Mining

When I get home from work every afternoon, Naveen shouts out from wherever he is in the house, “Mommy?!! Is that you?!!” And when I confirm that yes it is, he lets out a whoop, and in his loudest most joyful voice he lets Deaglan and Shaune know that I’m home. 

This announcement is made despite the fact that usually both are in my plain sight and can see clearly that I am indeed home. And once my arrival is confirmed and properly celebrated, he wraps his arms around my legs, looks up into my face and asks in his most sober - finally I can relax voice if he can have a piece of gum and get into his Batman pajamas.  

He then tells me about his day, each event, a 28 minute long story, in the middle of which, if he senses he’s not getting my complete and undivided attention, scolds me for not listening and starts the story again from the very beginning.

After dinner, while Deaglan and I sit together to do reading homework, he stands behind me against the back of the couch, arms around my neck, chin on one shoulder listening to his brother’s slow and steady telling of each story.

And on my luckiest nights, a few times throughout the evening, he either asks to be picked up or if I’m sitting, plops down on my lap so that he can plant a dozen or so kisses on my face. His small hands cup my face and he tells me over and over that he loves me.

Oh, we have plenty of other moments too.

I tell him he has to take a bite of broccoli.

He tells me I’m no longer his friend.  

I tell him for the fourth time to put his shoes in the closet.

He accuses me of bad mothering (he really does!).

I side with Deaglan in one of their arguments.

He promises to cut me off from all affection for good.

But it occurs to me, in the hustle and bustle of school, extra-curriculars and work where structure and routine must necessarily rule, these moments glisten like flecks of gold in the monotonous terrain of our everydays.

He got new pajamas today.

Tuesdays in late July

Last week Shaune took the kids to Manitoulin Island to a cottage with his parents. This was the first time in six years that I have been alone in the house for more than a few hours. It was lonely and glorious at the same time. They were gone for four days and three nights.

On the first night I was lost.

The house felt too big, too empty. My plans to enjoy takeout and whatever I wanted to watch on TV lost its appeal when I realized they were not coming back in a few hours. There’s something about freedom in those small doses. I ate leftovers and channel surfed most of the evening. When Shaune and the kids called, I had a hard time swallowing the big lump in my throat.

Pathetic. I know.

On day two I received a total of four phone calls and one video chat, two of which were spent trying to console Deaglan, reminding him that we’d be together again in no time at all. When I was sure he was finished sobbing I reminded him that he was with just about all the best people in his life: Daddy, Naveen, Gramma and Grampa.

It felt good to be missed though.

I got the hang of it a little by the second and third nights. I went out for dinner with friends and couldn’t believe how good the food tasted when there was nobody to discipline. It felt a little like old times; before kids.

I wished Shaune was there to discuss the food and enjoy the conversation.  

It’s always times like these, times when I’m out of my element, that I realize just how much my regular life satisfies me. I realize that home is where my three people are, not the vessel that holds us. I realize that despite the chaos and constant feeling that I’m not doing enough, there is a comfort for me in the everyday ordinary of my life.

On Thursday when they got back, I wondered if I’d measure up to what they thought they were missing.

Naveen hung onto my neck into the next day. Friday morning, when I told him I was going for a run but that I’d be back before he knew it, he put on his sneakers and cried when I told him that I’d be running for too long for him to join me. Deaglan asked a hundred times if I loved the necklace he’d bought me at the gift shop. And when I told him that yes, it was just the perfect one for me, he asked if I thought I would wear it every day for the rest of my life.

 The boys on the Chi-Cheemaun,  the ferry from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island.

 My mother-in-law (have I mentioned how much I lucked out in the in-law department?) building what looks like an amazing mote.

I think this is what the hip kids would call a selfie...I'm surprised though because I can usually never pry the camera out of this guy's hands long enough to capture him in a picture.

You'll notice I gave my blog a little makeover. I used Pic Monkey to create the new header. It was easy (obviously, if I could do it!) and free.  I tweaked the about me page and updated a picture or font where it seemed to need it.

I've been seriously considering changing the name.

Lately I get a lot of creepy visitors looking at the pictures of my boys. I can see what they've typed to find my little space here...things I'd rather not repeat but things that worry me nonetheless. And I can see what pictures they focus on.

