The Force Still Moves Me.

I was only around four years old when Star Wars a New Hope opened in theaters- and I was immediately hooked. Not just on the Star Wars franchise- but anything space, science fiction or fantasy related. Cripes, I remember having an unhealthy fascination with Boney M's Night Flight to Venus just because my mom told me they were all astronauts. She flashed the cover of the album just to prove it. I swear I never would have listened to that crap otherwise...honest.

When the disco glow of Boney M grew dim, my Aunt Catherine, desperate to hear something, anything, else introduced me to the Carpenters- who covered the old Klaatu song "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft (the recognized Anthem of World Contact Day). I played it over and over and over again- it mesmerized me. Before the end of my visit home that summer my Uncle Billy snapped the album in half.

While I was jonesing for the next installment of Star Wars I was taken in by its more cerebral cousin: Star Trek. The reruns used to play at suppertime everyday on CBC- and I never missed one episode. I even watched Spock's Brain.

Twice.

Now that is devotion.

Most of my favourite books, music and toys had a space theme- with the only notable exception being all things Tolkien. All my stories and games I created in my head were set in the distant future where everyone knew how to fly, technology was a saviour and women could kick some serious ass. Especially the green women.

It appears I am not alone.

George Lucas created a winning formula: the ultimate quest with heroic and compelling characters who millions of people grew up with, rooted for and loved. Lucas took us on an intergalactic joy ride for those first few magical years and then brutally; without compassion or finesse, unleashed the prequels to the original series upon his unsuspecting fans- ramming the entire mythology down the crapper of popular culture. He didn't even bother to flush.

And yet, the magic of the original series still has power. It still speaks to millions of little boys and girls who tinker with Star Wars figurines long after bed time- hiding under the sheets with a flashlight and a makeshift rebel base made of stuffed animals and books. There, locked in a noble battle for the safety of the universe, they lovingly create their own star wars until sleep overtakes them.

And all those kids, myself included, who so loved the series as children hold a place in their hearts for it still. That is why Williams Sonoma can sell a mock up of the original lunch box, or ThinkGeek can hook you up with a Tauntaun Sleeping bag (it was on my wish list this year, but Santa didn't figure it was worth 100 bucks). We have also introduced the magic to our kids. Somehow, in this age of ADHD they don't seem to find Jar-Jar Binks as offensive as their adult counterparts. Star Wars, despite George Lucas' recent fumblings, remains popular; from the Clone Wars cartoons to the Star Wars Lego products it still speaks directly to our hearts.

This would explain why the recent explosion of genuine affection for the recent Volkswagen commercial. How many millions of parents have a little guy or gal at home exactly like this? How many of us could put ourselves in this pint size version of Darth Vader's shoes? A lovely little take on the magic of childhood, and the power of creative parenting.

For the two of you who missed it:

As with all good things on the Internet- there is a parody to be found as well. This time with Toyota at the wheel. Perversely enough, I believe I found this one even funnier then its forerunner. It has quite a different take on children today and creative parenting... and car companies?

May the Force be with you.

Always

Stream of Consciousness

“Dadda has icicles on his car and when you eat them they go down in your belly. Dadda is a transformer and he gets the bad guys with his sword and the bad guys get on the fire truck and they go to his house and they break the windows and then I smack them with the light saber and they fall on the ground. Don’t clip my toes. I will put my toes under my bum so you can’t clip them. Ok. Not today. Tomorrow. Look at the woobbies on my toes Momma. They are silly. Get them off Momma. Don’t clip my toes. My red car is fast. It wins. The blue car is fast too but it doesn’t win. Dadda plays with the blue car. Sometimes when it snows outside you can make a snowball but you can’t throw it or you will go to the office. Noah was singing “Who let the dogs out..who who who who”. I like that song. And you dance like this .... put your bum out like this.

Momma, I have to go poo!”

By Wilson
Age 4

Magic Santa

So here we are, it is December once again. I had a small panic attack yesterday when I realized that it was December 1^st. I am nowhere near ready.

However, I am determined not to let the commercial side of Christmas weigh on me this year. I am not going to give into neighborhood pressure to dress the house up like a Griswold family Christmas card or suffer the crushing throngs of mad shoppers nattering over goods at the mall. I really want to focus on time with my husband and son this year. I would rather do more than buy more. It is not really about what is under the tree for me- it never was.

