Shivers

The other night, Addie was in the bedroom, "lookum book" (reading) on the bed.

Suddenly, shrieks of pain...horror...fear...something awful was clearly eating her alive.

We raced to the bedroom to find her bawling her face off.

It took about a minute to get her to calm down enough to tell us what was wrong.

After that, it took another minute to understand what the heck the kid was wailing.

Pointing: "UNGANGINGAY!!!!

UNGANGINGAY!!!"

There, on the cover of the bed, a teeny tiny dust bunny.

The smallest little dark spot on a light covered blanket.

"ARAIGNÉE" = French for SPIDER.

Now, my fear of spiders has been widely documented and mocked.

My ability to kill one is directly dependent upon its body mass to leg length to leg width to colour ratio.

Basically, if it's bigger than a grain of sand, I call for backup (my long-suffering husband).

I have tried VERY hard to mask my phobia from my children.

Eva mashes them with glee.

Clearly, with Adder...my efforts have been less than successful.

And Etienne's arachnid killing spree just got busier.

UNGANGINGAYS ENTERING MY HOUSE BE WARNED:

There are now TWO OF US LOOKING FOR YOU EVERYWHERE.

YOU WILL NOT MAKE IT OUT ALIVE.

I love my dad

I forgot my dad's birthday.

Again.

Every year, I remember a few days after the fact. Every. Freaking. Year.

My dad is one of the kindest, most principled people I know. His integrity is indescribable, and he and my mum are always first in line to help their friends and family.

And I forgot his birthday.

Tomorrow, I'm going to send flowers and call.

But it's not the same.

I want him to know that I think he's amazing. That I can't begin to describe my fortune in being his daughter.

And I couldn't even remember his birthday.

Next year, I'll do better. He makes me want to do better, to aspire to what he is.

I love my dad.

Drippy tipple

Addie seems to have finally stopped crapping in the tub (of course, now that I've recognized this fact, I'm sure she'll be quick to lay a log tonight).

At any rate, she seems to have replaced one terribly disgusting bathtime habit with another moderately less disgusting one.

My girl likes to drink the bathwater.
And I don't mean casually opening her mouth as we rinse her hair each night.

She attacks the bathwater like a 27-pound bailing bucket on a sinking rowboat on the Atlantic.

She'll fill plastic cups, shout "cheers!" and then down them in a loud gulp.
She'll line up shampoo-bottle lids like shooters along the side of the tub, then down them one-by-one like she's in a bar-room drinking competition.
She'll chug full-flow from a giant plastic pitcher we normally reserve for hair-washing.

I've asked/told/cajoled/pleaded with her to stop.

I've told her bathwater is basically poop soup.

She giggles and gleefully pounds back another.

Here she is, enjoying a recent vintage.

Bottoms up!

Pride

Eva arrived home yesterday from school, vibrating.

Literally, vibrating (if you took a photo of her, it'd be blurry).

Some background: last month, she did a poster and presentation on "the First Explorers in Space".

She worked HARRRRD...laboriously drawing pictures of Laika the dog, Yuri Gagarin, and Neil Armstrong...and then copying out details about each on the poster. We helped her find the information, but she did all the work on the poster herself.

She practiced her presentation over and over with us...was the first presenter in her class...and afterwards, seemed quite happy with herself.

We were very proud of her...and even more so, once we went to the school and saw the other posters - some of which looked like they had been created by marketing firms with budgets rivalling those of major soft drink companies and fast food chains.

ANYWAY.

Yesterday she gets home and says the Grade One class had to vote on the two best posters, to hang in a display.

And out of all the posters...the kids in first grade chose HERS.

Take that, hyper-helpful homework-hacking parents.

Grade ones, I salute you.

Regardez moi! I'm NEKKID.

Me, to Adele: "Come here, we'll finish putting on your pyjamas"

Adele: "Wait. I'm going to talk to Grandpapa" (runs out of bedroom, naked)

Adele (to her Grandpapa, in other room): "Grandpapa! I'm with Mama!" (returns to bedroom).

Glad that's clear.

Music education: lacking.

Eva, looking at a photo of the Beatles:

"So which one of them is Michael Jackson?"

Last night

Eva, at dinner, after being told to finish the remaining two bites on her plate: "I know, I know. Because there are children in Africa who are FADING".

Then, while doing homework...she scanned some printouts of research material for her first grade science project on "the first explorers in space".

The Yuri Gagarin page caught her eye: "Oh, so his last name is actually WIKIPEDIA???"

Her first misinterpretation of internet information. Awwwww.

