September, 2010

Jonny Storm flies, originally uploaded by Mat Ricardo.

Eliza is a huge fan of “jumping”.
By jumping, I don’t mean hopping up and down like a bunny. “Jumping” for Eliza means climbing on any surface that is stable enough to hold her weight and she can balance on long enough to LEAP off her launch pad and fly through the air.

We have watched her jump from places we probably shouldn’t have “watched” her jump from. If we weren’t already aware of her agility, we probably would have been there to spot her. Nevertheless, we also know from experience that she would have none of that kind of supervision even if we tried.

“NO! Mommy! I can do this MYSELF!”

There is no careful button on Eliza. Sure, she’s cautious in the beginning but after she’s got her footing, nothing holds her back. Cautious only to make sure she can push the envelope a until Mom is talking in a super fast, high, squeaky voice…

“Wow, Eliza… ohmygodhowdidyougetupthere… pleasestayput… AAAAAAAACK!”

Speaking of pushing the envelope, there are other ways in which she enjoys watching her parents squirm.

I think many parents feel that things were “so easy” with their first born child. They remember how calm everything was, how predictable, how Not. Like. This. In fact, when Franklin is on a play date and Eliza is on her own, things are quite calm and predictable. The differences then only tend to consist of less train track set-up and more drawing and tea party. When she’s having fun, Eliza jumps up and down, claps her hands and emits a piercing scream of joy. These are wonderful moments.

However, there are other times when she’s tired and when Eliza is tired she likes to push the psychological envelope. Apparently, no one’s allowed to be happy if Eliza’s not feeling it herself. My parents laugh and tell me that her personality is glaringly similar to mine when I was her age. So even though she doesn’t look much like me, she acts exactly like me? If this is the case, I apologize to my parents because this child pushes the buttons until you either snap (Franklin) or become, as Dickson described one night after the kids went to bed and we broke open the wine, like the deadpan guard for Hannibal Lektor:

“Get up and face the wall or I’ll mace you in the face.”
“Don’t turn around or I’ll mace you in the face.”
“Hands on the bars or I’ll mace you in the face.”

It’s not that she’s a serial cannibalist (almost 100% positive, anyway) but that her desire to provoke, that mischievous twinkle in her eye, when you know that getting out of the car is going to be a game to her… well, it just brings out the auto pilot in us.

“Eliza, come out of the car or I’ll will pick up your body and take you out.”
“Eliza, it’s time to get into the bath or I will pick you up and take you to the tub.”
“Eliza, either you get into the stroller by yourself or I’ll help your body into the stroller.”

It’s pretty obvious that she’s after negative attention. However, before these auto pilot, calm, tired phrases are uttered, there are plenty of “choices” and “fun games” and “enthusiastic hoorays” to do all of the above actions. Most of the time, she’s really into it. Some of the time, she’s not. Some of the time she just really truly only wants to how far we can go before it’s all over. Franklin, unfortunately, hasn’t totally caught on.

We’re on to her though.
But don’t worry.
There’s no mace involved.

Vintage 1972 Fisher Price School Days Desk and Chalk Board, originally uploaded by PhotographicAmy.

Back in the day, I thought it would be cool to be a teacher. That particular goal quickly burst when I tried to show my sister how to write her name. My sister has a long name – seven letters long. She’s also 4 years younger than I am. I think I tried to teach her how to write when she was about 3 years old. I think she screamed at me. It was painful.

Painful because I have very little patience when it comes to teaching. Not due to the teaching subject being unable to grasp what I’m trying to explain (although there is a bit of frustration in there, to be honest) but because I have a difficult time communicating what I see as, more often than not, intangible logic. In other words, I don’t know why I understand, it just makes sense because…. well, the higher one is more high… and it wouldn’t make sense for it not to be… high… and so the other is…. lower… but not the lowest… you know? What? Can’t you understand it like this as well? You know, without any coherent explanation?