Although, I am sure I will be buying too.

My first Christmassy act of the season was done today. My sister sent me this link where you can create an online personalized message from Santa to your children. I tried it out with a junk mail account and it worked really well. I am looking forward to opening Santa’s email to Wilson with him later tonight- I can just imagine his little face now.

If this sounds like something your children would enjoy, check it out:

Magic Santa

Little Ears

I have never considered myself a very aggressive driver. Sure, sometimes I get riled up, but it is usually because someone has done something extraordinarily dangerous and stupid. You won’t see me lay on the horn because the guy ahead of me is daydreaming away the advanced green. I have never lost my mind over the fact the car in from of me has had its right turn signal on for the last 5 kilometers.

However, I do admit to talking to the drivers who annoy me, they can’t hear me, and it feels better to get it off my chest. I don’t swear and yell (usually), I don’t gesture. Instead I have a quiet one sided conversation with myself.

“See that little stick on the left hand side of your wheel? Yes, that is an indicator light- use it”

“Stop signs aren’t suggestions”

“You can put on mascara and drive at the same time? Talented”

“You are closer to my ass right now than my proctologist”

It is a simple little protest- and it keeps me from completely losing my cool.

But I have an audience on occasion, and I never really considered how much he pays attention to every little thing.

Until yesterday.

I left work earlier than is my norm to pick him up from daycare early so we could get to the speech pathologist on time. However, construction on the way to daycare delayed me. By the time I made it to the daycare, we only had about 15 minutes to make it to his session. Breathless, I rushed in to get the little guy, and as I was scooping Wilson off his feet to carry him to the car, I apologized for carrying him, but we had to hurry or we might be late.

And we were off.

Halfway there we are waiting behind a large truck at a stop light. When the light turned green the truck does not move because we are waiting to turn left. However, Wilson, strapped in his car seat in the back wants to get a move on, and as far as he knows “Green means Go” so he yells:

“Come on buddy! MOVE!”

Visits from home

My Mom and Dad are here visiting for a few days and it has been so good to have them here. My mom usually comes at least once a year; my Dad is a little more sporadic because it is harder for him to get time away from work. Having them both here at the same time is a treat. But there is a problem, Don and I don’t have any time to take off to spend with them, and this means my mom has a lot of downtime at the house- unsupervised. Dad is doing what normal people do while on vacation- he is reading, watching movies, going for walks and exploring the area. My mom- not so much.

On Thursday I came home to find the front hall painted. On Friday she plastered and painted the basement staircase and attempted to adjust my son’s curtains, only the lack of materials prevented her from completing the task. On Saturday, my sister came in from Kingston and we kept mom busy with a trip to the mall and a few other stores. This did not keep my mom out of trouble though- while we were buying mom a latte at Second Cup (they don’t have that back in GFW) she was in Bonnie Togs completing my son’s summer wardrobe- she bought one of everything in that store I swear. While we were at Bed Bath and Beyond, helping my sister pick out drapes, mom managed to sneak in an extra set of curtains for Serena’s place. On Sunday I came home with a new Duvet cover and a pair of shorts I didn’t know I needed. I am very grateful, however, I am a little worried about what to expect when I get home today.

If shopping were an Olympic sport my mom would win gold. She can sniff out a deal, find flaws in material, knows what is a good buy and what is not, and what time of year is the best to get deals on things like paint and furniture.

My son is being spoiled rotten. It is not just the new clothes, or the toys she and dad brought down for Wil, it is the sheer amount of love an attention they lavish upon him. He loves every minute- I am sure he will miss his entourage when they go on Thursday.

I know I will.

What a mother knows

It was story time at my house just a few short moments ago. Don just finished negotiating his way through the bedtime ritual where Wilson tries to finagle "Just one more book", and then "A drink of water please daddy?", and "Where is my Gaugi?" When all his demands were met it was my turn- it is my job to tuck him in and close the light. I also ask for the last goodnight kiss. Tonight the response was a nonchalant "Sure". Then he thrust his arms up in the air and raised his chubby little cheek to my lips.