I started this blog a month or so before Deaglan was born; five and a half years ago. We were told prior to that, at our 20 month ultrasound, that he would be a boy but something in me did not trust the technology. I didn't believe that they could be accurate in predicting his gender by looking at those static pictures of his bone structure.

Clearly, I was wrong.

But when it came to naming the blog, I had decided to keep it simple: The child. Little did I know that it would open me up to giving all sorts of perverts a peek into my world.

What do you think? Would you change the name?

It's all enough

In a few short weeks my sweet little Naveen will turn three. He is not potty trained nor does he like to function without his pacifier. He hates sharing my lap with his brother and just the other day when I was comforting Deaglan after a bad fall, he pinched his own forehead so that I’d be forced to comfort him as well.

Every evening he lays in our bed, proprietarily snuggled in close to me until he is fast asleep. Then I carry him, limp and sweaty, to his bed, that bottom bunk in the room across the hall. I kiss that sweaty little face and on my way back to my own bed, lament that he is too much my baby still, to be turning three.

It must seem like I’m not doing a very good job of fostering his independence.

I was self-sufficient far too early in life. I’ve told you my story in bits and pieces over the years about how my mother was forced to live on the streets, away from me, when I was still very small and in dire need of her warm, safe arms. I told you that I lived in an orphanage in Bangladesh with dozens of other kids until I was adopted into my family here in Canada. I’ve written some about how it felt to be seven and new to a country and a language and a culture.

I look back at those first twenty years and feel exhausted for that girl I used to be. She had to endure so much. It’s no wonder she waited until her mid-thirties to have kids. She needed 15 years of psychic head space just to process it all.

As a result, I rarely rush my kids through the phases of their development. I watch in awe how they own their little lives, how relaxed they are when they’re home, how connected they become with their immediate environment.

Deaglan takes his socks, pants and often his shirt off as soon as we get in the front door most days. He finds the toys he’s interested in at the moment, goes to the fridge to survey it for a snack and asks us for whatever else he needs to make himself comfortable and happy. For Naveen this usually means finding his pacifier and my lap and snuggling until we move onto dinner or outside.

I watch this kind of thing with fascination and learn how to get what I need.

The simplicity of what makes them happy – a few pushes on the swing, a popsicle, a favourite show - makes me want to pare down my desires too. It forces me in the best way possible to look around and realize that my backyard is big enough,the grass there, green enough, that I am thin enough, that my husband loves me enough, the sky is sunny enough.

It’s all enough. 

 

I take none of it lightly

You people.

You lovely, kind people. The things you said in your comments on that last post. Well, words can’t explain how much those things mean to me.

Thank you.

And to my Facebook friends: the ones who always comment on my posts (Frank I’m talking to you), the ones who send me private messages to let me know that something I wrote struck a chord or just that they liked it, and the ones I see in real life in the halls at work who stop to tell me they read one of my posts; to all of you, thank you. Thank you!

You should know I take none of it lightly.

I was feeling good about this and  about life in general despite the fact that we seem to have entered phase two of winter around here, the opposite of Indian summer, when I realized I forgot to tell you that in a few short days, Shaune will once again be a homemaker. Then I realized that I forgot to tell you that he got another temporary teaching job in the first place.  The technical term for which is long term occasional or LTO if you’re in the business.

Yup, lucky for us, once again someone needed surgery.

Last year he replaced a teacher who was having his elbow operated on. It gave him six months of work. Yay bum elbow! And then this past September he got a call to step in because another teacher needed his shoulder fixed. Greedily, my first thought was, that other shoulder isn't going to fix itself.

Maybe you’re thinking we should be taking a long hard look at the obvious. Elbow replaced? Shoulder surgery? What kind of work has Shaune gotten himself into? Will he one day come home and tell me they need to operate on his thumbs? Replace his forearm? We have thought of that and it’s hard to say for sure so we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  Besides, on most days I remember to tell him to be careful.

But it is hopeful that in the two years since graduating from teacher’s college, an industry everyone thought he was crazy to get into because of all the budget cuts our province has been making, he’s worked steadily at least half of each year.

He’s developed really good relationships with two principals and many, many teachers. Just last night a group of lady hospitality teachers took him out for dinner to celebrate the end of his LTO and to let him know how sad they were that he was leaving. They’d all told him on different occasions how much they liked working with him. A few said they appreciated that he always came over to their classrooms to say hi or discuss a lesson plan.

