The best-laid plans of pregnant women...

One of the women I follow on Twitter is expecting a baby soon, so she's been tweeting a fair bit about plans for the new baby, prenatal classes, and her impending labour. Yesterday she and her husband (who I also follow on Twitter) were bantering back and forth about the music that should go on their labour and delivery playlist. It made me laugh because I remember spending a ton of time getting just the right playlist together in the weeks before Hana was born, but when the time came I didn't want to listen to any of it. I love music, but when I was in labour I absolutely had no interest in listening to any tunes. Never pulled the iPod out once.

Thinking of that made me think of all the things that I thought would be of the utmost importance during labour, but that I didn't use at all.

I remember being all excited that our hospital had a tub that I could relax in while I laboured. Never used it.

I remember being pleased that the hospital had birthing balls available for woman to use to position themselves in a way that would help relieve pain. Never used that, either.

Afterwards I just had to laugh at all the ideas I had going into my labour, especially the music playlist. In the last few hours of labour contractions came every two minutes and lasted over a minute each time. There wasn't a lot of downtime in between to listen to Bjork, Blur & Bettie Serveert.

Still, it was a nice idea. It might've been useful.

So what about you, my good readers? What did you think you'd need during delivery that never ended up getting unpacked from your hospital overnight bag? Did you have a labour & delivery playlist, too? Did you actually listen to it?

Do tell...

Squirrel!

Ever since we saw the movie Up, the kids have taken to suddenly yelling, "Squirrel!" and pointing off in one direction or the other. [Note: if you're not sure why they would do such a thing, rent Up. It's an awesome movie, though it may make you cry as well as laugh.]

Anyway, sometimes when they yell "Squirrel!" they actually do see a squirrel, either a real one hopping across a lawn or—in the case of the photo above—a fake one encountered on our stroll through The Enchanted Forest, but sometimes not.

The other day, though, Jamie and I were waiting for Hana to finish her dance class at Unionville High School when Jamie suddenly yelled, "Squirrel!" and pointed down the hallway of the school.

"There aren't any squirrels inside the school, silly-billy." I said to him.

He turned to me, very straight faced, and said, "Mom! It was a JOKE."

It took all I had in me not to laugh. Maybe I was the grown-up and he was the three-year-old, but at that moment I knew—I'd been schooled!

At a time like that, there's really only one thing you can say in response.

"Squirrel!"

Tromping through the Enchanted Forest

When we first went to the cottage we stayed at back in August, Jamie was a bit afraid to be out in the woods. On our first drive out to the cottage he told us he was scared. I tried to calm him by telling him that back when I was a kid I lived out in the woods.

"Uncle Bob and Uncle John and I used to tromp through the woods all the time for fun!" I told Jamie. "We used to love tromping about in the forest."

For whatever reason, Jamie really seemed to latch onto the word "tromp." For the rest of our time in Muskoka, every time we'd drive out to the cottage Jamie would announce, "Mommy tromp! Mommy tromp—Unca Bob, Unca John!"

After our cottage week the word faded into obscurity till we went up to Muskoka again for a weekend in September. On our first drive out to the cottage Jamie again announced. "Mommy tromp!"

Now every time we drive or walk in a wooded area Jamie brings up the word. I get a kick out of how he likes the word.

Today we went tromping about in the woods a little closer to home. About a ten minute's drive away from our neighbourhood, there's a place called Forsythe Farm. We've bought our Christmas trees there a couple of times, and I've often gone to their store to buy fruits, veggies, and delicious baked goods. I'd heard they also had fun activities for kids to enjoy, but we'd never managed to check them out.

Today we had one of Hana's daycare friends over for a playdate, and the weather outside was absolutely gorgeous, so we thought it was a good time to head to the farm. They had a petting zoo where you could feed the animals, a sandbox play area, corn maze, and obstacle course. In addition, they offered wagon rides out to a wooded area they called The Enchanted Forest. There you could take a 20 minute walk along a trail that features storybook scenes for kids to enjoy. It was really quite clever.




'Twas a fun place to tromp about on a beautiful Autumn afternoon.

File under "Adorable Misquotes"

Says Jamie:

I will puff
And I will puff
And I will blow the house away!