In that moment, with his tiny little hands around my neck, I am reminded of him as a baby. It was a sweet moment, but it gave way to sadness, and a little fear. This is all going too fast. My baby is gone- he has grown into this soft spoken funny little boy who is trying to master the alphabet and Velcro shoes.

I just seems like months ago that I was desperately trying master being a mom to an infant. My first challenge was to breastfeed him. I had it drilled into to me by the Breastfeeding Nazis that this was best for baby and that everyone can breast feed- it is a matter if you care enough too. Besides, they stressed, breastfeeding is natural!

Yes, it might be, but some mothers in the wild eat their young. That is natural too.


To any of you ladies out there in cyberspace who are gestating right now, or perhaps your bun is just fresh out of the oven, listen to me: Breastfeeding is a learned behavior; it takes time and it can be painful. Do what is best for you and baby, sometimes the bottle is best for you both. I was foolish, I hung in there for nine months of breastfeeding- but man I suffered. He was feeding every 45 minutes, he had a horrible latch, and he would not take a bottle of expressed milk. I remember one afternoon, after a particularly long night, holding Wil in my arms and dreading feeding him. I was just too sore: cracked and bleeding sore. I looked down at this cute little bundle crying and thinking to myself: I don't know how much longer I can do this kid.

My sweet little babe just looked up at me and smacked his lips.

I lost part of my right nipple at one point. Not pretty.

As difficult and painful those late night feedings were I do miss that part of his life. I loved the feel of his little body tucked in close to mine. While he fed, whether it was the breast or later the bottle, he would rub my arm softly and would stare up at me until he passed out in a milk coma. For a little while longer I would hold him, rocking him slightly and trying to coax out any burps that might be bubbling within. I remember the soft whisper of his breath on my neck, the scent of his bath oil, and his tiny little hands on my chest.

More than once- as I stared into the blue of his eyes, I wondered to myself if he knew: if he could ever know, just how much he was loved?

And here I am, with Mother's Day approaching, as I tuck my young son into bed, suddenly wondering if there was a time when I was a baby, that my Mother held me in her arms and asked herself: "Does she know, could she ever know just how much she is loved?"

Yes mom. I do.

Thank you.

Learning Skills

One of the things we are working on with our little guy is getting dressed in the morning. He can do it on his own, but it takes forever, and early weekday mornings we just don't have the time. Our morning routine involves getting the boy up, putting new undies and socks on after the morning pee, and then putting his PJs back on. If you saw how he eats his cereal you would understand why we don't dress him right away. By the time Wil is done breakfast he looks like he stepped on a Special K landmine.

Well yesterday morning was a very busy one, and after the morning cereal bomb I wiped Wil down and told him to put his pants on while I slapped lunch together.

"Ok Momma" He said. And I attacked the sandwiches.

When I turned around his pants were on and he was struggling to get the shirt over his head. I helped him out with that, then with the boots, hat, mittens and jacket and we were off to the races.

Later that day when I went to pick him up at Daycare, his teacher Michelle hauled me aside and in a hushed voice asked:

"Do you realize Wilson has no underwear on today?"

Yes, that is right, my three year old son went to daycare Commando.

In corduroys.

I am the worst mother in the world.

It seems that when the poor shagger took his pajama pants off to put his pants on, his underwear came off with them, and he did not think to put them back on. I know this because when we came home said PJs and underwear were in a rolled doughnut formation in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I don't think either of us will make that mistake again.

One language at a time

As many of you know, my 3 year old son has a bit of a speech delay. He couldn't hear for much of his second year of life so he has to catch up a little. He is doing better, I see improvements every day. I have discovered that he can be pretty creative in trying to get his point across.

Take last night for example: bath time was over, and the bathroom floor was appropriately covered in soapy water and bubbles and Wilson was sitting on the counter top wrapped in a towel, swinging his legs back and forth. He was waiting happily for me to brush his teeth- I usually let him have a go at it and then I do the real cleaning. But last night I was in a bit of a rush- so I just put the toothpaste on his brush and started in.

I noticed almost immediately Wil was pulling away from me a little as I brushed, which is odd for him. Finally he put his little hand on mine and push it away gently- a confused look furrowed his brow.