He was hesitant at first about going, just him and five ladies, some who are close enough in age to be his mother, but in the end he went and I think, had a good time. I heard him come in around ten so it couldn’t have been all talk about grandkids and gardening. Although, if they had discussed gardening for any length of time, they would have had his undivided attention.

He’s a food nerd on all levels.

Now he’ll go back on the supply list; take substitute teaching gigs whenever he gets calls. But more importantly I’ll have gained a Nanny. A handy, handsome nanny who does windows! Oh sweet, sweet unemployment. If last year is any indication, he’ll take the kids to their respective places. Every morning (!)

He’ll pick them up. 

Every afternoon (!)

He’ll have the house clean and dinner ready.

Every day (!!)

And if that isn’t enough to make me want to increase my pay scale to make this situation permanent, he’ll tackle another big project in the realm of home improvement. I’ve thought it through and already have come up with an itemized list in descending order of importance. It’s been just short of impossible to not fantasize about coming home to brand new curb appeal. I stay up late imagining the possibilities for the upstairs bathroom.

Obviously, and not to mention ideally, we need him to be gainfully employed. I mean it isn’t right that I’m over the moon at the thought of him being available should the school or daycare call because one of the kids is sick. Or that I'm practically giddy because now I could seriously consider doing one of the morning classes at the gym. It's not right.

Right?

And finally, we can get back to eating like this. These are all dishes he's made in the past when the only kitchen he cooked in was ours.

Unexpectedly acceptable

Some post ideas have been rattling around my brain these last few days but when I finally steal a few minutes out of my evening to try and write one of them down, nothing flows. I create just the right atmosphere too. The kids are (thankfully) glued to the TV after running wild through the house, high on the aftermath of carving pumpkins and scarfing down mini chocolate bars meant for tomorrow night’s trick-or-treaters.

I have a glass of wine within reach and my comfy pants on.

I want to tell you how even when I am perfectly willing to write today off as rotten, it keeps showing me up.

This morning, though windy cold and black, my bones aching to sleep away the entire day, I notice little things that make it seem not so bad. Like how before he leaves the house at ten after six, Shaune assembles half of Deaglan’s lunch for school so that all I have to do is add fruit and cookies. He brews fresh coffee, gives me half of his vegetable omelette and apologizes for having to leave so early.

And then when I ask the kids to follow me upstairs so I can take a shower, they trail along without resistance and play quietly on my bed. At one point when I peek in on them, I notice Deaglan has Naveen pulled in close beside him, his arm around his shoulders while they watch cartoons. 

There are other things too, things I'd like to put just the right words around. Like how Naveen is full of language and ideas and strong, strong opinions about everything. At least a dozen times every day, I scoop him into my arms, cover him up with kisses. He is just perfect. I love two year old people!

I'd tell you too about the love affair I'm having with Netflix lately. How I can't get enough of Mad Men this week but before that it was Damages.  And Luther only a few weeks before that.

But it's rare to have such an unexpectedly acceptable day so I’ll just leave it for now. We took these pictures tonight.

Abundance

Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve been missing a thing until it comes into your life.

You might not have even thought it was possible. But on some level you were unaware of, it’s unmistakable that it is exactly what you’ve been craving. And when it sneaks into your daily existence, like a stroke of good luck or an unexpected stretch of good weather, you wonder how you ever lived without it.

You can’t help but soak it in, bask in its gloriousness, even if it feels like a guilty pleasure.

It’s been like this for me recently. 

Oh how my tiny boys love me. But that’s not the unexpected part, although it delights me endlessly. No, it’s this:  at least a few times each day the two argue with each other about whose mommy I am. It usually starts with Naveen elbowing Deaglan out of his way, on route to my lap.

“My Mama!” he will announce, brows furrowed, small fists at the ready.

These are always fighting words for Deaglan who hadn’t even intended to battle for such property rights that moment.

“She’s my Mommy too, right Mommy?” he looks over at me, old enough to know better yet unable to ignore the heat such a bold statement gives rise to. Often it ends in me pulling one off of the other.

“Yes, I’m both of your Mommies. Come sit on either side of me.”

