situation is different, and so, they'll each get a different experience in life.

Still. I think I'll try to work a little more Wee One time into the schedule.

They're Here!

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 17:00:27 GMT

The patio guys are here! I'm so incredibly excited. This morning they have spraypainted the outline of our new patio and walkway on the lawn in bright orange, and let me tell you, it's the bright orange of JOY. I can already imagine myself sitting RIGHT OVER THERE with a Tom Collins in hand!

They're currently across the street digging out the patio for another house on our street. Later this afternoon they'll be digging ours out. Then, the concrete will actually arrive tomorrow. I thought that it would take a few weeks, maybe even months, for all the work to be done -- this company's main job is to provide patios for pools, and they squeeze in little jobs like ours between their main jobs, so it's sort of a work-whenever-we-can kind of schedule. But at this rate, we could be barbequing in grass-free comfort by the end of the week!

I'm REALLY HAPPY right now.