100 days for Quinn - April 9, 2012

Quinn is 100 days old. It's a special milestone in our Korean culture, borne from the days when infant mortality rates were especially high in the early weeks. Although maternal and perinatal health programs have improved infant survival rates exponentially, a child's 100th day is still commemorated with pictures and lots of rice cakes. In our chaotic life, Quinn's 100th day was marked with pictures, lots of cuddles and a cake.
I can't believe it's been 100 days since our darling monkey made his grand entrance on the last waning minutes of 2011. Since then, though my quality of sleep has drastically declined, our daily lives have been enriched and brightened by the contagious smiles Quinn deals out to all of us.
I have been pleasantly surprised by the lack of jealousy among his older siblings. I have been deeply touched by their helpfulness and eagerness to hold Baby Quinn, except of course, when his diaper needs to be changed. Every morning, Devlin kisses his brother "good morning" and he is quick to ask about Quinn when he comes home from school.  Ceilidh will cuddle her baby brother, and when I'm not looking, pick him up from whatever surface Quinn was lying on. Aisling calls Quinn the "cutest baby" and serenades him whenever he cries.
At 100 days, Quinn is smiling easily, especially in the mornings. He loves to "talk" with you, and vocalizes his happiness and his displeasure. Bathtimes are generally a session of happy coos and grins, so long as the water is steaming warm. He's not a huge fan of car rides, and proved it by crying from Chatham to Mississauga on the journey home from Windsor. At feeding time, he expresses his excitement by joyfully kicking his legs while batting away his mother's shirt and smiling gleefully.
His gummy grins are enough to whisk away a terrible night's sleep. His jutting lower lip and sad eyes tug at your heart as you quickly scoop up the twelve and half pounds of baby and cuddle him close, as you swear to right whatever is wrong in his world. Whenever he snuggles his face into my neck, a wave of contentment  washes over me that melts away the daily stresses of my chore list. The realization that 100 days has already sped by with lightening speed moves me to sit down and revel in the moment. We cuddle, we play with some toys, we coo at each other. Instead of folding the laundry, I rock Quinn to sleep in my arms, and let him snooze gently while I stare at his peaceful face.
Happy 100 days Quinn!

Dandelions and Phone Numbers

You know it's spring when you awaken to the sun shining through the window and birds chirping noisily. On the bare trees, leaf buds are starting to form, and the tender green shoots of tulips and daffodils are starting to poke their way through the dirt.
In our chaotic home, the signs of spring also include plastic tumblers filled with water and wilting dandelions - evidence of the flowers lovingly picked and arranged by Aisling. There are chalk drawings on the driveways - created on the first warm and sunny day. Plastic toys and hula hoops are strewn across the backyard, and bicycles litter the driveway, alongside the hockey net.
And then there is puppy love...
The other day, Devlin and Ceilidh were dutifully emptying out their backpacks and lunch boxes and bringing me the "important" papers from school. Crumpled in his sweaty palm, was a scrap of paper that Devlin also presented to me.
"What's that?" I ask.
"A phone number," he answers nonchalantly.
"Whose?"
"A girl gave it to me so I can call her."
I mentally run through various responses, and come up with, "Hmmm...have we taught you how to use the phone? How are you going to call her if you don't know how to use the phone properly?"
No sweat to the young Romeo.
"Well, I gave her our number, so she can call me then," came the reply accompanied by shrugging shoulders.

Ceilidh's tummy problems

Since the start of the new year, Ceilidh has been reporting tummy aches to her teachers. The school calls, and off I dash to the school to pick up a sick kid. Except she's not sick. There's no fever, no complaints of cramping or nausea - just vague statements of "my tummy hurts, but I don't know how".  So, I entertained the mystery tummy aches the first few days. There's no television or playtime. Ceilidh is sent off to bed for a nap. Definitely no special snacks either. I don't want to encourage "this coming home in the middle of the day for a tummy ache" to become routine.
After the fourth call from the school to pick up a perfectly healthy child, I had a chat with the teacher. Perhaps Ceilidh was having problems with classmates? Or was she in trouble? No, nothing out of the ordinary according to the teacher. Daddy and I sat down with Ceilidh at separate times to figure out if there was anything was bothering her. Was she jealous of the newest sibling? No. Was she not getting along with her best friends? No. Was someone making fun of her at school? No.
Then her tummy aches subsided. So, we pushed that latest stress off to the side.
Now the phantom aches have started again. When I questioned her what type of pain she was experiencing, Ceilidh was again vague. But this time, she stated she didn't want to be picked up from school. So I left her at school.
I think I now know what caused the mystery tummy aches - her lunch. I have noticed that for several days, her lunch box is coming back almost as full as it was sent. Apparently, the teacher was able to learn from Ceilidh that she didn't like butter on her sandwich, and that Daddy had packed a ham sandwich AGAIN, and she doesn't like ham. Actually, it was turkey today, and she had eaten the meat but left the bread intact. And since when doesn't she like butter on her bread? What would she like in her lunch then, I asked. Her answer was simple - pizza.
When her daddy discovered the reason for the tummy aches, he claimed he was insulted as he had put a lot of love and thought into packing those lunches. Well, now he knows how I feel on any given night when the nutritious, well-balanced meal I thoughtfully and lovingly prepared gets met with turned up noses.