Magical

Arriving home after several days of work-related travel...hearing those delighted shrieks of "Mama!!!!!" and nearly getting knocked down in the huge, warm, wiggly hugs.

I am so, so lucky.

Her Highness

Typing this in a hurry because I have to go pick up her majesty at daycare in about ten minutes.

Addie has begun truly exerting her two year old self.

Remember that kid in The Exorcist? I'm sure I've made this comparison before.

Well, that kid was DAYCARE compared to Adele when she doesn't get her way.

Ad is a manager of mad. An administrator of anger. A goddess of grump.

Kid's got grump for DAYS.

Is this just "terrible twos", or is Adele more...mercurial...than most toddlers?

Oh, and the following is not about her grumples. Nooooo.

It's about her BOSSY.

Last night Addie announced at the dinner table, "I don't want Eva to talk". When no one really responded and Eva kept talking, Adele repeated it VERY LOUDLY AND EMPHATICALLY as though speaking to a table full of deaf people with mild intellectual challenges.

"I DON'T WANT EVA TO TALK!"

Nice.

Then, about a half-hour later, I was reading with Adele when she said, "NO MAMA. PAS PARLER". In English, that basically means SHUT UP.

(Yes, we are addressing this. Among other transgressions.)

Meanwhile, Adele has decided it's time to expedite her eventual move to a bed.

I've addressed my concerns (well, terror) about this, a post or two back.

We like having her in the cage at night.

SO.

As a compromise, we've started putting her into Eva's bed to fall asleep at night.

And for the time being, she doesn't seem to realize that SHE CAN GET OUT OF IT.

But it's still not easy.

Up until now, their bedtimes are staggered enough that Adele falls asleep in Eva's bed, then we move her into her crib so Eva can jump into bed.

Last, night, we made the mistake of moving Adele WHILE SHE WAS STILL AWAKE.

I am telling you, my arms are barely attached to their sockets.

The kid was PISSED.

I'm sure you heard the howls wherever you were. Glass broke, two towns over.

I think I have permanent hearing damage.

Which is okay, because Adele gives her (constant) directives so LOUDLY AND CLEARLY that I still get the gist.

I live to serve.

Sleepover

Eva's best friend is sleeping over.

So far, they've eaten supper, danced to the Grease soundtrack, played dress up, and fought a vicious battle over the rules of chess (!)

Moments ago, Eva tore out of the bedroom all dudded up (with the fly of her pants down) and demanded, "do I look like a rock star now?"

Stifling a snort of laughter took every ounce of strength in my body.

Right now they're going through her friend's little overnight bag.

Along with her pyjamas and toothbrush, she brought along:

Six cough lozenges and a tub of Vapo-Rub

Two superbounce balls

A stuffed unicorn

A giant stuffed rat

(and my favourite)

A pumpkin wand that lights up and spins

I love having little girls.

GET BACK IN THE $#*@!!! BED

1. Eva, tonight: "Without chocolate, I COULDN'T LIVE"

-I feel the same way about red wine. Particularly on Fridays.

2. Eva, also tonight: "It doesn't matter if you win. It just matters that you participate."

-Uh, right. Guess I'll be counting on your sister for a wealthy retirement.

3. Speaking of Adele - we're starting to consider moving her from a crib to a bed.

You can pretty much cue the ominous music right about now.

Adder is not like Eva was at two and a half.

Eva would come out and ask for water and a pee and a kiss and all that procrastination jazz. But when we said GET BACK IN THE BED, she went.

Eva's head is full of lollipops and gumdrops. Flowers and pixie dust. Butterflies and Froot Loops.

Adele's head has those things, too. But it also has a healthy splash of spit and vinegar. Thumbtacks and pork rinds. Bees and All-Bran.

The side that WILL NEVER, EVER GIVE IN TO WEAK, INSIPID MORTALS.

This is the two year old who locked me outside the other day (see post from November 2). Who laughed uproariously while I frantically tried to get her to open the door, and only opened it once she saw the veins physically pop out of my forehead - threat of a certain coronary if the door didn't open RIGHT NOW.

THE CHILD OPENED THE DOOR IN AN ACT OF MERCY.

And granted the constant nightly freedom of a BED, I know that she will show NO MERCY.

Adele will be nothing but a curly-topped 26-pound BOOMERANG.

The only thing going against her is that she's just a little weiner. She's short enough that we could probably keep her in the cage - I mean, crib - until after Christmas.

But sooner or later, we'll have to make the switch. It's only a matter of time.

And she'll be ready.

Oh yes.

She'll be ready.