Yeah.
Math tutoring in our house is sometimes a mixture of my sitting on my hands and tongue while Franklin finally tells me to let just him figure it out on his own. Probably for the best, anyway. Then the light bulb came on and I finally realized that I am married to a man who went to university to LEARN HOW TO TEACH. Why was I, the person who absorbs things without being able to verbalize any coherent explanation, teaching my son math? I mean, Dickson no longer teaches and, frankly, doesn’t like teaching (only within the school system) but he is a good teacher!

I’m no longer the one helping Franklin with math.
So thanks, Bernice and Wray. Thanks for sending your son to university to be a teacher because although he may have not known what he wanted to do back then and went into the profession because it was “a job” kind of study track, it has paid off.

Speaking of good teachers… we are pretty happy so far with Franklin’s Grade Three teacher. He’s about 8 ft 36 inches so I have to look at him from afar or else my neck snaps off but other than that, pretty good. (By the way, why are there no short, male elementary teachers? I’ve actually never seen one.)

One of the cool things about Franklin’s teacher is that he used to be the computer teacher in the school. He’s quite technologically confident and so has a Smart Board in his classroom. Apparently, each elementary school has only one Smart Board in each school at this point. It’s usually the teacher with the most tech savvy that gets to use it in their classroom.
That’d be Franklin’s teacher.

Franklin is stoked.
On Tuesday he told me that he got a chance to use the Smart Board and that he was “a natural”. Franklin doesn’t say this about himself much – really about anything else other than Lego. Even his insane ability to see the subtle distinctions between animal species and his preference for scientific names does not impress him. He also doesn’t see his amazing insight into people’s personalities or from stories he’s read as anything all that special. I could go on and on about his talents (I’m his mother, it’s what we do). However, Franklin knows he is good at Lego. Now he knows he is good at Smart Boards.

I can’t believe that this kind of technology is all over the middle schools and high schools and soon will be standard in the elementary schools. All those chalk boards are becoming old skool. I am old skool (perhaps I have been for a long time?). I remember giggling when my teacher accidentally wiped chalk on his ass. I remember chalk fights where we would pretend to be cleaning the brushes but were actually slamming the two boards in each others faces to make puffs of chalk dust fly everywhere. I remember my 7th grade teacher owning a “chalk holder” and thinking she was so classy and civilized. Even that simple wipe of the hands that teachers do/did after they finished writing on the board will be a thing of the past.

I proudly copied that wiping movement when I tried to teach my sister to write her name. Not that this helped at all. Instead, a few years later, she wrote my three letter name all over everything in order to get me into trouble. She’s a sly one.

hide & seek, originally uploaded by Ella Pedersen.

We had a friend over for dinner last night. He is an avid gardener and so we discussed the weather, the trends, should we grab all the tomatoes now or wait for a dry spell? Will there be a dry spell? Isn’t there usually a dry spell?

It doesn’t seem like there will be. The community garden is full of tomatoes and squash. People are optimistic, I think. So am I. My red kuri is still on the vine. I have a zucchini that is still wee – I’m hoping it will grow a little bit more before I pick it. The soy beans seem to not mind the change in weather because I can’t keep up. I wish it were the same with my kale. I should have planted more kale.

But yes, my tomatoes are still on the vine. I probably should have stripped the leaves by now. If my father were here he would have done it, I know. I just keep thinking that this is akin to taking off their clothes. Won’t they be cold?

I’m a gardening idiot.

I think it’s time to face the fact that summer is over. We aren’t going to be seeing any dry spell – not the kind I’m waiting for. This morning we walked to school through a fine mist of gentle rain. I love this kind of weather. It makes Franklin’s hair get amazing large and curly so that when he moves, there is a split second delay between his head and the mass of curls that come after.

Of course, this reminds me that we need to make sure all of our rain gear is ready for the winter.

