Getting caught up in the right things

 We ate a whole lotta cake over the weekend.

 We visited with lots of friends and almost all of our family.

 We got caught up in Naveen and it was so, so good.

Shaune was up to his usual tricks...you know, knocking our socks off with things like this: A  surprise vacuum cleaner cake for the birthday boy.

 Because it didn't seem right to let these years go by without acknowledging his love of household cleaning appliances.

 

We extended the weekend and snuck away to see a dear, dear friend. I needed to hug her again; let her know that even though things aren't the same as they were when we had all the time in the world to hang out, I think about her all the time; that time, distance and busy-ness does nothing to change how much I love her.

Deaglan learned how lovely and gentle Golden Retrievers are. (Maggie, Kathy's sweet, sweet dog, was so patient while Deaglan "taught" her all sorts of tricks)

 

  

We turned a 26 hour trip into a mini vacation. After visiting with Kathy and Maggie, we swam in the hotel pool, and then this morning, we walked the block from our hotel to see the Falls again. I asked a passerby to please take a picture of the four of us. This was the best we could get. In hindsight, we should have waited to hit the candy store till after we were done sight seeing.

Sometimes the best times come with hardly any planning at all.

They are the very best kinds of people

Dear Naveen,

 

If I could have one wish for you when you are grown and living your own life it’s this: I hope you come across a three year old or two in your time. I say this because in my opinion, three year olds are the very best kinds of people. And if you are lucky enough to know one intimately, I hope he or she steals your heart.

 

The way you’ve stolen mine.

 

You slay me everyday with what you say and how you say it:

 

“It’s freezing hot Mama! The water is freezing hot!”  Immediately, I know to add a little cold water to your bath.

 

“Gramma! I have a penis!” This type of thing is said very loudly, usually in public places. Your sweet, gentle (and very modest!) Gramma took this in stride a few weeks ago while we were at the beach in Bayfield.

 

“Hey you pipsqueak, get back here, you!”  or "Hey you Meatballdoggie!" I almost always cringe at this hoping you won’t get punched in the nose, because you almost exclusively taunt older children you encounter at the park or who are walking innocently by our house with these instigations.

 

“Mommy look at that tiny little baby!” Usually you are pointing to a fellow toddler, often while you have a pacifier in your mouth.

 

I'm in awe of how much you love me. I was carrying you across the lawn on the weekend. Your little legs were wrapped around my body while you tenderly swept the hair away from my face you said, “I want to see your face Mama.” It was such a moment. 

I could have wept.

 

Your tenure here has been short, but you are as particular as an old granny when it comes to how you want things done. 

 

Like at Costco a few weeks ago. I made the mistake of taking your hotdog out of its bun because I knew that’s how you liked to eat it (“Bun sandwich” you call it). Evidently you wanted to do this yourself. You slammed your fist on the table, dropped to the very dirty floor of the crowded eating area, kicked your feet and howled at all the ways I’d wronged you. 

Nothing I could say (or threaten) would make you sit up and start over. Your Dad, Brother and I continued to eat, shrugging off the stares of onlookers and waiting out your tantrum. I was reminded that people are right. Three is the new Two.

“Take someone who doesn't keep score, who's not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing,
who has not the slightest interest even in his own personality: he's free.”  Rumi
 

I took my time writing this post because I wanted to get it right. Get you right.You are so much more than my simple words though. 

When you are enjoying something you say, "Mmmm, Mommy this chocolate tastes just like chocolate! I WUB chocolate!" At times like these, I look for a jar and wish I had the ability to save that instance for a rainy day. 

Within minutes of arriving anywhere, you know exactly where all lawn mowers and other relevant lawn maintenance equipment is located. You inquire every morning about our real vacuum (which you are terrified of) and discuss daily your toy vacuum and the toy vacuums of people you know ( a topic that after all this time still satisfies you enormously). 

All of this is to say, I love you at three my sweetheart. 

All of you. 

Every single, sticky, feisty, sweet, naughty, quirky and tender part of you. Thank you for filling my days up with such easy joy. Thank you for relieving them of boredom. 

 

Happy, happy birthday!

Love Mom.

 You're also crazy daring.

 

 And non-cooperative

 

Fearless

 And the best cuddler ever.

On a Saturday night

On Saturday we visited Aunt Tanis (the oldest of Shaune's three sisters) and Uncle Shawn. We knew Gramma was going to be there. It seemed like a perfect way to spend Mother's Day Eve.



Tanis was away on business around my birthday and so brought out this cake to let me know she hadn't forgotten. She also hosted a lovely dinner and treated us to some delicious wines.

Uncle Shawn - that's his hand with the lighter there - had to relight the candles three times to give everyone a turn. The front part of the cake, the side closest to me, was rendered inedible by the fourth blowing. I might have been hit with some of the "air" Naveen was using to blow out the candles.

