centre stage

I don't know where she got the idea but the girl has been asking to go to ballet class since the New Year. 

Maybe it was the hand-me-down tutu she received from dear neighbours. Maybe it was from a book we read or a show she happened to watch while the sitter was on duty. But she asked about going to ballet class every day until I finally told that her I signed her up. The whole month we waited for the Spring class to start, she asked when she would be going to ballet class. Then at long last, she finally got to go.

She's been to 2 classes so far and she just LOVES it! 

photo by the wife

At her first class, I would be the mama with the camera face, snorting and bawling, shuffling in all corners of the room to record this milestone. She looked so HAPPY and FOCUSED just being there. 

photo by the wife

I loved ballet as a little girl. I think my parents signed me up for a few classes but then very quickly took me out. In their defence, I did't know my left from my right and I could never be described as graceful even in my toddling days. 

But this girl - even in this class that's all about the fun in the fundamentals, she's darling.

It's only just the beginning. I don't know if her interest in ballet will take us to the world of rigour and recitals. But it has been so lovely to see her embrace her time in the community centre dance studio so completely. 

For now - and pretty much her whole life, we're going to absolutely let her take the lead.

We're only too happy to follow in the wake of her changements. Especially if it means her happiness, too.

for the boy's 5th birthday

It's been 2 weeks since your birthday, son, and you haven't yet received your birthday blog letter. 

Between your actual birthday festivities, your birthday party, rearranging our entire home so you can have your own room, and the daily grind (which now includes regular after-school play dates in which your mom and I find ourselves cheerfully providing food, drinks, and our home as a general venue), I haven't found the time to reflect on what I wanted to share with you here. 

I've been giving it a ton of thought though, and so here goes.

For the last 4 years, as your birthday approaches, I inevitably think about carrying you, how much I loved every second of being pregnant. I think about the moment I realized that my water broke at the stroke of midnight and waking your mom so we can prepare to meet you. I try to remember how it felt to be in labour, how it was that I was able to reach in through time and space with my voice, seizing every contraction as an opportunity to open up an entire universe that would suddenly include you. I close my eyes and make myself remember the moment you were on my chest for the first time. This is the way my psyche usually prepares for your yearly milestone. 

This year was a little different.

This year, I did make myself go through a play-by-play of your birth day. But mostly, I found myself in a planet of regret. I was beating myself up for all the things I should've been but wasn't. None of which has anything to do with you. It's just that you're 5 now - a whole hand to represent your life - no longer a toddler, a milestone for you - performance review time for me. And if I were to give myself a self-assessement at this point in my motherhood: I met most of my expectations but I feel like I failed you - and myself, rather miserably, on several counts. I'm afraid I yelled much of your most impressionable years away. I'm afraid I let you watch too much TV. 

What you need to know now is that my regret served as potent alarm: a wake up call to change the patterns in my behaviour - and in doing so, influencing yours in kinder, gentler, more mindful ways. I began this shift earlier this year and I feel like it's already made a difference for us both.

For me, your turning 5 marks the beginning of a great transition. You're ready to open up to this brave new world of inviting friends and all sorts of other influences into your life. (It's already happening. You're already asking our neighbours to come over to have a snack - without checking in with me first.) And while your mom and I are gearing up to welcome the flood of new folks and experiences, I know we're never going to actually be ready. I'm excited for you but I'm also scared, because the bonds we have worked so hard to forge over the first 5 years of your life are about to be tested - and kindergarten is just the very, very beginning. 

So after giving into regret, and instead of dwelling in the sweet cozy memories of your babyhood past - all the while refusing to give into my motherly fears, in the weeks leading up to your birthday, I chose to marvel.  I marvelled at your lanky limbs and newly-formed angles. I marvelled at your willingness to help others. 

I have seen you lead. I have seen you follow. I have seen you recede into the background quietly and respectfully, when you are out of your comfort zone. I have seen you take ownership of your mistakes. I have seen you clean up your mess.  And although you rarely spare a kind word to your sister, I have watched you kiss her goodnight, shield her from danger, and buy her gifts with money you earned from doing your chores- all without our prompting. 