Sometimes having such full arms can seem like a nuisance. It’s hard to sip coffee before it cools. It means never having my own space on the recliner or couch. And in the very early mornings, it means sharing my pillow with two growing tousled heads, elbows and knees in my ribs.

But more often it feels like I’ve arrived.

As one of seven children, I never had much expectation of such affection. I was quiet and in my head most of the time growing up. This all feels like an embarrassment of riches; a boon that will inevitably vanish back into the heavens from which it came.  

So I'm doing what any lottery winner would do; grinning from ear to ear like some lucky jerk at my fortune.

 We drove to a small town outside of our city to this park just for a change of pace. We rode on this train, which in truth is one step up from a child's model train. 

See what I mean?

How to turn a Monday around

On our way to a doctor’s appointment today, I caught a pensive faraway look on Deaglan’s face in the rearview mirror.

“What are you thinking about honey?” I asked.

“I’m thinking about Olivia and Thomas, Mommy.”

“Oh yeah? What about them?”

“I was thinking about how much I love them.”

It quieted me; took my breath away, this simple answer.

For the hundredth time since Deaglan has been old enough to utter such magic, I am astounded that we could all be this dreamy, this awesome at the beginning. And wonder that we end up resentful, anxious, I'll be happy when x happens.

Olivia and Thomas are his friends from daycare. He will be leaving them to go to junior kindergarten in a few short weeks. On the way home every afternoon, after he’s told me about his day, what he had for lunch, who he played with out in the yard, I remind him that soon he will go to the Big School. Gently, I explain again that he will have to leave his friends from this “school” and meet new ones.

I remind him out of my fear that it will sneak up on him. I remind him because it hurts me to think about him missing his friends. I remind him to try and manage this big change coming.

It was Monday, not yet noon and I was already weary. Grudges replaying in my head, old resentments, too much to do, self-loathing for what I’d eaten on the weekend.

On and on.

His simple expression of love though, straightened my back at the wheel. I glanced admiringly at him, behind me, unfazed by my impromptu pick-up in the middle of his morning – my failure to note the appointment on our home calendar. Peace-filled and happy when only a week ago, I’d pulled another carpet out from under him – the ending of the soother.

I decided again, right there to try and live differently. So I’m joining Ann and listing my gifts:

1. Healthy children
2. Shaune's work ethic, his lightheartedness, his family
3. My work life
4. Easy-to-make dinners on a Monday
5. Naveen's squeals
6. Flat sandals after a day in heels
7. Three year old comedy...
8. Comfy pants and t-shirts
9. My willingness to change
10. My desire to write it all down

Context

Deaglan and I had a lunch date yesterday. It was just like old times, before you-know-who showed up. We went to his fave joint, sat in the Playplace, side-by-side in a booth and dipped our fries into little buckets of ketchup. It wasn’t for nothing but it sure was fun.

He had his very first dentist appointment afterward.

I wondered if someday I’d tell him about the time my dentist slapped me when I was seven. It’s one of those stories I have in my bag; sort of fits into the “when I was your age I walked ten miles up hill in snow to get to school…”. You know? Eye-roll inducing, disbelief.

The thing is, before coming to Canada at age seven, I’d been treated only by third world medicine. My one time at a hospital, I was laid on a wood slab, held down by a couple of pokerfaced men, while a third equally vacant one, cut an infected growth off my arm. No freezing. No sedation. A small block of wood to bite down on and a stick of pink gum in foil wrapper when it was over. Even now, I finger the half-inch jagged scar on the inside crook of my right arm and smell urine and rubbing alcohol.

I was six that year.

The dentist who slapped me likely needed the hysterical crying and flailing to stop so he could do his work. He couldn’t have known that I’d spent four and five begging on the streets of my village with my older sister; that half of five and all of six were spent living in an orphanage far, far away from my mother. Probably no one explained to him that right after seven I moved to his side of the world, met a new family and culture, and had a new name .

Maybe if my file had included that, he would have resisted the itch to slap me across the face.

Or maybe he was just a shithead.

Yes, I chewed on this as I studied my biggest boy at his first visit. I watched him toggle between fear and fascination as the hygienist introduced each new tool. I watched hungrily, my cavernous need to celebrate every milestone, exalting that his life has been blessed with so much simple abundance. Seamless and smooth, blurring together.

