A Moment of Aisling

I once read a book that indicated babies can remember faces, even when they're as young as 3 months. That's why babies love looking at round objects, according to the book. Well, after 3 kids, I take what these parenting books say with a grain of salt. Aisling, who is now 15 months, has demonstrated that it's not the face, but the hairstyle.
We were visiting our good friends Dave and Shelley last week. Both Ceilidh and Devlin love spending time with Uncle Dave and Auntie Shelley, especially checking out their sand garden (I think our kids have pretty much destroyed the garden with their vigorous raking.) and seeing what other interesting knick-knacks are lying around. Aisling is still apprehensive in new surroundings. She kept her exploring to the stairs and Mommy's legs. During the course of the evening, some more friends dropped by - Bill and Kathy and their two adorable boys. Aisling took one look at Kathy (whom we had never met before) and promptly made herself comfortable in her lap. Aisling, who not yet ventured into Shelley's arms, gave Kathy a hug. When Kathy's own son tried to sit in his mother's lap, Aisling pushed him out of the way or pulled him out by grabbing his hair. We were all surprised and amused by this behaviour. Then upon a closer look at Kathy, Wayne and I realized she had a very similar hairstyle to our nanny. Long black hair with a more tanned appearance, and also a similar clothing style - Kathy looked like Novelyn from a baby's perspective. As our nanny has been unexpectedly away, this affection that Aisling was showering on Kathy has shown us how attached she has become to Novelyn.

Good kid, Bad kid Routine

For those of you with more than one kid, ever notice that when one is acting up, the other is striving for angelic perfection? Lately, Ceilidh has been testing the limits of parental patience (and then some). As she's crying and stomping her feet, as she's shouting "No" from the top of her lungs while kicking at whatever is in the way, refusing with the stubbornness of a mule to do anything you've asked of her (like take off shoes), Devlin is sitting quietly minding his own business. This morning, Ceilidh started her tantrum at the Walmart. Yep - we were one of "those" families with the screaming kid at the store. Why? Because I wouldn't buy her a toy. Given that her behaviour went from bad to worse in a matter of seconds, it was a good thing that no toy made its way into the shopping basket. (Of course, I could have avoided this entirely by shopping sans enfants.) The crying ended in the car when I promised a cookie for all after lunch. But for some reason, only known to Ceilidh, she refused to leave the van when we arrived home. She refused to come into the house, she refused to take off her shoes, she pretty much refused to do anything. So I left her in the vestibule and carried on with the rest. Unloaded the shopping. Ceilidh still having her tantrum. Put away the shopping. Started lunch. Ceilidh still crying. Got Devlin his lunch. Got Aisling started on her meal. Ceilidh now has shoes off and inside but refusing to wash hands. Meanwhile, Devlin was being extremely super polite, and using the words "thank you" and "please" without prompting. Eventually Ceilidh calmed down enough to start her meal, and Devlin was still an angel.
I've noticed Ceilidh also puts on the super child performance when Devlin has his moments. It reminds me of when my brother Bill and I used to get in trouble from our parents. Our sister Shunaha would suddenly become the good daughter who could do no wrong. It used to make us even more mad, and I'm sure Bill aimed a kick at her shin or pulled one of her pigtails for that performance. Which then got us into more trouble - a vicious cycle!
Incidentally, kids have some incredible stubborn streaks. If only we adults had half the same drive and energy that kids put into their theatrical performances to get what we desired! There's a part of me that thinks "Way to go kid! You'll never be a pushover in life, and you'll set your own path in life. It's not mulishness, but rather a deep set drive to get what you want in life." And then there's the other part me that thinks, "why are you driving me nuts? Surely, only human children in the animal kingdom will drive their parents insane with the tantrums and deliberate testing of what their parents are made of!"

Saran wrap

The welcome I received when I returned home was nothing short of what returning war veterans would have received. As I pulled into the driveway, I could see Ceilidh peeking through the blinds. Devlin opened the door and immediately launched himself into my arms. Of course, they were eager to see what gifts I had brought. Both competed with each other to tell me of the adventures they had with Uncle Billy, and Grandma, and who spent more time on the naughty stool. Nothing like being proud of all your accomplishments, including the bad ones!
And Aisling? She had been my saran wrap baby - clinging to me and not letting go for more than a second. Her molars are coming in and that may explain her need to plant herself in my arms every waking (and sleeping) moment. But I also like to hope that she missed me just as much as I missed her.