Gramma, Aunt Chrissy and Aunt Tanis.

Shaune made this chocolate mousse cake. Gramma had made it a few years ago for my 40th birthday and he stole the recipe and has made it a few times since. It's gorgeous. He posted the recipe to his blog here.

Naveen was captivated by some of Uncle Shawn's wood carving collection, especially this guy who he referred to as the "Chweif" (Chief). He told us that the Chweif didn't look too happy. All throughout the evening, the Chweif preoccupied his thoughts so that nobody thought it right to leave without getting some photos of the two of them.

Uncle Shawn promised that in his will, the Chweif would be left to Naveen.

She's one of my Facebook friends

I saw the perfect man today.

 

He was small, maybe even lean. His pock-marked face was framed by flat, brown, seventh-grade feathered back hair. He was wearing dark khakis with a boring navy and brown striped button down. He was slight of build. But most notably he was whistling through his teeth while he waited to pay for his coffee.

I’m not kidding, he was whistling through his teeth. His lips weren’t puckered, blowing out, the way I sometimes see Deaglan trying to whistle. His tongue was stuck up in the roof of his mouth. His top lip was stretched over his top teeth, and a low tuneless melody escaped; all the while his black eyes darted from one thing to the next.

 

He was perfect.

 

And I considered seriously, for a few minutes, contacting Dexter’s people to let them know I’d found their next villain. Maybe not a high profile axe murderer, but he could certainly make a compelling neighbourhood stalker-type.

Clearly, I need to stop with my Netflix preoccupation. And it wouldn’t hurt to ease up on how often I check into my Facebook account each evening either.

Last week at a funeral, I saw an old friend who I hadn’t spoken to since Matthew’s funeral. We hugged and confirmed that we needed to stop meeting this way. After that, we had very little to say to each other. We joked that that there was no need to ask about how the other was doing; we already knew.

 

She’s one of my Facebook friends.

 

On the one hand I rarely feel the need to call anybody anymore, which works out well these days since my boys turn into home-wrecking maniacs anytime I’m on the phone. People know how we’re doing by reading my blog and I know how they’re doing by paying attention to their Facebook updates. It’s all very handy.

 

I wonder though about the long-term effects. Where are we really going with all this?

 

Oh don’t get me wrong, nothing delights me more than the perfect outfit pin, or a 30-second video of somebody’s baby walking for the first time  or a cost-effective bathroom renovation. I can’t get enough of that kind of thing.

 

It’s the pressure Facebook, Pinterest and personal blogs seem to put on us:

 

To be happy

To post the perfect picture of ourselves

To get more DIY

To present a pin-worthy, photo-shopped, all is joyous in our house version of ourselves.

 

This is what has me wondering. And worrying a little.

 

But maybe it’s just me.

 

Maybe I just wish I could make my kids a birthday banner from recycled orange juice cartons, do a triathlon before 9 am and announce to the world that with no provocation whatsoever, my husband booked me into a spa for the day while he organized our linen cupboard and did crafts with the kids.

 

 

These are my birthday flowers from Shaune and the boys. Deaglan said he picked them out because he just knew they were my favourite. After watching his eyes sparkle while he told me this, these easily are my favourite flowers.

 

My friend Shannon came by last Saturday morning with these beauties, balloons and a new monogrammed coffee cup.

 

You can find me in a club; bottle full of bub

Last night during bath time, the kids and I were kidding around about our names.

Naveen insisted on being called Grandpa, then Grandma and finally asked us to refer to him only as Daniel. So Deaglan decided they should both start calling me Kimberly. It was a big improvement from a few nights ago when they landed on Mommy-tub. I feigned horror and acted appalled. I knew they didn’t get the implication; they thought it was hysterical because they were in the tub, and well, I’m their Mommy.

Still, I’m glad it didn’t stick.

I don’t mind telling you that for just a second a portal of fear opened up inside me – I caught a glimpse of us around a table 30 years down the road, me as big as a house, wearing a colourful kaftan, the two of them affectionately calling me Mama-tub.

A scene straight out of a Tyler Perry movie.

I listened to Deaglan make a mockery of my name: Kimbo, Kimmy, Kimball (Naveen repeating each one, then both of them laughing maniacally) and it dawned on me that he didn’t know I wasn’t always Kim. So I told him that when I was born, my Bangladesh Mommy and Daddy actually named me Rohima. When I came to Canada Mimi and Papa changed it to Kim.

“Ro-HEEE-MAH????” he asked over and over. He said it to himself a few more times. Then when he was dry and partially clothed again, he ran downstairs and I could hear him asking Shaune if he knew that Mommy’s name was actually Ro-Heee-Mah.  In the middle of the night, when I was escorting him to the bathroom, although half asleep, he whispered it again.