And I took pictures.

In front of the daycare - I snatched him out of the line-up. The preschoolers were walking back from the library.

In the waiting room.

Loving the chair that moves up and down.

To my mild embarrassment, before the hygienist had even begun, Deaglan asked can I have a toy now?When he finally was presented with this treasure chest, the relief on his face said that this had all been worth it.

Free gifts

Naveen screeched, a long shrieking, at the sight of me when I picked him up from daycare today. The Educator holding him laughed.

"I've never heard that come out of him before."

It was a heady mix of yearning and impatience. Come closer, the scream demanded, solve everything for me. Right now. I buried my face into his chubby warm neck. Snuggled into it. Heavenly joy of baby.

Already there are hints of a burgeoning toddler. He howls differently if a toy is out of reach, slams his tiny fists when the phone is taken away. And the few times I've said a firm NO, his lip quivered, the prelude to a cry so endearing, so delightful, I'd chance saying it again. 

Who will I be without a baby on my hip? How could these last four-ish years have the power to define me this succinctly, when I lived a lifetime of days before?

And yesterday I attended the final orientation for the upcoming schoolyear. I sat anxious, my stomach tight, diligently noting all that would need to be done.

• Buy a proper lunchbox
• Get a coat he can zip up himself
• Stop allowing the soother!!
• Teach him how to wipe himself on the toilet
• And for God's sake teach him to write his name

I'm not the mother I thought I'd be. In some ways I've exceeded a few of my expectations. But I have had many failings. Everyday I remember to begin again. Because everyday is messy. I yell. I cut corners. I tune out. Remember that I can begin again.

Clean the kitchen again.
Re-wash.
Re-fold. 

I listen to Deaglan's crackling-voiced lispy stories. Like when he told me last night that his head hurt.

"Mommy, I think there is pickle juice in there."

"Oh yeah? Is pickle juice good?"

"No Mommy, pickle juice goes through you and gives you a headache."

Huh. Similar to Shiraz?

And today, while he watched movies as I worked from home and kept the thermometer and Tylenol close by he gazed over at me and said,

"Mommy I sure do like your pretty shirt." And I looked down at my popsicle stained dingy oversized old tank top, smiled at this child, a gift I can't remember earning, and said,

"I love you too sweetheart."

Lucky me

Everytime I change Naveen's diaper I grab a generous helping of his cocoa brown skin. Often I take his feety pyjamas  right off and hug his naked little body. Right there, smack in the middle of the day. I can't help it. At bathtime I am non-stop itching to grab his chunky lavish little bum. No warm blooded mama could resist it.

And I'm always calling out be careful going down the stairs! to my big boy. Every time. He's still too blissfully toddlerish to roll his eyes. Not looking forward to that day of reckoning, let me tell you. I'm trying to fit in as many smooches, hand-holding, snuggling and hugs-for-no-reason-other than-I-need-to-be-near-him as I can. No sense letting all this goodness go to waste.

I can't undo my motherness. It came with the babies.

You know cuz no one asks why the box for the new food processor  is filled with chopping blades, shredders and slicer discs. They go - huh, so these are all the parts eh?

I can't help feeling sick about what's happening to our Japanese friends. How there are mommies losing babies, husbands losing wives, babies losing daddies. Pain, misery, suffering. I can't help but wonder guiltily how I got so lucky to be safe while they are in all kinds of agony.  

Monday stuff

Naveen had his first Noel this year. He spent a lot of time being adored by various relatives, some of the time on the floor trying to crawl and a good portion of Christmas Day on gramma and grampa's bed napping.

Deaglan added a tow truck, a garbage truck, a remote control excavator and dump truck, a fire engine, a police car, an ambulance and a ton of other things to his already overflowing stockpile of toys. All sorts of new scenarios have been created in play situations. And today he asked several times if it was still his birthday. Newsflash kid - it was over two days ago!

Shaune and I had an agreement that we weren't buying for each other this year. He's been back at school and working only parttime and I'm on maternity leave making it a time of frugality for our little family. I was caught off guard with a beautiful necklace and pendant with my two babies's names engraved on it.

We packed up every trace of Christmas and banished it back to the basement where it will stay out of sight until next December. The living room looks gloriously empty.

We didn't have our holiday party this year and I'm grateful. Matthew would have been missing and I didn't need the reminder. He's already on my mind all the time.