I think Eliza’s covered. We gave away our large stroller to a family that really needed it (and we didn’t so much) so now we have to make sure Eliza is going to be covered in gear for the trip to school in the collapsible stroller. No more deluxe covered bubble for her – not that she was a fan of this anyway. If that girl had her way, she’d be walking to school. We’d have to leave an hour earlier if this was the case – something that would be physically, emotionally and psychologically impossible.

Franklin, on the other hand, needs gear. He is growing like a weed. The coat we got him at Value Village in the summer is too damn small already. His head is past my shoulders now – and I don’t’ think it’s the hair. I actually think it’s his height. Of course, there are certain criteria that must be adhered to when shopping for Franklin’s gear. There can be no suspenders, it must not be hard to pull off when wet and it cannot be any of the following colours: purple, red, orange or pastel anything. I, on the other hand, am hoping to find gear that is both inexpensive and pvc free. Usually, these two things don’t come in a package together so I’ve got a challenge ahead.

Wish me luck.

West Coast Rain Forest – Ferns, originally uploaded by janusz l.

While we get further and further along in the planning of the new Campus Community Garden, there is a little part of me that keeps asking me if this is all a good idea. Most of this nagging feeling is owned by Franklin and his resentment of his field being taken away from him. However, there is also the deer, the rabbits and even the rats. Here I am deciding that there is a real need for families to provide food for themselves in this city and yet I’m feeling guilty.

This is crazy.
I’m constantly making remarks about how there will soon be a clash between animal rights activists and urban food activists on this campus – with me firmly on the side of the food and very much against the side of the rabbit population that threatens this food. Nevertheless here I am, feeling a pang of guilt as I walk by this field everyday.

I mean really, rabbits and rats?
wtf?

The deer?
These are the deer I shake my fist at whenever I wake up and see more and more of my herbs eaten, or my butterfly bush or the hydrangea that my mother-in-law so thoughtfully bought us that is very nearly down to a bare numb of a plant… these deer will lose even more of their world when this field goes.

But it’s not just this field.
And I’m not egotistical enough to think I’m the contributor to their plight. Their plight began 50 years ago when this area began populating. Heck, further back still. Jeez, I could get even more philosophical about the clash between species but you know the story.

So much has contributed to their narrowing existence in recent years. Just this summer, a rugby field was built next door. This also was once a field of tall grass. As more and more of the campus and surrounding area is filled in, their habitat will consist of backyards and designated protected greenspace such as Mystic Vale and Haro Woods.

When I lived in Salmon Arm, I used to walk through a large field and orchard on my way to school or downtown. There was a creek that ran through it and it was full of animals and food. One year, I returned from university to find it had been subdivided and built on. The houses were incredibly close together and there wasn’t much of the land or the trees left. It was flat and as developed as it could get. A girl I knew told me that when she saw what had been done, she cried. Twenty-some me, in my unfortunately unsympathetic way, explained that the way the town had run sewer lines and power lines all over the place to reach homes in pockets around the area was wasteful. We don’t live in isolation. If you really look at our lifestyle, we don’t even want to live in isolation. We only want the appearance that we have space. This appearance comes at a cost of encroaching on the actual space left. I don’t want to live in the wilds of British Columbia because we need to leave it the fuck alone.

It didn’t go over well.
She wasn’t really my friend, anyway.

However, this doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate protected greenspaces. I’m not saying we need to cram ourselves into urban centres like sardines. There is value in empty fields and overgrown orchards. However, they come at a huge cost that most of don’t appreciate or are willing to pay. Places like Haro Woods and Mystic Vale are few and far between. We are really very lucky to live so close to both of these areas.

The other day I went to a meeting for Franklin’s after school care and a mother asked one of the leaders about the level of supervision in the woods (Haro Woods) when they go there to play. I’m always worried about parents like this. I worry that they will insist on such tight supervision that independent exploring will no longer be possible. For the limited amount of wild spaces our kids have available, I want them to be able to take full advantage of it. Franklin knows those woods like the back of his hand. If I close my eyes, I could take you through that orchard and by that creek in my mind. I remember every inch of it. So does Dickson as, funnily enough, he explored the same orchard (while visiting his grandparents) and played in this same creek 10 years before I did.