Ro-Heee-mah.

Wait till I tell him that I'm not sure if April 20^th is actually my real birthday. That some orphanage director picked it randomly to fill out my adoption papers. This kind of thing freaks even adults out so I decided to wait a few years; maybe I’ll tell him on my 50^th when he’s 13 and has the ability to process information like that.

It’s hard to believe I’ll be 50 in eight years.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the point I'm at in my life. Wondering how I should look at it. It’s easy to sink into a middle aged depression. There are a hundred things I haven’t accomplished yet.

I’m not thin enough.

I haven’t finished editing the book I’m working on.

I haven’t found the perfect skin care routine.

I haven’t tried to get published.

I've only seen one Springsteen show.

I haven’t been back to Bangladesh or spent any time in India.

I haven’t put good enough effort into healing all the broken relationships in my life.

I haven’t spent enough time with my friends.

Shaune and I have never been on a honeymoon.

I don't own a pair of these Black Laboutins with the wooden heels

Etc. Etc.

But there’s also this: I realized that this could be the midpoint of my life. I could be halfway through this journey. It made me reconsider and I thought hmmm, this is not so bad. After all I

Survived a difficult childhood

Earned a university degree and college diploma

Lived on my own for most of my twenties.

Met Shaune.

Was blessed with Deaglan and Naveen.

Have been to Graceland.

Have called a peaceful free country my home.

Know how to crop myself out of digital pictures.

Have enough shoes.

Deaglan told me that on Saturday when it’s my birthday I should stay upstairs until he calls me because he and Dad would be working on a surprise. He smiled and whispered  loudly that they might even be getting my favourite cake from Costco but he didn't want to say for sure. It was definitely going to be a surprise though.

This morning, because I was having a good hair day and the resulting smugness was making me a bit uncomfortable, I asked Deaglan how old he thought I’d be turning. He closed one eye, looked up at the ceiling and blurted, “56 right? No, I know, I know, you’ll be one hundred."

And just like that, I was back to my insecure humble self.

 I asked Shaune to take a few pictures this morning before I headed out to work. I wanted to post a picture of myself so you wouldn't forget what I looked like. 

 Some of these are from back at Easter. It's been too long since I've posted. I hate that. 

 Shaune put together this set-up so the kids could dye eggs.

 We were so lucky to have a beautiful day to do the Easter egg hunt at Gramma and Grampa's.

Last weekend we painted birdhouses. The next day we filled them with seeds and hung them in the front yard.

On becoming an advocate

On the weekend during a visit with my in-laws, Justin, Shawn and Dave, Shaune’s sisters’ husbands and boyfriends had Deaglan in stitches. In fact he was laughing so hard I thought he might cry. The guys had triggered his four year-old funny bone with the age-old humour of all men.

Toilet talk.

There was nothing sophisticated about their jokes.

No lengthy lead up.

No clever punch lines.

In fact they simply took turns making up scenarios: Hey Deaglan, I ate a poop sandwich the other day. Or I saw a guy pee in a cup and drink it. And when I thought he might spew orange juice through his nose: My name is Sir-Farts-Alot, nice to meet you.

These "jokes' had my son doubled over, holding his stomach with both hands, machine-gun giggling, rendering him almost breathless. I shook my head and wondered not for the first time, at the mystery of the male species. 

Growing up, I had four brothers but our house was crowded with girls too. I was able to ignore my brothers’ antics, focus on the books I was reading, pursue feminine interests or simply escape to friends’ houses that had substantially lower people to living-space ratios.

In my dating years, I rarely sought to understand whoever I was with at the time. Mostly I wondered why they didn’t get me. And even after all these years next to Shaune, I’ve never really wanted to dig deep into the male psyche, figure out how it works. Mostly, I’ve wanted him to identify with me, sometimes even resenting him for not caring enough to get to the bottom of who I was.

These little boys of mine though – well they’ve changed all of that.

I find myself remembering to be brief when lecturing Deaglan, not getting annoyed that he suddenly needs to use the bathroom the instant he’s landed himself in a time-out, knowing it’s likely only occurred to him then.  I try to remember their need for constant movement even when I want to pull my hair out because they’ve made yet another couch-cushion trampoline.

I’ve read books. I’ve spoken with other mothers of boys. I’ve watched quietly the males in this household interact in my quest to learn more about them.

I’ve gotten downright sanctimonious, itchy even, when I’ve heard someone say a child was “good” because he or she was calm and cooperative. I knew without asking in most cases they were likely referring to a girl.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I struggle in small ways all the time; this journey to embrace my testosterone-soaked family is not as anecdotally-sweet as I’m making it out to be.  