Their Idol - Uncle Billy

While I have been away this week, my brother has been helping Wayne hold down the fort. My kids idolize their aunts and uncles, but Uncle Billy receives the most adoration. He is the one who showers them with the gifts of newly released movies (and some not yet released). He takes them to the park and gives them piggy back rides. He cajoles them into eating all of their dinner and promises ice cream treats. Uncle Billy coaxes them into a good mood when a temper tantrum is imminent.  

My brother is a doting uncle.  He is gentle and tender with Aisling, and boisterous with Devlin. But nothing is more evident in his love for his nieces and nephew than his ability to put aside his germ phobias and change a dirty diaper or wipe a bum without freaking out.

 All three have been enjoying the treat of having Uncle Billy at home.  Devlin was over the moon as he excitedly told me about all that he had done with his uncle. Most importantly, Uncle Billy had helped him put together all the Lego he had received for his birthday - an activity which mommy had neither the time nor talent. More than once, Devlin has professed that Uncle Billy is his best friend. 

Aisling took naps with her uncle and woke him up by "gently" sticking her curious fingers into his ears and nose. 

And Ceilidh? Well, she's learning how to take advantage of her uncle's generosity and naivete. Bill had taken on the role of chauffeur and ferried her to gymnastics.  I asked him how that went.

Bill: She did great. She really listened well to the instructors. And I got her the treat too.

Me: What treat?

Bill: You know, the jelly beans she gets after class.

Me: Uh...no. She doesn't get jelly beans. Did she say she got jellybeans?

Bill: She told me "Mommy always buys her jelly beans from the machines after class." You don't?

Me: You've been had!

I'm Missing My Kids

It's barely been 18 hours since I last kissed their sleeping faces and gently caressed their soft cheeks, and I miss them something fierce.
It's every mom's dream - a few days away from the house, the spouse and the kids. For 5 days, I'm at a work-related event, sleeping in a different city. I can hit the spa, go shopping, linger over a cup of coffee while reading a magazine, have an extra glass of wine. No worries about laundry, grocery shopping, what to feed the kids, or how to get everything done in x number of hours. (Rather the worries are whether or not I've left enough clean laundry, did I remember to stock the fridge with the kids' favorite fruits; what Daddy will feed the kids, will I remember to remind Wayne about garbage day?) I should be revelling in these brief moments of freedom rather than stress about the pile of laundry that will await my arrival home.
And I miss my kids. I miss their sweaty faces pressed against mine to give me kisses and their sticky hands gripping my hands. I miss the craziness of trying to listen to everyone's stories as they all race to be the first to speak about their day while I try to make my way into the kitchen with two kids hanging off of my legs and third holding onto my shirt to slow me down. I ache to feel the slight weight of Aisling, curled against me with her head buried in the crook of my neck, and feeling the soft vibrations as she gently hums herself to sleep with her small hands curled against my chest. As I held her last night, I realised this week would mark our first separation at night since she came home from the hospital.
I called them tonight, and felt my throat tighten when I heard their voices. Aisling babbled happily over the speaker phone, while Ceilidh and Devlin fought over whose turn it was to talk. The tears formed when I heard Ceilidh tell me to come home, and when Devlin said he missed me. And when I think of how much I miss my kids, I think of how heartbreaking it is for those mothers who have no choice but to face a long separation from their own children without knowing when they'll be together. Our Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan, mothers who commute several provinces to work, the hundreds of foreign caregivers who come to Canada to work and forge a better future for their young children left behind in their home countries, Suaad Hagi Mohamud who was detained in Kenya for over three months, fighting to prove her identity while separated from her son in Toronto. I think of all the moms who are missing their children greatly but will never see them because of an illness or accident that ended a young life much too soon.
Then my mind turns to the "mothers" who have abandoned their babies to an uncertain future, to a life filled with pain, and sometimes death. And I can't fathom it. Remember the case about the salsa dancing mother who left her young toddler at home all alone in a stifling apartment, while she embarked on a weekend of dancing and parties? By the time she returned to her home, her baby girl was dead. I remember the disgust I felt for this woman, and wondered how a "mother" could so easily forget her child, so blithely put her own wants ahead of her dependent daughter? But mostly, I remember feeling such sadness for this little girl and imagined how afraid and desperately scared that baby must have been when no one came to her, no matter how long and how loudly she cried.
It's true that whenever we read about such tragedy involving children, we will turn to our own and hug them just a little tighter and just a little longer. I hope and pray that my children will never experience such terror or hurt or pain. I know I can never insulate from all the evils of the world. I know eventually they will grow up, and they will see the world has both good and bad elements. But I hope to protect them for as long as I can. I hope to preserve their innocence and their belief in happily-ever-after endings because there are enough cynics in this world. And while I'm at it, I pray for strength and inspiration and guidance (and lots of patience) to help my husband and me to be better parents. I also pray that my children will always be surrounded by love, and that they will know they are loved, unconditionally (no matter how crazy they make us). Because the fact is, parenthood is a tough job and we all need the help we can get.
I'm missing my kids something fierce. I know they're in good hands (their nanny and Daddy and Uncle Billy) and I know this week away is a good thing, but I miss them and I'm already counting down the hours until I see and hold them again.

