Ceilidh is only 3, but she's already very much into the "girl" thing. She loves dresses, and pretends to put on makeup. She likes to carry around purses, and she's very conscious of pretty items. The colour pink is pre-dominant in her world.
Last night, Daddy took her shopping for dance slippers. And returned with the needed dance slippers, but also a pair of unnecessary pink sequined shoes. Picked out by the princess herself, and bought by the indulgent daddy. "Don't be mad Mommy, but Daddy got me these PRETTY shoes!" she said as she proudly showed me the treasured items.
Then this morning, I asked her if she wanted to walk Devlin to school with me.
"Yes," she answered, "and you have to meet Brandon!" referring to one of Devlin's classmates.
"I do?"
"Yes. He's a boy. And he's tall. And he's handsome!"
Now where did she learn that word? And more importantly, should we be worried that she's already into boys at age 3????
Friday, September 18, 2009
Aisling is sick
So, we were too hopeful and naive in thinking Devlin's illness and resulting ear infection wouldn't affect anyone else. Aisling is now sick. She's been having temps of 39.6 or so, despite several rounds of advil and tylenol. She's very clingy and starting to whimper.
Last evening, we took her to the walk-in clinic. And returned with instructions to retrieve a urine sample from the baby. How? A plastic bag, taped to her nether regions and tucked inside the diaper. Then carefully empty bag into specimen cup. Okay, shouldn't be too hard.
Well, one restless baby who didn't sleep well and the plastic bag came loose. Try again. Still no pee in the bag, but lots of pee in the diaper. I'll have to return to the clinic to get more bags. But in the meantime, her fever is still raging, and it's now croup. She's barking like a seal, and her breathing is sooo loud, it really does sound like rattles.And as per textbook definition, this happened in the middle of the night.
Poor baby - my very active going concern just wants to be cuddled as she snuggles her hot sweaty head into the crook of my neck.
Last night, after we had taped the pee bag to her, and dosed her with more tylenol, she was very restless as she tried to find a position that allowed her to breathe comfortably but still wanted to be snuggled by me. All that jostling around after a bottle of milk - not a good thing. Because as she buried her face into my chest, she heaved and threw up...all over me. Somehow i managed to contain it all on me. Nothing on the bed. Pretty talented!
Devlin took one look, and said very calmly, "I'll go get Daddy" and then raced out to yell "DADDY! AISLING THREW UP ON MOMMY!"
Which brought back memories of Devlin doing that to me all the time before we realized he had lactose intolerance issues. He would down 6 ounces of milk and bring it all back up within 4 minutes, and I would manage to catch it all on me. Yuck - it was pretty gross, but just another page in the mommyhood book.
Last evening, we took her to the walk-in clinic. And returned with instructions to retrieve a urine sample from the baby. How? A plastic bag, taped to her nether regions and tucked inside the diaper. Then carefully empty bag into specimen cup. Okay, shouldn't be too hard.
Well, one restless baby who didn't sleep well and the plastic bag came loose. Try again. Still no pee in the bag, but lots of pee in the diaper. I'll have to return to the clinic to get more bags. But in the meantime, her fever is still raging, and it's now croup. She's barking like a seal, and her breathing is sooo loud, it really does sound like rattles.And as per textbook definition, this happened in the middle of the night.
Poor baby - my very active going concern just wants to be cuddled as she snuggles her hot sweaty head into the crook of my neck.
Last night, after we had taped the pee bag to her, and dosed her with more tylenol, she was very restless as she tried to find a position that allowed her to breathe comfortably but still wanted to be snuggled by me. All that jostling around after a bottle of milk - not a good thing. Because as she buried her face into my chest, she heaved and threw up...all over me. Somehow i managed to contain it all on me. Nothing on the bed. Pretty talented!
Devlin took one look, and said very calmly, "I'll go get Daddy" and then raced out to yell "DADDY! AISLING THREW UP ON MOMMY!"
Which brought back memories of Devlin doing that to me all the time before we realized he had lactose intolerance issues. He would down 6 ounces of milk and bring it all back up within 4 minutes, and I would manage to catch it all on me. Yuck - it was pretty gross, but just another page in the mommyhood book.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Fever/Beaver
Devlin's been running a fever for the last few days. The source of the fever was determined to be an ear infection. He's been prescribed antibiotics, and I am eternally grateful that he's gotten much better at taking his medication. As an infant and toddler, he had had many ear infections, due to being exposed to many many germs at daycare. We would dread having to administer his doses as it would take one parent to hold him down, and the other to ease the syringe into his mouth, past the clenched jaws and far enough down to prevent both gagging and pushing the liquid back out with the tongue.