"What's wrong buddy?"
"Momma, it's smokey in my mouth"

It took a second for this to register. He quite often will say something that seems out of left field but when I think about it a bit I can usually glean some meaning out of it. The problem was that in my haste to get the bedtime ritual underway I used my extra strength whitening toothpaste instead of Wil's toddler toothpaste and the poor shagger was feeling the burn. I felt so bad.

But he had another little verbal surprise for me just minutes later. He has been kicking a cold the past few days, so I have been rubbing Vicks Vapor Rub on his chest just before lights out. He usually looks up at me when I have finished applying the smelly goo and says: "That feels better Mama"- last night though he had something else to say.

"Gracias Mama"

Aw geeze kid, let's master the English language first 'eh?

Communication Breakdown

Our little guy has a bit of a speech delay. At a year old he began getting ear infections and they never went away. He lived on various forms of penicillin. Both ears were constantly infected, and my little guy spent much of his days isolating himself. Wil became very withdrawn and stopped responding to his name. Worse, my quiet little guy was becoming increasingly frustrated by is lack of ability to communicate.

When we finally got him into an ENT we discovered that he had no movement in his ear drums, which meant he could hear very little, if at all. He had to have surgery to stop the infections. Thankfully, he has not had an infection since the surgery, and his hearing has improved a great deal. His speech is coming along, but slower than we would like. At three years old, there is still a lot of gibberish, but he is putting sentences together, and seems to be understanding a lot more than he did even a month ago. More importantly, he is trying to make connections between the words he knows and the ideas he is trying to express.

The other night at the dinner table he passed gas. I looked at him expectantly, he knows he must say excuse me when he coughs or burps and I had assumed we covered the emissions from his bottom as well. He looked back at me, knowing I wanted something from him, but clearly unsure what that something was. So he said:

“I burp in my bum”. His face serious; searching mine. I tried not to laugh.
“No buddy that is a fart. Say excuse me.”
“Scuse me.”

Now I am sure someone is going to tell me I should not have taught him the word fart, I should have used the phrase “passed gas”. And I am not sure why I used the f word. All I know is, it is much better than “I burp in my bum”.

I like to move it move it

About four years ago I got really serious about getting healthier. I had the time, had a little disposable income and I really wanted to make a change. I signed up with Executive Fitness & Wellness in Toronto, under the care of personal trainer Domenic Mirabelli and nutritionist Angela Carte. They were great! My progress was very slow, but I lost weight, got stronger and felt wonderful. I even started jogging, which for me was nothing short of a miracle. Ever see a mountain move? That is me jogging.

The funny thing is that while I hated cardio, I really enjoyed lifting weights. I discovered that was so much stronger than I thought I was.

And then I got pregnant, and it all went to hell.

Since having Iron Will, a couple of things happened. Disposable income? Gone. Free time? A memory. And when I do get the free time where the hell do I get the energy?

However I do want to get healthier, I would like to get that sense of strength and wellness back. I know it will take twice as long as last time, and it will be twice as hard but I do want to do it.

One of the things that helped with cardio was my cheap little MP3 player. I normally listen to classic rock. I don’t like a lot of the new crap that is out there, and country music? I would rather floss my teeth with my own spine than listen to that twangy caterwauling. But for some reason, when it comes to music to work out to, I could stomach some poppy tunes, and even techno. If I got the right songs on there, I could walk faster. And here is where you come in. I need new workout music!

The songs I used to have lost their punch for me, I need some new suggestions. Right now the only songs I am going to keep are: “Twilight Zone, Radar Love, and the Vampires Bar Dance Club song from the movie Blade (weird choice I know, but that song really got me going!). I need new suggestions.

What do you listen to when you are working out? What songs really get your blood pumping? What do you have on your IPod or MP3?

Becoming a Dad

We never really planned for our little guy. Neither of us wanted kids. The plan was to go it without children, and since I had been told I would likely have trouble conceiving we really hadn’t given it much thought.

Until I projectile vomited in the wastebasket at work one cold January morning, after what I thought was an extended bout of the stomach flu; then, suddenly, frighteningly, being pregnant was all I did think about.