These places are not for constant supervision and cougar paranoia (what cougar is going to attack a group of 20 screaming elementary kids?) but for imagination and exploration. They are too valuable and too rare to spoil. Even though I’m contributing to the colonization of his field of tall grass so 50 families can grow food all year round, at least I’m understanding enough to protect his right to scream like a awkward banshee through Haro Woods while wearing his t-shirt like a ninja mask.

I get points for that, right?
Right?

DreamBox Learning’s Lesson Map with Pirate Rewards, originally uploaded by DreamBox Learning.

I don’t endorse many things. I try to try and be one of those people who will tell you what worked for me, but also remind anyone listening that my advice should be taken only as an example and not as a recommendation.

I remember asking other mothers around me what to do in certain circumstances – what kind of stuff to buy, what was the hardest, how to deal with certain ailments… At first, I just wanted direction. I wanted someone to give me instruction that I could follow and then I could go about my day.

Breastfeeding, for example. Not the easiest task. I was frustrated that no one could tell me what was wrong. It wasn’t until I spoke with my father and realized that breastfeeding wasn’t what needed to be corrected but my outlook on breastfeeding that I finally had relief and I was able to navigate the problems and solve them myself.

Another question I had was about cloth diapers. I needed an alternative to what my mother used (folds and pins) because I knew that wouldn’t fly with Dickson. I got a billion different solutions from many people but in the end, I needed to find out what worked for Franklin (and later, Eliza).

About 6 months into the business of new motherhood, I started to appreciate the wisdom of a few of my friends who would resist giving me any advice. From these few, I got quite a bit of “it’s different for everyone” and “every child reacts differently”.

It was frustrating at times because there seemed to be very little middle ground. There were those with nothing to recommend and then those with everything – recommendations that had to be followed to a tee and “This is the only way it will work and you have to try it for AT LEAST FIVE MONTHS”.

Argh.
I just wanted a few suggestions and a little bit of discovered rational.

Cue my friend, Joelle.
Back in the day of new parenting, Joelle was a year ahead. Her son was born almost exactly a year before Franklin and if anyone had an opinion, it was this woman. If I wanted research and history and informed decision making, it would be her.

She knew that while all new mothers are going through the trenches like everyone else; every single individual needs to find her own path. This is not to say that she didn’t do research and had ideas and stories about what worked for her. She was/is/will hopefully always be an abundant source of information. However, she was also good at telling me why it worked in her case and she always had other options.

In other words, Joelle is a gold mine.
A wonderful mother and a true friend. There are only a few people I would want to survive the apocalypse with and she is in the top five. I swear, if the water was contaminated and zombies were beating down the door, she’d have about 7 different solutions on how to deal with the present situation as well as a few options on what we will do once we get out and will need to find shelter, food and water for the coming winter.

So when other parents ask me for advice, I try to think this way. Like Joelle, I am a researcher. I need to investigate all possible options and then objectively decide where I stand on each opinion and where my issue fits considering my family’s situation. I don’t feel good about a decision without doing all of this stuff.
However, this doesn’t mean other people are the same. As a result, if I tell someone else what kind of cloth diaper system worked for me, I would hope this doesn’t result in them spending $200 on a system that wasn’t a good fit for their baby. You’d hope.

You think I’m flattering myself but seriously, I’m not. New motherhood is hard and I remember those days of “Give me the solution. I’ll make it work if it’s the last. thing. I. do. I’m wary of telling anyone desperate for a solution what worked for me. I don’t want my solution to backfire on someone else.

So, it is with this loooong introduction that I give you my endorsement of the following website: Dreambox Learning. It is really really great – for Franklin.

It is a math game site with curriculum ranging from Kindergarten to Grade 3 (The American system but that’s fine as it’s just a supplement, not a replacement for his schooling). There is a free trial but in the long run, you must pay for the service once you delve further into the program. For me, the cost is worth it.