So, he's on both the antibiotics and advil for his fever. If you observed his behaviour from a distance, you would never suspect he was ill. His energy levels are at their normal highs and his mood is almost as good. But the minute either Mommy or Daddy walk in the house, he becomes "sick" - coughing, moaning, and holding his head. I really do believe Devlin has a future career as a thespian. At bedtime, he's really milking the illness. Devlin even put on his best "poor me" voice and spoke with Auntie Shunaha on the phone. She's promised hugs and kisses to make him feel better. Last night, the "not feeling good" line got him an extra long bath in the jacuzzi tub and an extra bowl of ice cream to soothe his sore throat. (Incidentally, the jacuzzi tub sees more usage from the kids than the adults. why is that?)
Ceilidh has been taking all this extra attention on Devlin with good grace. She hates medicine and is simply thankful she doesn't have to take any. She also benefits from the extra ice cream helpings. And she has shown her concern for her brother by properly diagnosing his condition.
"Devlin, you have a beaver?"
"No, a fever!"
"A beaver?"
"It's a fever Ceilidh!"
"You have a beaver because you ate too much beaver tails!"
(Yep - we're working on enunciating the "b" and "f".)
So, he's on both the antibiotics and advil for his fever. If you observed his behaviour from a distance, you would never suspect he was ill. His energy levels are at their normal highs and his mood is almost as good. But the minute either Mommy or Daddy walk in the house, he becomes "sick" - coughing, moaning, and holding his head. I really do believe Devlin has a future career as a thespian. At bedtime, he's really milking the illness. Devlin even put on his best "poor me" voice and spoke with Auntie Shunaha on the phone. She's promised hugs and kisses to make him feel better. Last night, the "not feeling good" line got him an extra long bath in the jacuzzi tub and an extra bowl of ice cream to soothe his sore throat. (Incidentally, the jacuzzi tub sees more usage from the kids than the adults. why is that?)
Ceilidh has been taking all this extra attention on Devlin with good grace. She hates medicine and is simply thankful she doesn't have to take any. She also benefits from the extra ice cream helpings. And she has shown her concern for her brother by properly diagnosing his condition.
"Devlin, you have a beaver?"
"No, a fever!"
"A beaver?"
"It's a fever Ceilidh!"
"You have a beaver because you ate too much beaver tails!"
(Yep - we're working on enunciating the "b" and "f".)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Back to Church
We've returned to church. It's not like we had a major spiritual conflict, or a clash with the pulpit leaders that led us astray. It simply took too much effort to get ourselves organized (showered, fed, kids fed and dressed) and out of the house on time to get to church only to spend most of the hour chasing our kids up and down the aisles instead of receiving any spiritual sustenance for our souls. But now, the kids are a bit older and can go to the Sunday school classes, and it's about time we've started to really settle ourselves into the neighbourhood (it's been a few years now) and get to know the neighbours.
I have many memories of Sunday school - it's where I learned most of the Bible stories. For me, church is also where my family nurtured and maintained its cultural ties to our ethnic community as well. Living in a large suburban centre, away from my family and my home church, I miss that sense of community. I also want my children to experience and grow in a "church family". Wayne and I regularly attended Sunday services early in our marriage (after all, that is where we met), and even after Devlin was born. But once he became mobile, it became more and more easier to worship at the church of St. Mattress. And while we say prayers every night before bed, we have been lacking in reading the Bible stories.
I promised my late grandmother that I would take the kids to church and teach them about our faith. It is through my grandmother that I learned to appreciate the true meaning of having faith as hers was as deep as an ocean and as steadfast as a mountain. She taught me Bible verses and how to pray. When I hear the opening lines of some hymns, I see her singing them - out of tune but with great passion. I only hope I can pass on to my children some of these gifts my grandmother gave to me.
So, after very little discussion we've decided to "return" to our weekly habit of attending worship services. Now that the children all wake up extremely early on the weekends, it's easier to get out the door. Besides, Devlin was beginning to think that church only existed in Windsor, since we only attend when we're visiting the grandparents.