When I finally peed on the stick and it came up with the “You’re knocked up” symbol, I could hardly believe it. I was terrified, scared, and nervous. I did not want this! I did not plan for this! Cripes I was plastered over Christmas, what if I pickled the baby already? All of the changes and challenges lay open before me, and I was very unsure of my ability to meet them.

I yelled out to Don, who was downstairs, oblivious to the fact I was even testing for pregnancy, when he came upstairs I handed him the stick. Hoping he would tell me I read it wrong. I hadn’t.
I will never forget the look on his face, and I know I can’t describe it. He was happy. He was trying to hide it but he was happy. And I was somehow comforted by that.

I was at the three month mark when I suffered a subchorionic hemorrhage. Don was at work when it happened. There was so much blood, and a great deal of it appeared to be tissue, I was convinced that the baby was gone. All I could see in my mind was Don’s face, when I told him I was pregnant, and I could not get the image out of my head.

A friend came to rush me to the hospital, I called Don at work, and said there had been an accident and asked him to meet me at the hospital. I didn’t know what was going on, but I did not want to have to explain it all over the phone.

I was in an observation room when Don arrived, waiting to be examined. He open the curtain, worried, wondering what he would find, and I blurted out: ”I think I lost the baby. I am so sorry, I lost the baby”. His face broke. There is no other way to describe it. I killed something in him with those words. I could see it.

It was hours more before I was examined, and hours again before I got an ultrasound to see what was going on. When the Doctor confirmed I was still pregnant I could hardly believe him. They told me my odds of carrying to term were 50/50, put me on bed rest and sent me home.

Somehow we made it through, and we are both overjoyed we did. Our son makes us both better people, he has given us more than we can ever hope to give him. He made my husband a father, and what an exceptional father he is. Don and Wil have an incredible bond. It started the moment my husband found out I was expecting: a bond that was sealed between them the moment Don held Wil in his arms.

Happy Father’s Day Don. We never do things the easy way do we?

Starting over

I know I haven’t been posting much.

We have had a lot going on, and much of it has come to a head in recent months. Those of you who follow the blog (even now it amazes me that I have any readers left) know that last year Don made the difficult decision to leave a company he was happy with, to work at a place that was closer to home, and seemed to have more opportunity for him to grow professionally. He made the decision to leave, and in a lot of ways it was good for us.

He was home more. Not having to take the Go Train into Toronto every morning and night was amazingly good for us as a family, and when you have a young child nothing is more important the time you have to spend with them. We were able to move to a less congested town and buy a nicer home. And Don was able to get his hands into the guts of SQL Server in a way he had not been able to before.

But most importantly he was here. He was in town. He could take his son to the park while I made dinner. He came with me to send him off to daycare, and was with me to pick him up. There were no cold winter evenings bundled in the van with a baby, waiting for the GO train to decide to arrive. It was such a blessing to have that time as a family, to have that kind of access to Don.

However the new job had a very small work force, and specialized software they created. Time lines were tight, stress level was high, and the recession has hit them hard. They laid of one worker in January and cut Don’s hours in April. After they lost two contracts in May, they told Don they would now have only contract work for him. The company now has four full time employees, and like Don, faces an uncertain future.

So he has been looking for work, and it has been slow going. Not many people are hiring these days, and every time I turn on the news or open the paper I learn about even more layoffs, bankruptcies and closures.

A friend of mine works for RBC, and has told me that a few times now people have come into the bank with their house keys and left, not realizing that some banks are willing to work with their clients. It is hard times all around I guess. It is hard not to feel helpless. Hopeless.

Don has had a few leads, but nothing firm yet. We have pretty much resigned ourselves to the fact that if he does find something soon, he will be once again doing that horribly unreliable, uncomfortable and uncompromising GO train travel again and missing out on a lot of family time. I will go back to feeling a little like a single parent again.

But at least we had this year together; it was all worth it for that.

Parenting in willful ignorance

The news the past few days has really been tough to read. It has angered me in a way that makes me stomach sick. Lives devastated, lost, because we as a society pay lip service to the whole concept of protecting our kids. A society that is either afraid, or unwilling, or unable to care for its children. We put our own wants and desires ahead of what is best for the child.