The Littlest Enforcer That Could

Devli's second hockey season is coming to a close this weekend. Halfway through this season, he caught the bug. The hockey bug, that is. From a kid who had to be dragged kicking and screaming to each early morning practice and game - so much so, it made us wonder why we were putting ourselves through this weekly torture - Devlin is now becoming a hockey nut. He wants to know everything about the game, borrowing books from the library on the greatest players, to wanting to play a quick pick-up game of road hockey, or rather, carpet hockey in the basement. He's one of those boys now, you know, the ones that can recite various statistics of athletes and a team's win-loss ratio. As a female, I always had to wonder why a male brain could retain such useless information (in my humble opinion) but couldn't remember important dates like a birthday or anniversary.
He's also becoming a fan of the Montreal Canadiens, like his father. After a Habs game, whether it was a win or a loss, Devlin is wanting to watch the highlights and needing to know if his favorite players, David Desharnais and Max Pacioretty, scored a goal or two. I have tried to steer him towards my Red Wings, but he'll soon see the light when it's the play-offs and there are no Habs to cheer on.
But I digress. This post is about Devlin's hockey season. Despite his team's efforts, they've had a losing season. The players have all improved individually, but it hasn't been enough. There's one more game and the team is ever hopeful that it'll be a win.
After a session of power skating under his belt, Devlin is likely one of the stronger and faster skaters on his team. He's also one of the tiniest. At nearly eight years of age, he weighs 43 pounds and barely 4 feet tall. With the equipment, he's about 2 inches taller and maybe 3 pounds heavier. What position does he play? For the majority of the season, he's been a defenceman. The smallest one in the league.
And this season, he earned his first penalty! Two minutes for tripping. Unintentionally. Devlin was racing their net, hoping to outskate the opposing team's forward. He tripped himself, and as he landed, he stretched out his stick in a last ditch attempt to stop the puck. Instead, the opposing player tripped over the stick, and Devlin was sent to the box. His helmet was barely visible over the boards.
The littlest enforcer that could - #44.

Update - After an exciting game that went into overtime which included a goal that was not allowed, Devlin's team won their last game of the season to earn bronze medals.

Welcome Spring!

Yesterday was the first day of spring, and it was warm! Actually, it was hot! The type of hot where the kids are panting on the walk home from school, and popsicles are a welcome after-school snack.
What happened to spring weather? Where did the winter go? It seemed like only yesterday the temperatures were hovering around zero and now the grass is green, my tulips and crocuses are blooming, the chives have started to come up and I still have snow shovels propped up on my porch! While I love this weather, I haven't yet put away the snow pants, lest we do get hit by that spring storm. I'm putting off removing the snow tires for that same reason. Yet I can't help but look forward to shopping for new Easter dresses for the girls, and plan another attempt at gardening again.

The mild winter was great for me, as I had worried about the daily walks to school with a newborn in the snow. As it turned out, there were only a handful of days where we had to bundle up against sub-zero temperatures. The only sadness I harbor about the winter of 2012 was the lack of snow fun. Only one day of snowball fights and tumbling around in the white fluffy fun. And sadly, only one day of "baboggoning" as Aisling likes to say.

Ceilidh the Trendsetter

When she came down this morning, having selected her own outfit, I blinked. Twice. But Ceilidh was adamant with her choice. She would not be changing.
True - she was wearing an outfit that was weather appropriate. And clean.
Clearly, she was exercising and demonstrating her own individual style. That's a good thing. My Ceilidh won't be a follower. She will be a nonconformist. She will march to the beat of her own drum. She exudes confidence. Maybe she'll be a world leader. Or a fashion icon. Today, she'll simply be the most colourful pupil in her class. Right down to her deliberately mismatched socks.
Check it out.

Aisling's Wedding Plans

When I was expecting Aisling, I learned that a good friend was expecting her first child.  During the last months of pregnancy, we trekked to the spa and the afternoon matinees.  Initially, our dues dates were a month apart or so. But since Aisling arrived five weeks earlier than expected, she and my friend's child, Michael are only days apart. In fact, while I was recuperating from the c-section, it was a pleasant surprise to find my friend in the room across the hall after delivering Michael.
During the first year, Michael and Aisling spent many afternoons getting to know one another. The two started out as stroller buddies while we moms went for long walks outdoors and at the malls. They cooed at each other on gym mats while we huffed and puffed through a spinning class for moms and babies. There have been numerous play dates at gyms where the two have chased each other.
This year, Aisling and Michael are enrolled in gymnastics together. My friend and I thought it would be a great idea. We'd hang out and chat while our offspring tired themselves out by tumbling, jumping, swinging and leaping all over the place for an hour. It's turning out even better than we expected since they are the only two monkeys registered for their particular time slot. It's like having a private lesson in a huge gymnasium all to themselves.
Aisling adores Michael.
When I first told her she would be learning gymnastics with Michael, she was ecstatic.
A: Which Michael?
Me: Your friend Michael.
A: My Michael? My boyfriend Michael?
Me: Uh...yes.
A: I'm going to marry him one day. He hasn't asked me yet, but Michael and me are going to be married.
Me: Don't tell your dad.

But she did.
"Hey Daddy, I'm going to gymnastics. I'm going to see my boyfriend Michael!"
 Daddy responded with, "He's your friend, not your boyfriend. You're too young."
Stamping her foot on the ground, with arms crossed over her chest, she retorts, "He IS my boyfriend, and we're going to get married."

And last week, as we left the building together after another happy session, my little Aisling called out her farewells.
"Good bye! See you next week! I love you Michael!"