(cue high-pitched evil laugh...then more ominous music...then fade out for Mama's bedtime)

Time just flu by

1. Just got back from getting Addie her H1N1 vaccination. SO GLAD to get one kid done. Frustrated that Eva's group doesn't come up until DECEMBER 7th. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic, it feels kind of Sophie's Choice to vaccinate one and not the other. I know the risks of any serious complications are low...but I'd like to make them even lower by getting that kid vaccinated!!! Anyway. Adder's done and I'm relieved about that.

Her memory shocked me yesterday...I said, "tomorrow we're going to the doctor" (well, random health-care professional) and she said "DOCTOR. THAT PICKS!" and pointed to her arm. She'd had her regular series vaccinations two weeks ago at the doctor's office.

I said, "It picks just a little bit"

She shook her head violently. "NO. IT PICKS A LOT"

Nice set up, Mama Bear. Way to freak her out in advance. DUH.

2. Started pushing the vacuum around this morning and Adele wagged her finger at me and bellowed, "NO MAMA! NOT ON THE CARPET! IT'S SOFT!"

Um. Smart kid. The CARPET is the POINT.

3. Eva got another 12/12 on her weekly spelling/math test. She has gotten ONE answer wrong all year. I'm kind of blown away. She can't remember to put the top back on the toothpaste...keep her butt planted on her chair during meals...leave the piano alone in the mornings because we have neighbours...etc etc etc. In fact, she'd forget to breathe if it wasn't an automatic bodily function. But song lyrics or academic stuff? Once you jam it in there, it's there for life.

4. Eva stayed home from school yesterday...she's been a bit on the sick side and I just wanted a day with my girlie. We rented "Les Choristes" - a French movie also known as "The Chorus" or "The Chorale" or something like that in English. There's a class photo with a bunch of old-fashioned-looking grubby little schoolboys on the DVD cover.

I'd seen it before - but loved it all over again because she loved it so much.

Worth renting - even subtitled, it'd be awesome, if only for the music.

Okay off to put away the vacuum. Wouldn't want it accidentally touching the carpet.

Can you hear me now?

1. Lost my voice. Well, not GONE but too weak to be on-air today. Wound up coming home and keeping Addie with me for the day - she's a bit sick with a cold, and seems to want a lot of cuddles. She keeps coming up to me and saying, "coller" (pronounced coll-AY). The verb "coller" means "to stick" - so she literally is asking to stick her little body on mine. It's kind of like saying "cuddle" or "hug", only a zillion times cuter. Which is my little bug's way.

2. Found myself on the WRONG side of the back door this morning, begging Adele to unlock the door while she laughed hysterically inside. I had stepped into the backyard to grab a bag of leaves, to set out for the garbage truck to pick up.

Quick as a flash, that little wretch slammed the door and LOCKED IT.

Suddenly I found myself outside looking in, with my TWO YEAR OLD completely free inside the house.

I'm sure it was hilarious for anyone observing from the outside - slightly crazed woman in sweatpants whispering curses and pounding on the back door, peering in through the window and gesturing like a one-armed air traffic controller on Christmas Day while begging to be let in...with all of my pleas completely inaudible because I HAVE NO BLASTED VOICE.

Adele seemed to understand, though, because after a horrifyingly stressful minute, she unlocked the door, smiling innocently the entire time.

Troll the Younger is NOT TO BE TRUSTED. EVER.

3. Eva has begun reading BECAUSE SHE WANTS TO. She's taken to carrying books around with her, cracking them open, and actually reading without us saying, "why don't you read a book?". Her fave is the Geronimo Stilton series. I watch it happen and melt - the whole world is opening up for her and we get a front row seat as it happens.

Kids are miracles, yes they are.

Miracles that ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED FOR A FREAKING SECOND.

Halloween

1 Girls are down for a pre-Halloween eve nap. I've told Eva "No nap = no trick or treat" and she seems to be having a bit of trouble understanding the concept. I hate being the hammer, but she'll be one miserable little coot tonight if she doesn't catch a few zzzs. Not quite sure what I do if she actually doesn't sleep, ultimately. That was a dumb correlation for me to make - am I actually enough of a meanie to TAKE AWAY HALLOWEEN FROM MY CHILD? Probably not. Argh. I always thought I'd be an airy fairy hippy dippy mom. Instead I'm Cruella de Vil.

2. We are sick. All of us. Adele probably has it the worst; she's bubbling snot like Old Faithful bubbles hot water. And she's so fiercely independent, she doesn't even want us to wipe her nose for her - she wants to do it for herself. The result is dried snot all over her face and a toddler that looks like a wee Oscar the Grouch.