You can cook an egg 3 different ways from start to finish. You can write your name. You like listening to chapter books. You let me cry in your arms last week because I was worried for your great grandmother. You empathize like nobody's business.  You stand your ground. You love a good laugh. You still need your daily snuggles. 

You are a good kid. And this is the year that I have to start choosing to let go (a teeny bit, just for now - you're still a kid after all) and just have faith in you, in us, and in our family. It's a giant leap that I never expected to have to make so early in your life,  but I think that's the point because I suspect we're both going to be playing tug of war with your independence well into your adulthood. 

For now, let me just say: in those darkest hours when I am everything that is in the way of you and your happiness (which these days amounts to gum, chocolate, TV, angry birds, and everything your sister happens to have in her hand), it's because I love you that I think lessons in kindness, consideration, and moderation are too important not to land. There is nothing in this world your mom and I wouldn't do for you. I am whelmed well beyond the point at which the cup runneth over because I am your momma. Thank you for being you.

Love, 
Momma

P.S.
I'm super stoked you loved your birthday cake and incredibly glad that you like wearing your birthday sweater. I promise to work on making your sleeves longer as soon as possible. 

champagne anniversary

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove:O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken"

- William Shakespeare, excerpt from Sonnet 116

Tomorrow, March 19, 2014, the wife and I celebrate 19 years of togetherness.

It was on that day 19 years ago that the wife and I succumbed to the inevitable. We were in high school. We were on our March Break. I was 19. Teenagers still, our first date - though we did not know it at the time - was at Red Lobster.  I slept over. The next day, some bird poo landed on my arm. After which, we scored $20 balcony box seat tickets to see Tommy at what was the Pantages Theatre. We got free makeovers at Visage.  We took photo booth pictures (which I still have to find in the memory boxes we've yet to unpack). Our hands brushed regularly when we walked down the street. We lived in a bubble of pure bleary-eyed bliss. Even then we talked about a family together.

Just for fun, I thought I'd share a photo of us 2-3 years later.

I have a feeling I'll be sensing my university friends howling at this memory of us. My son giggled, anyway.

The wife, as you can see, is lovely as ever. I like her hair long like that. She does not. But she did love that thrifted shirt she's wearing. 

We look so much like our children.

We were both in our 2nd year at university, then. I was living in residence. The wife was still living with her dad. I had very recently given myself a truly bad haircut (which my dear sweet roommate and BFF tried her best to fix amid the emotional wreck-over-the-bad-hair that I was), which  I now realize is pretty much my son's current haircut.  At which point, I took the opportunity to explore the butch in me. Although my butch persona didn't quite take, and labels are lame anyway, I can now look at this photo and remember very clearly that no matter how angst-ridden, terrified, and tormented I was at that age (for all the coming out and coming of age reasons) - we had each other and we clung to that knowledge as if it were breath itself - with only landlines and pagers to assure each other of our existence when we were in entirely different cities. 

19 years later, our cell phones keep us connected on the days we find ourselves each managing our own episode of the days of our lives in the same room - and thank goodness for that!

Happy 19th anniversary, wife! I am ever so grateful for the way that time continues to shape the path we find our feet firmly planted upon. The moments haven't been dull. The twists, the turns, the splinters,  the knee scrapes, and the toddler drama in between, they've all been manageable because you are holding my hand. I love you.

mothering sound byte: on the girl's birthday eve

When we began our birthday tradition, I never thought or even expected that the children would care to be involved in any of the birthday eve preparations. 

The week before the girl's birthday, this boy was relentless in talking me into letting him stay up so he can help bake the cake and decorate the house.

I didn't take him literally. 

I let him stay up on the girl's birthday eve - intending to put him straight to bed the moment he got grouchy signs of toddler fatigue struck (wishfully thinking this would be a maximum of an hour after the girl went down).