I have many memories of Sunday school - it's where I learned most of the Bible stories. For me, church is also where my family nurtured and maintained its cultural ties to our ethnic community as well. Living in a large suburban centre, away from my family and my home church, I miss that sense of community. I also want my children to experience and grow in a "church family". Wayne and I regularly attended Sunday services early in our marriage (after all, that is where we met), and even after Devlin was born. But once he became mobile, it became more and more easier to worship at the church of St. Mattress. And while we say prayers every night before bed, we have been lacking in reading the Bible stories.
I promised my late grandmother that I would take the kids to church and teach them about our faith. It is through my grandmother that I learned to appreciate the true meaning of having faith as hers was as deep as an ocean and as steadfast as a mountain. She taught me Bible verses and how to pray. When I hear the opening lines of some hymns, I see her singing them - out of tune but with great passion. I only hope I can pass on to my children some of these gifts my grandmother gave to me.
So, after very little discussion we've decided to "return" to our weekly habit of attending worship services. Now that the children all wake up extremely early on the weekends, it's easier to get out the door. Besides, Devlin was beginning to think that church only existed in Windsor, since we only attend when we're visiting the grandparents.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We're not the only ones...
Before we had children (I refer to that time as B.C.), we were horrified when we observed parents yelling at their kids, and having absolutely no patience with their off-spring. We would cringe when we heard wailing tots at the Walmart or grocery store, and smirked at the moms who looked like they had been dragged under the wheels of a semi.
Okay, we now have kids. And, we now are waaaay more understanding of others in a similar situation. We now sympathise with the mom and her screaming children at the check-out line that is ridiculously long, and also curse the store management for only opening 4 check-out lanes where there are 20 other lanes closed! Why have a gazillion check out lanes if you never open them all?
With nights of uninterrupted sleep a very distant memory, we always look (and feel) like we've been hit by a truck before the morning even gets under way. And there are mornings that one of 3 kids has a messy face and we're out in public. It's hard to keep track of which one has gotten their face wiped and which one was told to wipe own face, and which one just played with the water in the sink. And sometimes the only reason I think having boys are easier is because you don't have to worry about combing out the tangles and tying hair into ponytails. I'm just grateful that Ceilidh has yet to discover braids, or worse yet, French braids because that's one skill I just don't possess. And I'll bet the farm that my spouse can't braid either.
A few weeks ago, we were on our way to attend Devlin's soccer trophy day at a neighbourhood park. One of those events where all the soccer participants in the entire league receives a trophy, a few snacks, and there's opportunities for more photos. Let's see, at least 12 kids per team, 6 teams per night, 5 nights per week, and that's just one age group. There's probably a thousand kids. So, the league tries to coordinate a timetable with every team slotted for 30 minute slots at the park. Parking is limited. It's a warm day. There's kids everywhere. Children are running here and there. Parents are trying to keep track of kids and siblings of various ages. We heard and observed more than one parent yell at their off-spring. Once upon a time, we would have raised our eyebrows at such behaviour. Now? We're just grateful we're not the only ones who yell at our kids. It makes you feel like you're part of a club, and that you're not the only inept parent who cannot control own flesh and blood.
Okay, we now have kids. And, we now are waaaay more understanding of others in a similar situation. We now sympathise with the mom and her screaming children at the check-out line that is ridiculously long, and also curse the store management for only opening 4 check-out lanes where there are 20 other lanes closed! Why have a gazillion check out lanes if you never open them all?
With nights of uninterrupted sleep a very distant memory, we always look (and feel) like we've been hit by a truck before the morning even gets under way. And there are mornings that one of 3 kids has a messy face and we're out in public. It's hard to keep track of which one has gotten their face wiped and which one was told to wipe own face, and which one just played with the water in the sink. And sometimes the only reason I think having boys are easier is because you don't have to worry about combing out the tangles and tying hair into ponytails. I'm just grateful that Ceilidh has yet to discover braids, or worse yet, French braids because that's one skill I just don't possess. And I'll bet the farm that my spouse can't braid either.
