The sign for S.

Our friend S recently came to spend a night with us. He was in town for a special occasion of his own. It was great to see him, and to see my husband with his best friend. S is a genuinely nice man. Funny. Possibly a little shy, but incredibly goofy. This is a man who, back when we were doing baby sign language, created a sign for his own name. It was a great big gesture.

This time, S made our two-year-old laugh and laugh, in a whole new wide-eyed way. He had never seen an adult be so seriously funny.

The day after S left, my husband and I mentioned to our son that we were going to visit our relatives G and C.

"That's okay," he replied, "G and C aren't bad." 

"No, they aren't bad," we said, "of course they aren't bad!" 

"G is funny," he said, after a moment. 

"Yes," we agreed heartily. 

"But not like S!!!" he added.

Or not.

And today J wants nothing to do with his potty.

Potty training feels like training to be a Zen master.

I've read that in the 1950's kids were potty-trained in their first year. Is there any truth to this?

Keep it coming, little dude!

J peed in his potty again tonight. I don't want to get my hopes up too high, but I think we he may finally be onto something here.

J's day

April 28 was a breakthrough day for our little guy.

First, he hopped onto his trike and pedalled all the way across the backyard, from the shed to the gate. Last year he couldn't quite reach the pedals, and earlier this year he was more inclined to push his way along the ground. This time he pedalled!

Right then and there my heart just about burst, as I thought about how glad I was to be standing in my backyard watching my son rather than working somewhere else.

Later, when I finally got him to come inside, he decided to use the potty. (It had been a while.) And he peed on the potty! And he did it again after supper!

J also agreed to use the potty again this morning -- no outcome, but I'm encouraged by his willingness to try.

Way to go J!

This boy is always thinking. As we passed the golf course yesterday, J asked, "Why are those guys golfing?" "Um, probably because they like to golf." "Well I like to golf!" Uh-oh. The last time we drove past a golf course and he begged to play, I was able to dissuade him by pointing out that we didn't have our clubs with us. That excuse isn't going to last long with this fellow. He's two.

He stumped his dad the other day. They were watching baseball. A series of sports-related questions rained down on my husband, each dutifully answered until the last:
"Why is that towel on the ground?" "That's not a towel, that's a base."
"Why is that a base?" ...
"Why is that guy throwing the ball?" ...
"Why is that guy a pitcher?" ...
"Why does that pitcher have a tongue?" Stunned silence.

Smoothing out the ride

After my happy Saturday, my internal roller coaster has taken a little dip.

Why?

Not enough sleep. Sleep-deprivation seems to be like poison for me. 

A little bit of alcohol. Not a lot. But I'm starting to notice a pattern in which just a couple of drinks brings me down a bit. At one point I feared that it was socializing, but now I'm suspecting that it may actually be the alcohol. Which is much better, since social isolation doesn't seem like a healthy answer to anything. 

And then there's spring which finally exploded onto the scene this weekend. While delightful, spring is always a harsh reminder that I haven't finished all the projects I intended to do during the cold, dark months of winter. Since I live in a climate in which winter occupies almost half the year, this is particularly depressing.

When I first stopped working, in February, I was busy. I had lots to do, I had a sense of urgency, I was moving all the time. I didn't even stop to snack -- barely ate lunch. Then I reached a point at which I decided that, yes, I should not work for a while. I should not look for a job. I should enjoy this time and live it fully. And I slowed down. I started lots of little projects. I went in too many directions at once.

So it's time to re-group. Yes, I have an incredible gift of time. No, I don't want to waste it. Yes, I have a million things I want to do and time to do them. No, no I don't -- I have time to do a select few of them. 

The reality is that there are only so many hours in a day. In a life! Not working frees up a lot of hours. But many of those hours are filled with things that were previously done at other times (at night or on weekends) or by other people (one's spouse, cleaning ladies). When I worked, I never did laundry, cleaning, shopping, cooking, or filing on weekdays, because I was working then. Now I do all of those things on weekdays. So there's a big chunk of my weekdays right there. 

Then there are all the things that previously didn't get done, or rarely got done. Or only got done late at night when I should have been sleeping. Or on the weekend at the expense of quality time with others. This is a very large category of "things". 

And then there is spending more time with our son, and that, I am happy to say, I am doing! But I would like to do more of that too. 