The next thing I know, I'm in the kitchen, gathering ingredients and reading from a recipe - when I realized - I wasn't doing any of the baking. The boy was doing nearly all of it. I remember blinking, then thinking, "my goodness - he's baking his sister's cake!" He's baking his sister's cake! This boy who is really only kind to his sister half the time, is baking his sister's cake and doing a really good job scraping down that bowl!

It was like I took an instant joy elixir! I turned to him and squealed, "You're baking your sister's cake! All by yourself! Oh my goodness I'm so proud of you!" I think I hugged him or kissed him or snarfed the top of his head or something. I may or may not have also startled him. He responded by half rolling his eyes, giving me a look, then saying, "don't get happy!" At which point he turned back to his work. 

I howled, tears in my eyes, a smile so wide my face disappeared. "Shhhh! You're going to wake up [the girl!]" he says. 

When I told the wife of this exchange, she responded with, "how is he already 17?"

The boy stayed up until midnight and we all worked together to get the house birthday ready.

He was mostly helping. 

We knew we would pay for it the next day. And we did. Toddlers aren't meant to stay up until midnight. He's not actually 17 (thank goodness!). So we were totally prepared to deal with the wrath of the boy who got too little sleep. We were all calm and light to his irritability (which probably made him a bit more irritable but we got hugs and some smiles back in return).

He baked his sister's cake. 

He helped us make magic. 

He added to the tradition.

Sorry kid, this is kind of stuff that gets me squeally happy.

for my 3-year old girl

Our girl and littlest in the household turned 3 yesterday. 3! 2 was such a wonderful year of growth and change.

Right now, you love all things pink, wear all the accessories, listen to stories voraciously, and swirl paint through a page for at least 10 minutes before boredom sets in. You like pre-school. You're still learning consistency when it comes to the potty but we've declared you more or less potty trained. You adore your brother. You fight back and stand up for yourself when you are prompted but overall you are happy to give into his whims. Your hugs are tight and earnest.

You surprise us everyday with your sense of humour, your warmth, your very loud and opinionated voice. You charm us with your wit. You disarm us with your affection.

You inspire me with your creativity, your gentleness, and your bravery.

On your birthday, we did all of your favourite things. You woke up to a birthday cake breakfast party. We went to Granville Island. We watched a play. We spent time together as a family. You were so exhausted, you passed out on the couch at 5pm. I was so exhausted I didn't photograph you splayed out and snoring, still wearing your birthday crown.

This is going to be a tough year for us, I'm afraid. If my experience with your brother at 3 is any indication, we're going to get serious about our regular battle of wills. I am going to react to your behaviour based on my realm of experience (38 years worth of fantasy, melodrama, bathroom humour, fiction, and gross reality), which may or may not actually reflect on you. I'm going to apologize for that now because sometimes it will appear as though I am laughing at your pain but I'm really not. It's just that your tantrums are nowhere near as... robust as your brother's,  and at such moments, all I can think of is how adorable you are.  Other times, I really will be parenting hard - which you are not going to like - but it's my job to be your mother: to keep you safe, to guide you towards kindness and consideration, even if it means showing you my ugly face with a warning tone, then flying you to a nearby corner  (I can make a corner anywhere in the world. Remember that).

You really should know that when I am at my most angry, I would much rather be laughing with you. You should also know that I know that I am not a perfect momma. This may be my second time around parenting a 3-year old but this is my first time parenting 3-year old you.  We are both on a learning curve.

You're learning the logistics and rules of what it means to grow up in your little world. I'm learning how to be a good momma and a good person - easy enough on most days, all things considered. We are both going to be testing our boundaries. Being on a learning curve means making mistakes and then choosing to do better, and get better, so we can soak in all the good things that this life has to offer.

Let's promise to work hard at living life wider than our limits. I'm going to be following your 3-year old queue by living the next moment with an open heart and laughing eyes. Let's see what we can do to get your brother and mother on board too, okay?

I hope you enjoyed your birthday celebrations - much preparation was made by your family in anticipation of delighting you on the day you made me a momma again, the day your presence completed our family.

With love, a ready hug, and a hand for you to hold for always,
Momma