I must say, however, I love how Adele pronounces "booger" with a French accent: "Boogeur" with a little roll on the "R". It almost makes it fun to wipe away "les boogeurs".

3. Eva did two class projects out of entirely recycled-recyclable materials. One is a beanbag game, which is the project she actually entered in the competition at school (and lost but who cares). The other is a boat about the size of the kitchen table. I know the size is comparable because it has now been sitting on our kitchen table for many, many days.

And not because we LIKE it.

I have been trying to recycle that damned boat for TWO WEEKS NOW.

TWICE I have put it in the weekly recycling bin, only to have Eva shriek in shock and overly-dramatic offense that we are THROWING AWAY HER BEAUTIFUL CREATION and rescue the blasted thing from the bin. And then eventually it finds its way back to the kitchen table.

This time, I'm gonna bury that sucker SO DEEP DOWN IN THE BIN, it'll take a freaking DRILLING RIG to get it back. That boat is gonna strike oil!

THURSDAY MORNING. THE RECYCLING TRUCKS ROLL.

Random

1. Etienne and I were in the kitchen prepping lunch today, while Addie played on the floor and Eva sat quietly reading in a chair.

Suddenly, and with no apparent reason, Eva said, "You know, sometimes we all have stress in our lives. But that's okay. We can't help it. It's not our fault"

Etienne and I just sort of stopped working and stared at each other...wondering what psychoanalyst's ghost had possessed our elder child. Or what problem she was working through at school. Or what the heck she was talking about.

But that was it...she just quietly went back to Geronimo Stilton.

2. Had a brief but heated debate with Adele tonight, as to whether a camel in a book was a CHAMEAU or a CAMEL. Sorry kid. Check whose lap you're sitting in; that'll tell you if it's a chameau or a camel. And considering your bony little butt is currently destroying my upper thigh muscles, I'd suggest you just accept the fact that AT THIS PARTICULAR MOMENT IN TIME, IT'S A CAMEL.

3. Took Adder to Tim Horton while Eva was at dance class this morning.

We bought an old-fashioned glazed donut and got ourselves settled to share.

We were sitting by the window - a cold, grey day with rain pelting down. The donut was soft and unbelievably fresh and I was so happy to share such a sweet little moment with Adele.

I broke the donut into four parts and handed one to her.

She didn't even finish it. Took two bites and set it down, disinterested.

REFUSING TO FINISH A DONUT??? THE HECK???

My child, how you disappoint me.

4. Went to Evita's "Green Day" at school (well, it's actually called something else but I have no idea what the direct translation is). Everyone is supposed to send in old skates and coats and clothes and books and homemade cookies and so on to sell, raising money for a school in Nepal. We sent some stuff last week and then made four dozen cinnamon snap cookies this morning (Holy last minute, Batman!) and Etienne went off to volunteer at the sale while the trolls and I were at Eva's dance class.

We stopped by afterwards and watched Eva cavort with her friends and compete to see who could jam the most baked goods into their mouths.

Disturbed but also somewhat impressed by Adele's unrelenting efforts to escape our evil clutches and melt into the crowd. That kid will make an excellent spy one day.

5. Had to laugh at the playground, despite my distaste for graffiti on CHILDREN'S TOYS.

Some jackass had taken a magic marker to the slide and drawn male and female private bits on it.

There were some little lines between the two, as if to indicate motion or something, but the whole thing looked like it was done by some blind kid during an earthquake, so it wound up looking vaguely like an ice cream cone talking to an amoeba.

Kid, if you're going to go embrace danger and anarchy and start making your mark in the hood by scrawling graffiti on playground equipment, KINDLY FINISH THAT ART CLASS FIRST.

6. Swimming tomorrow. It's my turn to swim with Adele in her parent-child class. Gotta go make myself presentable - i.e. scrape my legs. They're like Christmas trees.

Now beat it, kid

Adele, my tiny tornado, shaking her head as she watches me beat some eggs:

"NO NO NO, Mama. GENTLY. We do it GENTLY"

Apparently our little dictator DOES understand when we issue the same directive.

She's just ignoring us.

As I suspected.

Thankful

It's Thanksgiving here in Canada...and more than anything, I'm thankful for my beautiful family.

We had a marvellous, sweet, quiet day.

We went to the park in the morning...Etienne and I hugging our coffees while the girls climbed and crawled and jumped and dug in the sand with chilly little fingers. I pushed Addie in the swing FOREVER - she screamed "FIRE!!!!" whenever her momentum started to drop. I kept trying to explain that the word is actually "HIGHER" but she never quite got it.