Confessions of a tired Mom

I was this close to calling in sick, but leaving the house, and checking into a hotel to sleep for the day. Unfortunately, my Protestant work ethic prevented me from making that call. Little Aisling slept soundly from 9:30pm to 12:30am, and then woke up on the hour, every hour until 5:00am.
The morning work out got scrubbed for a few more minutes of shut-eye.
And believe it or not, Aisling was awake at 7:30am, looking chipper and rested!

Little Ears

Ever notice how kids can manage to hear the slightest whispers between you and your partner, but somehow will not hear you screaming at them from a foot away?


I have repeatedly asked my children to put on their shoes / clean up toys / come to the dinner table/ get into the bath tub/ get into their car seats/ etc. in ever increasing volumes with no response. Not even an indication that they heard the request. No blinking of the eyes. No twitching of their head. Not even a momentary stop in motion. Not until you are in their face, front and centre, yelling for the twentieth time to put on their shoes do they even acknowledge your presence.


I have wondered at times if my children suffered from premature hearing loss. Or maybe they managed to stuff a tiny toy into their ear canals. These theories are quickly dismissed by the following observations:





1. Ceilidh can hear a bag of chips being opened in any part of the house and come running.


2. Devlin manages to hear all the curse words muttered by a frustrated parent, and call us on it.


3. Aisling will wake from a sound sleep upon hearing the creak of a floorboard when mommy steps on it. (yet manages to sleep through a tempter tantrum by an older sibling!)


4. The word "treat", no matter how quietly it is uttered, will bring all three kids to your side in a matter of seconds.

And another demonstration of their remarkable ability to clearly hear:
One night, after a frustrating ultimate frisbee game, Wayne and I were rehashing the ugly details on the drive home. It was a game that was played poorly, and resulted in a loss against a team we have beaten in the past.
W: That was awful. We should have kicked their butts.

Devlin, from the back row of the minivan: Daddy, don't say "kick butt" because that means you're fighting someone, and fighting is bad and not nice.

A clear example of the "little pitcher, big ears". Incidentally, Devlin and Ceilidh have disproportionately large ears. We're not sure which family this particular trait came from, although there's been some thought it's a by-product of mixed marriage kids. Lots of interracial kids have really big ears. Take a look sometime. Once, Devlin even told his doctor that the only thing that was growing were his ears!

At any rate, you'd think with such large hearing appendages, they could pick up all sounds.

Alas, I have concluded that instead of supersonic hearing powers, my children have developed the ability to practise selective hearing at a very early age. Perhaps a trait they have picked up from their father?

For example, Ceilidh will be asked a number of times to pick up her toys. Each time, in a more louder, more insistent tone. And each time, Ceilidh will continue with whatever activity she was partaking in without any notice. Not even blink at the sound of our voices. But if Daddy was to say very quietly, "Ceilidh, you can have a chip if you pick up your toys", there will be an instant reaction. Her head will snap to attention and she will look around for the promised chip.