Being surrounded by family, Shaune and the boys filled me up. I'm lucky.

The kids were positively spoiled rotten by their grandparents and aunts and uncles. They scored tons of new toys, books and clothes. This little sweater and hat were from Aunt Katie and Uncle Justin.

Visit Carissa and Ratz to read other Monday posts.

My kind of Monday

I'm linking up with lowercase letters for miscellany monday and also keeping in the spirit Ratz created with her post Remind me Monday.

• We're snowed in over here. I'm on maternity leave and home anyway, but Shaune is loving the extra day off considering he's been busting his butt six days a week going to school and work since September.

• Deaglan in typical toddler fashion is either always in tiny Fruit of the Loom white briefs or his birthday suit. We often ask him to please get his clothes on but he just looks at us like we're nuts. It's hard not to love seeing a tiny boy in tiny briefs.

• I'm sort of getting in the spirit but I'm not sure Shaune's all that thrilled. You see, I have absolutely no artistic ability (like none people) but am loving creating things from scratch for the season. I'll have to post some of my masterpieces in a later post and you can be the judge. I'm taking Shaune's polite silence as an indication that I shouldn't start selling anything on Etsy just yet.

• I know I've said it before, but I just have to say it again. I could just eat Naveen's double chinned, pudgy baby deliciousness right up.

Hope you're having a good Monday and don't forget to count your blessings!

Friday night

I just finished bathing, reading to and tucking in two small boys. While I was nursing Naveen, I was trying to remember what I used to do on Friday nights before the kids. Flashes of recall came to me. In my twenties, Friday nights were filled with the appeal of anything can happen. There was usually the panic of figuring out what to wear, where to go, and what to drink. In my early thirties, it became more about nice dinners out, affordable but good wine and figuring out what to wear.

Now here I am on the cusp of my forties, and it entails, figuring out what the toddler will eat for dinner, how I can tweak the bedtime routine to encourage the infant to sleep longer than two hours and the countdown to me-time on the couch with maybe a glass of wine and a turn on the laptop. And what I wear? Well that's the easy part.

It's not exciting in the same way but it's so good in a different way. There's something solid and satisfying in getting kids bathed and settled in. It feels right to provide the comfort of a routine, to indulge them when they ask for one more story. And that glass of wine?

It feels earned.

What are you doing on this Friday night?

This post is also inspired by The Red Dress Club who asked us to write a little something about feeling grateful.

Things I'm loving this Thursday

I'm joining Teresha over at Marlie and Me in taking inventory of what I'm loving today. Phew, I need this after yesterday's downer of a post!

1. This hat. It was a gift from my sister when Deaglan was born and I'm so happy to see it making an encore.

2. Coffee!!!!

3. That we have a playdate with a little girl who recently was diagnosed with Leukemia. She's doing great considering and being around her really makes me grateful for all of my abundance.

4. Shaune for cutting up the onions for the batch of spaghetti sauce I'm going to make today. I hate cutting onions!

5. My friend Kelly over at My voice, My view. Even though we've never met in person, I feel like we are kindred spirits.

Happy Thursday!

Waterproof

I wore mascara yesterday even though I knew it would be a mistake. I am all tears.

Sweet tears of joy for Naveen, whose name in Hindu translates as new.

Hot salty jealous tears as I sit breastfeeding every hour or so and watch my other boy entangled in play with his dad. My arms are long enough to hold both of you, I want to plead. Please come sit with me like before. I miss us.

Tears of bone-aching tiredness that this baby doesn't know it is night time. And tears of frustration that arise from not sleeping.

Tears of deep sadness at the loss of one I loved so dearly. Everyday I miss him more and seem to lose him all over again. Yesterday I asked Shaune to stop reading the sympathy cards aloud, the heartfelt words of friends and family that leave me broken.

But also tears of gratefulness that I could be so lucky in this lifetime to have these two children and this husband and so many family and friends willing to love me.

And just when I think the tears will finally stop, I catch a glimpse of joy or sorrow and begin again.

So it is best I leave the mascara in the vanity until another day. A day where I can see these things and contain them in my heart. For I know that this joy, this sadness, this jealousy, this tiredness, they are all meant to be, meant to make me grow, meant to heal me.