A few days ago, I entered the bathroom after Deaglan had used it. I asked him why there was pee on the wall and the floor. In a tone that suggested I’d asked him the colour of the sky, he answered simply this:

Mommy, I don’t have control over my penis, it controls me. (I swear to you that's an exact quote!)

Cold panic gripped me. I shook my head in an effort to dismiss the many disturbing images my mind conjured up of the future.  I wiped up the mess in the bathroom. And I took up, once again, the imaginary decorating of my future bathroom. The one for which only I held the key. 

It was Gramma's birthday.

Riding on Grampa's "tractor" is a highlight of summertime.

This year, Naveen got to drive too!

Joke telling Uncles. Shawn is missing.

Aunt Chrissy, Shaune's youngest sister.

Birthday gifts

Whenever his feelings of love for me are too enormous for his pre-schooler sized lexis to express, Deaglan says something like,

“Mommy, when I’m a big man, I’m going to buy you a fridge!” Then he waits for my reaction but before I can respond he sweetens the deal with “I mean a brand NEW fridge!”

Of course I say the typical things you’d expect, “I’d love a brand new fridge honey! But I’d be just as happy if you made me a beautiful picture or cuddled with me.”  (I know what you’re thinking. You'd want your grown son to draw you a picture or cuddle with you?  Okey-dokey.)

For a while I tried to figure out why he picked the fridge. Ours is only about four years old and works just fine. I can’t remember ever complaining about it or yearning out loud for a fancier model. Why not a new car or bigger house? And there’s also this: I beg my boys for affection almost every minute I’m with them. I tell them at least a dozen times a day that my favourite times are when I’m around them and that I just can’t get enough of their hugs and kisses.

And Deaglan is always sweet and generous, promising me “armpit” or lots of kisses when we’re together again. Naveen however is a different story. He doles his love out like it’s the day after the apocalypse and he’s holding the last loaf of bread. He’s stingy and downright arbitrary – you can never guess when he might give you one of his mushy-lipped smooches or flat out refuse you. Recently though we’ve discovered a loophole. If he thinks you’ve hurt yourself, he’ll run over with great concern and kiss the place you claim you’ve hurt. I probably should be ashamed to tell you this but I pretend to be hurt all the time.

On my lips.

 

My point is though; I don’t know where Deaglan got the idea that he had to buy something to show how much he loves me. But then again I’ve never been any good at math. I mean if the giddiness with which I’m looking forward to my new Ikea dressers arriving just in time for my birthday tomorrow is any indication of how not-materialistic I am – I can’t imagine why my son might think things make me happy.

I’ll tell you what will make me happy. Not having our bedroom look like the showroom at Goodwill. Not that there’s anything wrong with used furniture, I’ve been quite proud and forthcoming about my curbside finds. But I’ve been dreaming about these two charmers for some time now, swooning at the thought of having enough room for all of our clothes. And so when Shaune asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for my birthday, I’m sure he expected me to say the usual  - I have everything I need, but I responded with only one word - "Hemnes!" 

And a few mornings ago, after disciplining Deaglan a few times about smashing Naveen's toy vacuum into the fridge, it dawned on me why he picked that particular appliance to gift me in the future with. He's made just about every dent on it's stainless steel surface. 

Sweet, practical and repentant. Some lucky woman is going to thank me one day!

39 things I'm grateful for

1. I have a wonderful family and great friends.
2. I never worry about food, water or shelter.
3. I am a woman living in a peaceful country with the right to exercise choice and personal freedom.
4. My job is steady and provides us with security.
5. I am willing to become a better person everyday.
6. I know that I have flaws.
7. I know what most of them are.
8. My health.
9. Parenthood.
10. Good books.
11. Digital cameras, blogging and email.
12. My past.
13. Epidurals.
14. That Shaune likes to cook.
15. Springtime.
16. Deaglan's voice.
17. Thoughtfulness, kindness and open-mindedness.
18. Humour, good spiritedness, and generosity.
19. The second trimester.
20. Pecan pie.
21. Clearance racks.
22. Getting personal snail-mail (not bills).
23. Education.
24. A year of maternity leave.
25. Sleep.
26. Flat irons.
27. A clean house and fresh laundry.
28. Baby movements in my belly.
29. Midwifery.
30. Healthcare.
31. Income tax refunds.
32. That I will soon be mother of two.
33. The people at Deaglan's daycare.
34. Buying used whenever I can.
35. Shaune's love and thoughtfulness.
36. That I'm learning about childhood through Deaglan's eyes.
37. That these days I can spot happiness and am able to stop and savour it.

38. That pregnancy is a temporary state!
39. That I will turn 39 tomorrow and feel okay about it.