Change management

I know the seasons have changed and it's Fall now, yet somehow the colder weather seems to catch me off guard every year. I never find it hard to remember to pull out light jackets for the kids at the end of summer, but I don't seem to do as well about remembering to get winter coats, mitts and hats together in time for when the really cool weather comes. I think that's partly because I'm in denial about the whole thing. It's not really THAT cold yet, is it?

Ah, but it is.

On Wednesday when I dropped the kids off at daycare, Jamie's teacher mentioned to me that his hands had been cold when they were outside the day before. I'd thought he had a pair of mitts at daycare, but apparently they'd come home at some point. Ooops.

She also mentioned that Jamie's jacket was a bit light for the cooler weather we were getting now. I felt kind of bad...his jacket has a lining, so I thought he'd be fine, but apparenly he was pretty cold when he was outside earlier this week.

So at lunchtime on Wednesday I nipped to Markville and went on a bit of a spree buying winter gear for the kids. I tried to find an orange coat for Jamie, since that's his favourite colour, but no luck. I managed to get a green coat with a bit of orange trim. It had a really nice, soft, comfy lining. I was pretty pleased with it. Jamie isn't really a fan of change, and often gets upset when the weather changes and he has to wear new things, but I hoped that he would like the coat too.

When the kids got home I showed them what I got them. Hana was very pleased with all her stuff. Jamie loved the matching hat and mitts I got him and insisted on wearing them inside the house for a few minutes, so that was kind of cool. When I went to try the snow pants and coat on him, though, he freaked out.

"Noooo! I don't want that. I want my blue coat! I want my blue coat!"

"Your blue coat isn't warm enough anymore Jamie."

"This coat's too big. I don't like it. I want my blue coat!"

"It's not too big, Jamie...it's fine...just hold still..."

Jamie squirmed and writhed and finally (to borrow a line from Knuffle Bunny) he went boneless. It took a ton of effort to get the coat onto him.

"See, Jamie? It fits fine. It looks great!"

"Agggggggggghhhhhhh!"

Apparently, he didn't think it looked great.

Yesterday morning we went through it all again when it was time to go to daycare. He struggled and squirmed and went boneless, all the while yelling for his beloved blue jacket. But this is how it goes with Jamie and new things a lot of the time. In fact, I think he had much the same reaction to his beloved blue jacket the first time we tried it on him—he hated it.

By the time we arrived at school Jamie seemed to be a bit less upset about the jacket. It certainly didn't hurt when we bumped into one of his former teachers on the way into the daycare and she oohed and ahhed about how cute his jacket was.

And by the time Ed went to pick up the kids at the end of the day, Jamie donned his new coat without even the slightest bit of a fuss. Whew! Guess we got him used to that new thing reasonably quickly.

Now wish me luck, because this weekend we're going to go through this whole process all over again. On Saturday we need to get him new winter boots.

Some Enchanted Earworms

When we were at the cottage this summer, our friends' kids introduced our kids to the movie Enchanted, with Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey and Susan Sarandon. Hana liked the movie so much we ended up getting our own copy once we got home from vacation. The kids have watched it a few times, but I'd only caught bits of it until fairly recently. It really is a fun twist on a classic fairy tale movie.

Last week I ended up buying a few of the songs from Enchanted from iTunes, to add to a playlist I created for the kids that features music from movies they like. I bought three of the songs from the movie: True Love's Kiss, Happy Working Song, and That's How You Know. The songs are fun and the kids and I enjoy listening to them, but...

Ugh, what was I thinking buying them?

I can't get the songs out of my head! They're insidious. I'll be at work, editing some document, then realize that I'm humming to myself:

It's not enough to take the one you love for granted
You must remind her, or she'll be inclined to say...
"How do I know he loves me?"

Or I'll be sitting in a meeting, trying to concentrate on whatever's being said, but all I hear in my head is:

You could do a lot when you've got
Such a happy little tune to hum
While you're sponging up the soapy scum...

Arrgh.

I guess it could be worse, though. The past two mornings that I've dropped the kids at daycare, the JK teacher has had It's a Small World After All playing loud and cheerily from the classroom nearest Hana's cubby. Given a choice, I'd rather have the songs from Enchanted worming around inside my head.