A few weeks ago, we were on our way to attend Devlin's soccer trophy day at a neighbourhood park. One of those events where all the soccer participants in the entire league receives a trophy, a few snacks, and there's opportunities for more photos. Let's see, at least 12 kids per team, 6 teams per night, 5 nights per week, and that's just one age group. There's probably a thousand kids. So, the league tries to coordinate a timetable with every team slotted for 30 minute slots at the park. Parking is limited. It's a warm day. There's kids everywhere. Children are running here and there. Parents are trying to keep track of kids and siblings of various ages. We heard and observed more than one parent yell at their off-spring. Once upon a time, we would have raised our eyebrows at such behaviour. Now? We're just grateful we're not the only ones who yell at our kids. It makes you feel like you're part of a club, and that you're not the only inept parent who cannot control own flesh and blood.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The naughty stool and the laundry room
In our family, we utilise the time-out methods for misbehaving children. We have a naughty stool (courtesy of a tip we gleaned from watching 1 episode of Super nanny) in our kitchen. The length of the time-out will range from short (quick remorse and a willingness to apologize) to somewhat lengthy (very stubborn child and accompanying temper tantrum or, worse, complete denial of behaviour). Generally, the children understand the time-outs are doled out for behaviour that is not acceptable, like hitting or screaming, or not sharing. Once when Ceilidh would not stop kicking Devlin's seat in the van, Devlin said "somebody needs to go on the naughty stool when we get home."
If the initial time spent on the naughty stool doesn't work, or the screaming is at a decibel level that jumbo jets can compete with, then we move on to step 2 - the laundry room. We place the misbehaving child on top of the washing machine in the laundry room since the child can't escape but is not near any harmful objects. It also intensifies the feeling of being left out. Akin to the penalty box.
Now, Devlin is an old pro at the naughty stool routine. He's quick to apologize, and will understand why he's on the said stool. He also stays on the stool for the entire time. When Ceilidh was about 2 years old, she wanted to go onto the stool. If I told her it was time for a time-out, she went willingly. After all, it was something that big kids got to do in her eyes. Nowadays, the novelty of sitting on the naughty stool has worn off. And she keeps getting off the stool. She will even climb down from the washing machine. Once we caught her off the washing machine and playing with her toys during her time-out. (Whoever said you should stay with your child during the time-out only had 1 kid.)
I've now seen Aisling looking at the naughty stool with interest. At this time, she likes to approach her older sibling on the stool and stare up at them and smile. This usually results in a "Aisling is bothering me" scream.
When we visit my family, the laundry room is where the time-outs are served. On top of the washing machine or freezer. And both Devlin and Ceilidh have had some time spent there.
On a recent visit to the cottage, Devlin had a run-in with the broom stick. The broom tripped Devlin, and an owie resulted. Once Devlin was done crying over his boo-boo and the band aids were applied, his uncle Billy told Devlin to scold the broom for being bad. (We sometimes scold inanimate objects like walls, or tables, when the kids run into them and get hurt. After all, the fault for ensuing boo-boo has to lay somewhere, and it's surely not the child who's still unsteady on his/her feet.) Uncle Billy said "bad broom" and Devlin picked up the broom and proceeded into the cottage.
"Where are you going with the broom?"
"To the laundry room. It needs a time-out."
If the initial time spent on the naughty stool doesn't work, or the screaming is at a decibel level that jumbo jets can compete with, then we move on to step 2 - the laundry room. We place the misbehaving child on top of the washing machine in the laundry room since the child can't escape but is not near any harmful objects. It also intensifies the feeling of being left out. Akin to the penalty box.
Now, Devlin is an old pro at the naughty stool routine. He's quick to apologize, and will understand why he's on the said stool. He also stays on the stool for the entire time. When Ceilidh was about 2 years old, she wanted to go onto the stool. If I told her it was time for a time-out, she went willingly. After all, it was something that big kids got to do in her eyes. Nowadays, the novelty of sitting on the naughty stool has worn off. And she keeps getting off the stool. She will even climb down from the washing machine. Once we caught her off the washing machine and playing with her toys during her time-out. (Whoever said you should stay with your child during the time-out only had 1 kid.)
I've now seen Aisling looking at the naughty stool with interest. At this time, she likes to approach her older sibling on the stool and stare up at them and smile. This usually results in a "Aisling is bothering me" scream.
When we visit my family, the laundry room is where the time-outs are served. On top of the washing machine or freezer. And both Devlin and Ceilidh have had some time spent there.
On a recent visit to the cottage, Devlin had a run-in with the broom stick. The broom tripped Devlin, and an owie resulted. Once Devlin was done crying over his boo-boo and the band aids were applied, his uncle Billy told Devlin to scold the broom for being bad. (We sometimes scold inanimate objects like walls, or tables, when the kids run into them and get hurt. After all, the fault for ensuing boo-boo has to lay somewhere, and it's surely not the child who's still unsteady on his/her feet.) Uncle Billy said "bad broom" and Devlin picked up the broom and proceeded into the cottage.