And it’s good.
Really good.
At least, it’s good for us.

Franklin is doing really well. He still gets frustrated and he still worries about not getting everything right every single time (apparently every wrong answer takes him further away from his chosen career as a Mechanical Engineer – perfection, anyone?) but he can see progress and he doesn’t hate working on it every day.

The thing with math is that to get better, you need to work on it daily – if only for 15 minutes. This is what I’ve learned, anyway. Doing math sheets or a math booklet with Franklin is torture – for all of us. This website does the same thing, but in various ways and with various incentives. It’s been amazing to see his progression.

Of course, once school gets going and math class begins, we’ll have to see how our work has paid off but I’m pretty optimistic.

So… yeah.
Check it out.

Plush tooths, originally uploaded by abductos.

This summer I’ve watched pretty much the rest of Eliza’s teeth come in and a larger than expected lump of Franklin’s leave. It’s been a revolving door for teeth in this house.

Eliza started out pretty damn cranky about her teeth. I was a little worried. I have a friend who has probably the most sensitive little teeth growers in the world. I hear about teething horror stories all the time. Franklin, however, was a pretty mellow teether. His first tooth was a surprise. The rest of his teeth seemed to arrive when they came but we weren’t counting. We hardly took notice, other than the rash he would get on the sides of his face.
Really, the only remarkable thing about his teeth when they first arrived it was that one was split into two.
Lemme explain: while it looked like two teeth were emerging at the same time, it was actually one – once the tooth was fully up. I have no idea what the actual name of this is but here’s a photo because I’m better at explaining pretty much everything and anything when I can also give a visual presentation:

We were warned that is could be a harbinger of cavities and it was a bit of a novelty for the dentist as it’s not common, but other than that… uneventful.

Eliza seemed to be bothered a bit more. There was the rash but it came with sleepless nights and the occasional fever and grumpiness. However, as time wore on she became much better about it and pretty soon we were looking at her and realizing, “Hey! She has all her teeth!” My father tells me that the less you give a child pain reliever, the better their body will be at self-regulating the pain. I’d like to think my patience and understanding helped her through the rough spots until she became accustomed to the feeling and her natural endorphins kicked in appropriately. Of course, the more likely scenario would be that I was distracted by life in general and she was left to fend for herself. Whatever the case, she’s good. She’s working on molars right now and so far, no problems.

Yay for being a space cadet!
- and my math teacher thought my day dreaming wouldn’t get me places!

Recently, Franklin has been to a few dentists. The child has gigantic adult teeth. Compared to his little bitty baby teeth, these suckers look HUGE in his mouth. I’m hoping he grows into them because at the size of the choppers right now, he’ll only have room for about six in his cute little mouth.

In fact, about a month ago we took him to get four (four! yikes!) teeth removed. These baby teeth weren’t coming out and the teeth he had lost to make room for the adults coming up were ginormous, there was a need to make room.

We first went to a fancy schmancy orthodontist with consultants and assistants and macro photos plastered on the wall shouting slogans at us about how good teeth create a good life. They xray-ed and photographed and gave us amazing print-outs of his teeth.

His teeth are whacked, man.
The front ones are pretty wide apart. The side ones are coming in at all sorts of angles. The canines are doing another crazy dance altogether.

In other words, he looks like every other kid on the playground.

As soon as I saw the printout of his teeth and got the low down on the braces and the pulling, I promptly divulged the info to a few close friends. It’s just what I do: if something seems wacky and strange, I tell other people.

Because you know what? They will almost invertiblely (is this a word?) tell you they are or have gone through the very same thing.
Every. Single. Time.
Seriously.

I don’t remember kids in my grades getting their teeth pulled but they must have been. Dickson had teeth pulled. My friends had their teeth pulled. Turns out, I was a tooth freak. I never had braces either. I wanted them. I also wanted straight, long, thick, brown hair.
Grass… greener… youknowwhatImean.