This afternoon, the three girls in the house NAPPED (woo hoo!) while Etienne went off on his own for a bit.

And then our awesome dinner...turkey roast, homemade cranberry-orange sauce, mashed potatoes, and maple-glazed brussels sprouts. Everything was easy peasey to cook...but FREAKING DELICIOUS. We didn't really have much by way of dessert, although I'd made applesauce earlier in the day and that was enough to satisfy Evita's sweet tooth.

It really was a wonderful, quiet day...I think we all needed a day at home with no obligations and no commitments...nothing major to do...leftovers in the fridge for lunch...supper all planned and easy enough to put together. We toasted the holiday with glasses of wine (E and I) and apple juice (the girls).

Really lovely.

Really lucky.

Really thankful.

THIS JUST IN

*****BREAKING NEWS*******

Eva L. is dropping out of the Grade One class presidential race.
The six year old made the announcement yesterday at her home in Montreal.
Sources close to the candidate say she'd run out of time to complete a campaign poster and speech.
When family members suggested she already had homework to do and should drop the campaign, Eva had this to say:

DALET 51555
IN: sfx (heavy sigh)
RUNS: :03
OUT: "Okay"

Eva: "Sigh........okay"

Eva says she still may consider a run for class president next year.
Family members say they will support Eva in anything she chooses to do...but homework has to come first.

Holey moley

So yesterday, Eva comes home from school with a hole in her shirt.

Her nice, brand-new Mexx shirt that she was wearing for the first time.

It was a tiny hole, about two millimetres in diameter (about 1/4 inch, Heather).

But a hole, nonetheless.

Me: "How did you get a hole in your shirt?"

Eva: "Are you going to get mad?"

Me: "I don't know. If you caught it in your zipper, no. (Laughingly) If you took a pair of scissors and deliberately poked a hole in your shirt, then yeah, probably."

Eva, eyes filling with tears: "YOU'RE GOING TO GET MAD!!!"

Me: BLINK BLINK

Crickets chirp quietly in the background as I try to process the fact that my daughter who can find fifty countries on a map and read and write and do math and make banana bread all by herself and sing songs in ten languages and remember the names of every man, woman, and child she has ever met and and who is running for president of her class just TOOK A PAIR OF SCISSORS AND POKED A POLE IN HER BRAND NEW SHIRT FOR FUN.

So yeah, I did get mad eventually.

Not for long...but I did threaten to give all of her beloved pink clothes away and to buy her nothing but THE UGLIEST BLACK AND BROWN CLOTHES I CAN FIND for the rest of her natural life, AND WELL INTO HER SECOND CAREER IN HEAVEN.

And now I fully understand why my own mom got mad at me, that time I lost my brand-new gymnastics outfit in grade one (sorry for that one, Mom!!! Love ya!!!)

Crazy kid.

Madame President

Eva has decided she wants to be class president.

I know this is the part where I am supposed to express my delight in my sweet little Type-A offspring's desire to lead; to inspire her schoolmates; to make a difference in her little six-year-old's world.

And a part of me is delighted. No question.

But another piece of me worries that she's setting herself up for disappointment. In her words, "three or five and maybe more" - of the twenty kids have the same lofty dreams of power.

The fact that she decided to throw her hat into the ring a full day into the week-long campaign can't help. Some other kids already showed up this morning flashing posters with HANDLES MADE FROM BROOMSTICKS (these are parents who like colour-coded flashcards, remember). Eva also informed me that one kid has a poster made by his parents.

I think it also can't help that her interest doesn't really seem to lie in BEING PRESIDENT...I think she just likes the idea of making a poster.

Evita likes to draw.

SO...my sweet little firstborn is indeed making a poster. And coming up with a speech and a campaign slogan. (Etienne helpfully suggested "Yes We Can".....which then prompted "The Audacity of Hope"...and many giggles from the parental peanut gallery.)

Tonight we talked a bit about her campaign speech, asking her what she planned to say about herself.

Her response: "I want to say that I'm AUTONOMOUS."

Hubba Wha?

ANYWAY.

Tomorrow she will complete her campaign poster; a poster that currently features a tree, a bush, a heart, two cats with long curly eyelashes, a stray set of floating facial features (minus a nose), two children playing soccer, a mouse with huge ears, a flower, a garbage can, a compost bin, and a recycling logo.

Tomorrow, we'll also figure out what the heck she's going to say in her speech.

Sigh.

We'll get there.

Autonomous. The environment.

YES, SHE CAN.