So today it is time for me to prioritize. How much time do I actually have? What am I going to do with that time, and when am I going to do it? 

Happy Easter

    

Every year we give my mother-in-law an Easter lily. It's a nice tradition my husband started. This year the lily started to open up after I brought it home from the store. It was so beautiful that I took about a million photos on Friday, hoping for a good one. I think I got one. It's hard not to look at this beautiful flower without gratitude.

Milestone in suburbia

Good days come in all shapes and sizes and when you least expect them. Today was a one of them.

I couldn't have foreseen it. I was up until 2:00 a.m. the last two nights, writing and then downloading, culling, editing, and uploading photos.

But it was.

This morning our little one woke me up at 8:00 a.m., mercifully late.

My dad emailed and said that my photos were beautiful.

My father-in-law came over for coffee with his son and grandson and brought me a Tim Horton's Steeped Tea (my weakness).

My husband filled my Kate Spade Thermos with coffee while I showered. I didn't need any more caffeine, but we have a nascent Bailey's-flavoured-coffee-Zoo tradition.

My son and I left the house at exactly the time I had agreed to meet our friends at the Zoo. But we live just 10 minutes from the Zoo, we had agreed to meet 15 minutes before it opened, and my friends were later than we were. I love that!

J was glad to see his buddies G and JL. The boys raced from exhibit to exhibit, often leaving their friend JL behind, and were reluctantly corralled when they got too far ahead. We re-grouped at the play structure, where the boys adorably delighted in feeding Goldfish to JL's baby brother A.

By the end of the morning I was sick of my voice and my own consistently lax-to-the-point-of-suddenly-barking parenting style. You know when you do exactly what you've criticized in others decades earlier? I'm not the only one, am I? But I actually managed to forget about it and enjoy the rest of my day.

And every time I started to feel guilty about not being a good enough mom vs. not being a good enough friend (yes, I can feel guilty about a lot), I somehow managed to stop and let it go. Being a mom won out.

The lions and tiger were active and spectacular and only barely caught J's attention. But suddenly, towards the end of the morning, he was mesmerized by the Prairie Dogs. He didn't want to go home, and we were both tired and hungry, but we got out of there and got home happy.

After lunch my husband went out (this being his big power-broom day), J eventually napped, and I started to think (and write) about supper.

I had just started cooking (very late for a roast) when we realized the time and woke J from his nap.
Then, just when we could have become really cranky, because we were way behind schedule, we didn't.

Instead, my husband enlisted our son to help him build his new toddler bed. He knew how much I wanted to get that bed set up. J had asked for a bed, had seen the box, and observed that it contained a bed, but was thrilled to hear that it was his new bed.

They built. I cooked and washed J's new sheets and got out the drill and finished something I'd been meaning to do in our guest room. Surprisingly, my husband did not step in and say, "What are you doing?!" when he saw me wielding the drill. He actually smiled. J was, of course, enthralled. (The boys were only using an allen key and toy tools for their project.)

Just when the roast was ready to come out of the oven, the bed was assembled -- but wouldn't fit through the bedroom door. The roast came out, the bedroom door came off, and went back on, furniture was rearranged to accommodate both bed and crib (just in case!), and our dear little one was delighted.

My heart paused when J asked us to "close" his new bed, indicating that the side was missing. But he accepted my explanation and my reassurance that his stuffed lion, Roar, would help keep him inside.

We ate supper an hour late; J went to bed an hour late.

But amazingly, he settled into his new little bed without a peep, our miraculous little boy.

My husband accepted a neighbour's invitation to share a bonfire and a beer, in appreciation for the loan of the power broom. He actually power-broomed four lawns today, out of the goodness of his heart. And built a toddler-bed. With a toddler's help. The man deserves a bonfire and a beer, and more.

Then I opened up my incredibly cheery polka-dotted Thermos and sipped this morning's leftover coffee.

And thought, with pleasure, this is Saturday night at forty in suburbia. My wonderful son passed a milestone today with joy and confidence, and is sleeping down the hall. My dear husband is his generous and serene and sociable self.

And then he came home from the bonfire and told me a couple of little stories and waited up for me.

I always know I'm lucky, but usually that just makes me worried. It feels good to be happy too.