"Where are you going with the broom?"
"To the laundry room. It needs a time-out."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The things we do for our kids
Let's talk about the things we do for our kids, that only as parents we do. Beyond the dirty diapers and really disgusting diapers, beyond cleaning up puke from car seats (a very gross task that only parents are exposed to), and dealing with temper tantrums from tired, cranky kids in public places. Those odd tasks, those mind numbing routines, the ones that make you smile afterwards and wonder "did I really do that?"
We've all read bedtime stories over and over again, in the same evening because a toddler wants it "again". Or drew faces on the dinner plate with the food items to entice a child to eat, all the while making sure none of the food items touch each other. Or gone through the entire bag of diapers looking for the ones with Elmo on them because that's the only ones the kid will allow to cover their royal tush. Or listened to same sleeping inducing Wiggles lullaby over and over and over again in an attempt to soothe the savage beasts.
We visited the kids' grandmother yesterday. It's about a 90 minute drive. To ensure maximum comfort for the kids and us, we made sure bathroom visits were done before strapping the babes in. Then we had to ensure everyone had the snack of their choice. Devlin wanted peaches - peeled and sliced. In his own serving container. Ceilidh wanted strawberries - sliced in her own container. They both needed napkins nearby for their sticky fingers. Then Devlin wanted his invisible martian man hunter figurine. And Ceilidh wanted a princess toy. No specification, which meant Mommy had to go back into the house at least 3 times until the desired doll was located and settled next to Ceilidh. Both wanted their car blankets. Aisling was the easiest - a bottle and a soother. But then again, she can't really talk yet.
By the time we were all ready to go, the adults were pooped!
What about special outings we do for the kids? Again, a task we parents willingly partake in that but for the munchkins, we wouldn't have ventured.
We've all read bedtime stories over and over again, in the same evening because a toddler wants it "again". Or drew faces on the dinner plate with the food items to entice a child to eat, all the while making sure none of the food items touch each other. Or gone through the entire bag of diapers looking for the ones with Elmo on them because that's the only ones the kid will allow to cover their royal tush. Or listened to same sleeping inducing Wiggles lullaby over and over and over again in an attempt to soothe the savage beasts.
We visited the kids' grandmother yesterday. It's about a 90 minute drive. To ensure maximum comfort for the kids and us, we made sure bathroom visits were done before strapping the babes in. Then we had to ensure everyone had the snack of their choice. Devlin wanted peaches - peeled and sliced. In his own serving container. Ceilidh wanted strawberries - sliced in her own container. They both needed napkins nearby for their sticky fingers. Then Devlin wanted his invisible martian man hunter figurine. And Ceilidh wanted a princess toy. No specification, which meant Mommy had to go back into the house at least 3 times until the desired doll was located and settled next to Ceilidh. Both wanted their car blankets. Aisling was the easiest - a bottle and a soother. But then again, she can't really talk yet.
By the time we were all ready to go, the adults were pooped!
What about special outings we do for the kids? Again, a task we parents willingly partake in that but for the munchkins, we wouldn't have ventured.
We've done the amusement parks on days that most sane individuals are seeking comfort in air conditioned homes. The only other folks out there are also parents and kids. On the hottest, most humid day of the summer, we've taken Devlin to Marineland. I was 8.5 months pregnant with Ceilidh at the time! Swore never to do that again. Nope, instead, we dragged along 2 month old Aisling the next time we visited Marineland. And it was just as hot and humid.
We've also stood in snow and freezing wind to watch the Santa Claus parade. Parenting has no seasonal boundaries. Speaking of cold, what do you do when your kid has to pee and you're on the highway, nowhere close to a service station, and it's really really cold out there? You grab an empty beverage container, unbuckle the car seat, deal with the clothes, hold the cup and tell the kid to aim carefully. (Although, we haven't had to deal with the daughter yet on this.)
And then there was there time that Devlin had a itchy bum, and it needed to be scratched immediately. Except, he was buckled into his car seat so he couldn't reach the itch, and he was too young to just "ignore it" and we were on the highway. Yep. So there I was, with the seat reclined, twisting around in a manner that a contortionist would be proud of, to reach his little tush to scratch the itch.
That's almost as memorable as the time that Ceilidh fell on her bottom and needed to have her boo-boo kissed. At least she insisted on Daddy kissing it better.
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