Yesterday I opened the paper to Boys 8 and 9 charged with rape, bile crawled into the back of my throat. My first thought was that they must be abused kids themselves, because how else would they even know what it was that they were doing? But after thinking about it, that is not necessarily the case; I mean look at the TV they watch, the movies they see, the music they listen to, and the easy access to porn on the internet. Look at all the unsupervised time they have, the lack of accountability at home, and at school. It’s a wonder we don’t see more of this kind of behavior.

And then, when I opened the paper today to read about the 14 child who was able to purchase a car, ostensibly, without his parents knowing. And yesterday that boy walked away from a crash without a scratch- but he did manage to murder two of his friends when he rammed through a fence and flipped the car over multiple times. What? Excuse me? How, as a parent, can you miss that your kid owns a car? Where are they getting the money for one? What about insurance? How can you be that oblivious to what your child is doing?

Is what passes for parenting these days?

These families have learned the hard way the heavy price paid for being an absent parent. Sadly, they are mere statistics now. The potential those two dead boys had is gone. The lives of those who survived forever changed. While the reality of that makes me rage, it makes me physically ill to realize how easily, and how likely it is that this kind of thing will happen again.

So I think I will skip the paper tomorrow. And like too many parents out there living in willful ignorance, I will just stick my head in the sand and hope for the best.

A Cautionary Tale

Ok, I promise you that this is not going to become a Mommy Blog, but I have got to share this little story about Wil. Partly because I know writing is therapeutic and the exercise might help me feel better, cleaner, and partly as a warning to all those newbie moms out there. I feel a little like Lady Macbeth at the moment, except it is not blood I keep washing off my hands…

Living in Toronto these past weeks has been like living in someone’s armpit. The dank humid air smells skunky; it’s rank stale heated air that just hangs there; clinging, clogging every pore. It’s noon, and the sun has reached its zenith, a blazing eye burning in the sky, its mocking me. It sees the future.

I had just fed The Boy, and changed his diaper before putting him down for a nap. I decided not to put his shorts and tee back on because he really didn’t need it- he was too warm.

About two hours later he awakes…I can hear his soft little coos, he is babbling away in a language only other babies and stuffed animals understand. His electronic frog Baby Tad is in the crib with him and they seem to be playing nicely. Tad is singing “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands”. I love it when he wakes content, it makes me happy. All is right with the world. I figure I can leave him up there a bit, and finish up the kitchen. I have done this before, when he allows it, it helps me get stuff done. Heck he is safe up there in his crib. It is a few moments before I realize Tad is no longer singing, and Wil is not longer cooing. Come to think of it, it’s been quiet for awhile. Too quiet. I dry my hands and make my way upstairs.

Just as I turn up the last few stairs the smell hits me like a moose on the highway. I groan- this is going to be a helluva diaper change. Oh it was a tad more than a diaper change.

The first thing I noticed was how brown his hands were on the crib bars, and what is that on his leg…is that…? OHMYGOD that is! Oh, oh please no. I edge closer, my face in my hands, I am whimpering a little and my eyes are tearing from the smell. Baby Tad is dead, lying tits up in the crib, his lifeless keypad will never again light up and sing. He seems to have had the worst of it- I could no longer clearly make out his features. It was only his blue “On/Off” pad on his foot that identified him.

The crib sheet looks like Van Gogh’s Starry Night, except the medium was clearly not oil on canvas. The rungs were coated as well, his security blankie “MooCow” lay half in/half out of the crib. It looked like it was trying to escape- but never quite made it. I sympathized. I was pondering my own escape.

But The Boy is there, looking up at me, smiling with all of his three teeth, arms up in the air. He wanted up- but I wanted to run and hide. Damn where is a level four containment suit when you need it?

I picked him up, holding him at arms length, and carried him to the bath. I turned on the water and just let it run while I wiped, and cleaned, and wiped and cleaned, all the while muttering soft though not quite religious prayers. I did it over and over again until the water ran clear. But oh, oh I still had the rest of the mess to deal with. It was waiting for me. Waiting there in the bedroom, in the cruel, cruel heat of the summer.

There is a lesson here folks: They may be warm, and they may like to run free with just a diaper on, but I don’t recommend it. No, I don’t recommend it at all.