So Franklin’s losing teeth faster than I can count to make room for gigantic adult chompers and I can’t seem to pay attention long enough to observe Eliza’s sudden full mouth of pearly whites.

This kind of sums up the summer, in a way.

In the Garden Cover, originally uploaded by Casey Sanborn.

Thursday mornings are special in our house. Thursday mornings are when Sesame Street plays on the television from 7am to 8am. Since we don’t get to watch this show often, I let the kids sit in bed (the only tv we own is in our bedroom – romantic, eh?) and watch it while getting dressed and eating breakfast. As a result, I have a quiet morning downstairs getting things ready for school and we get clean sheets (by necessity) on Thursday night.

Did you know that today is 9/02/10? Yes, it’s world wide Beverly Hills Television Drama Day! Do you know what this means in terms of children programming? It means Kelly Taylor (Jennie Garth) is the celebrity guest on Sesame Street. Today she and Abby Cadabby taught my children what a garden is – although at the time the two were on, Eliza was taking off her own diaper from the night before and Franklin was off getting his clothes for the day to bring into our room.

I think my children know what a garden is at this point, though. In fact, I think they wouldn’t be too upset if they didn’t have to go to the garden again. I worry that I may be riding a fine line between instilling a love of the earth and turning them into resentful adults who will only live in high rise building and prefer stone sculpture to organic life. The impending new garden in the field near our house is making Franklin more and more bitter. I am officially “one of them” at this point. One of those people who are “ruining his life”. So, when did he become a moody teenager? I’m now waiting for him to start blasting death metal in his bedroom and tell me he doesn’t eat anything that one could possibly grow in a garden.

Regardless, here is a clip from today’s show:

Of course, I’m thinking this would be a more appropriate show to air in the spring but it’s 90210 day and it’s Kelly Taylor and of course, all the kidlets know about Kelly Taylor!

sigh.
Where’s my Sesame Street of the past?

Better yet, where’s my Mr. Dress-up? I miss Mr. Dress-up. I miss the sound of his scissors cutting through paper. I miss the stories he would tell while he drew the illustrations to match the tale. I miss the flagrant disregard of the gender binary with that little puppet, Casey.

Of course, Elmo isn’t a boy or a girl… no, he is. He’s a boy. Was Casey a girl or a boy? They must of used a pronoun in there somewhere… I just don’t ever remember caring.

.
I know I’m late to the internet party on most occasions. You’ve probably already seen the “Winemouse Incident” back in 2008 and are groaning at having to see it linked to One. More. Time. However, I saw this for the first time last night and I am horrified. I know I’m old when I watch these kids and think about how their parents would have felt seeing them at this point when they probably remember their first steps and their first day at school.

I try not to blame the parents. I’ve been trying extra hard lately because there have been a few occasions when the family with the troubled child/children seems put together and hunky dorky when underneath it all, it’s most definitely not hunky dorky. It’s abuse or addiction or most commonly a general apathy toward their kids. Apparently, I’m not one of those people that one feels comfortable opening up to right away. Instead, what seems to happen is that I get a rosy picture of a family life and then 4 years later, once trust has been established and hugs have been exchanged, I get an offer to smoke a crack pipe or to sleep with their brother. I’m not sure what I’ve done once people get to know me to let them think I’m a slutty crack whore (except for the snide joking that I actually am a slutty crack whore – perhaps I should cut that out?) but there’s been a few odd experiences in my past that have made me think that there are occasions (and I’m MOST DEFINITELY NOT SAYING EVERY OCCASION) in that if your child is smoking crack and then swallowing a downer while playing with one day old mice they found in their flat… you might want to look at what went wrong before this point.

I’m judging.
I’m sorry Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty’s Mum and Dad.
I’m really sorry.

However, if I do anything right, please let it be that my children have dirty fingernails because they are digging up their potatoes and planting their broccoli, not because they have burned their skin on the tin foil.