Mental lapses

The other day I went to log into my bank account online and I totally forgot the digits that made up my bank account number. I've had the same bank account number for several years now and I typically log into it at least once a week. It's been ages since I've had to look up the number, yet the other day I just stared at the computer blankly. I had not the slightest clue what the number was. I waited a couple of minutes before I finally conceded that I needed to look up the number. A went to our main hallway to retrieve my purse. As I reached down to pick it up, the number suddenly jumped into my mind. I rushed back to the computer, typed in the account number, typed the password (which thankfully I still remembered) and ta-da! I was in my bank account.

I'm fascinated by things like that. How is it that numbers or passwords I know so well can suddenly be beyond my recollection?

At work we have to change our passwords every three months on most systems, plus we're not allowed to repeat a password for quite some time. What this means is that I end up having to come up with a huge number of passwords that meet the company's password rules, but are still memorable enough that I can remember them. Coming up with the passwords is half the battle. And then—once I finally do settle on a particular password, I have to get use to using the new one instead of using the one I've been using for the last three months. It doesn't surprise me that I have trouble remembering them because how could anyone possibly keep on top of a password that changes so frequently?

It's the times that I forget the numbers I know really well that throw me for a loop. A number of years ago, before I had kids and even before I met Ed, I was buying some beer at the beer store when I realized I didn't have enough cash on me and that they didn't take credit cards. I had my bank card with me, so I went to pay for the beer using debit. I approved the price, entered in what I thought was my password, and a few seconds later a message popped up on the screen to say the password was incorrect. I figured I'd just mistyped, so I entered in my password again...and again it was incorrect. Huh? What was going on?!? I started to feel totally self-conscious as there were several people behind me in line. I tried one more time, and failed to get the password correct. By that time I was so embarrassed I just decided to leave without the beer. I probably muttered something like, "it really is my card...honest!" on my way out to the door to go find a rock to crawl under.

I figured the number would come to me eventually, but that time it didn't spring back into my mind quickly. The next day I tried to use a bank machine, but again I got the password wrong. It was crazy! I'd had the same password for a couple of years. How could I not remember it? Finally after several days of not remembering I had to go to the bank to request a new password. I couldn't believe that it came to that, but I really could not remember my old password at all...it was time to move on.

About a week or two later I went to a bank machine to get some money out and as I reached toward the keypad to enter my new password, my old password suddenly hopped back into my head from wherever it had been hiding. It was a Eureka! moment about two weeks too late.

These days I'm inclined to blame such mental lapses on sleep deprivation and "mommy brain." It's nice to have a good excuse.

The perils of distracted parenting

I've been pretty busy with work lately and have had to bring my laptop home a fair bit to work during the evenings. I've usually waited till after the kids are in bed to pull out work, but every now and then I've tried to work in the evenings while the kids are still up. I sit in the living room with my laptop, concentrating mainly on my work, but keeping a bit of my attention on what the kids are up to around me.

One evening as I worked away, Hana sat at her art table busying herself with some sort of project she'd started. Every now and then she would ask me for some coloured paper or if I knew where a particular marker was. I confess, though, that I didn't have all that clear an idea of what she was up to. She mentioned something about how she was making signs, but I wasn't sure what for.

A few days later, Hana was finishing up work on her little project when she asked me to spell her brother's name for her. I was busy in the kitchen, but I called out the letters to her. A little while later she ran over and asked me where the glue was so she could put up her signs. I told her where it was and went back to work in the kitchen.

About two or three minutes later her question floated through my thoughts again and the obvious question I should have asked came rushing to me.

"Hana," I called. "Did you say you say you need the glue to hang up your signs?"

I heard Hana's voice from upstairs. "Yes, mom!"

"Where are you putting up the signs?"

"On our doors, mom!"

"Which doors?"

"Our bedroom doors!"

"With glue?!?"

I headed upstairs to see what she was up to and luckily there was no glue on any of the doors yet.

"Hana, you can't put glue on the doors!"

"But mommy! I told you I was making signs! I have to stick them up somehow!"

"Ummm..."

Luckily, Ed came upstairs and entered into the conversation at this point and mentioned he had some tape that should stick to the doors just fine without causing any permanent damage.

And so it is, that we have these three signs on the doors to our bedrooms:



Cute eh? And cuter still because they're not stuck on with glue!