DAILY SNACK
I was trying to make time on the highway,
When it appeared on the horizon like a beacon.
A giant red apple.
“Oh! Stop here!”
My husband, apparently, has read all about the Big Apple attraction recently built on the 401 east of Toronto.
So I pull in and we walk toward the giant red sphere.
We can see a couple people enter through a doorway.
“Oh, I get it,” Young C exclaims,
“The apple is for going into.”
So we did.
DAILY SNACK
Does your baby turn it’s nose up at the mush on its spoon?
Do you know a baby who does?
My little Reenie mostly likes everything,
But has been known to turn up her nose on occassion.
One teaspoon of plain organic full-fat yogurt added to the mush,
And she gobbles it up.
Budgeting is a relatively new revelation for me. I got sick of feeling like I was constantly depriving myself and yet never getting ahead. Any and every purchase was tinged with the guilt of “I can’t afford this.” I felt like I barely spent anything and couldn’t figure out where the money went. For years my husband I withdrew however much money we needed from our joint chequing account (neither of us exactly sure how much the other was spending) and barely made rent. The last week of every month was painfully lean as we tried to cobble together enough to keep a roof over our heads.
So last fall I drew up a budget. Well, first I bought the Pocket Idiots Guide: Living On A Budget
DAILY SNACK
Young C has a Bratz doll.
Yep.
She wears a sparkly glam rock getup and comes with a guitar and drumkit.
He pulled her out today and couldn’t remember her name.
I was trying to remember, too.
“Is it Jasmine?”
C looked at me quizzically.
“Do you mean Jazz Woman?”
So Jazz Woman it is.
DAILY SNACK
Baby girl is just settling down for her afternoon nap.
Why, then, is the bedroom door ajar?
“Young C?” I call.
No answer.
I hear his voice as I approach the room.
“I’ll be right back, Reenie. I’ll be right back.”
I open the door.
SCREEECH!
(Who says boys can’t screech?)
“Maaa-um! You scared us.”
He then continued to jump up and down inside the crib.
Fantastic.
DAILY SNACK
We had it planned out.
Ed double bagged the garbage that had been sitting in the sun for weeks.
He carried it downstairs and left it near the car.
I got the kids in and opened all the windows.
He threw the garbage in the back of the car.
(Hatchback — no trunk.)
He jumped into the car and I drove.
It took ten minutes to get to the temporary dump,
Caught every single red light.
We drove around all afternoon with the windows open to get rid of the smell.
Last summer we went swimming as a family on weekends.
But this is good too.
DAILY SNACK
Two blocks of wood nailed together perpendicularly.
They are painted a deep bluish purple,
And they sit on our window ledge.
This is art.
I love my children and I love that they create.
But how long do I need to keep their creations on display?
And then where do I put them?
DAILY SNACK
L’il I should teach a yoga class.
Or something.
Because even though she can’t yet crawl,
My goodness can she reach!
Sitting on the floor,
One foot pressed down firmly,
The other leg bent at the knee.
“And stretch . . . one . . . two . . .”
Would it count as exploitation if I charged people to exercise as my baby plays?
DAILY SNACK
It was a few weeks ago now.
But remembering it makes me smile.
We were on our way out,
This younger childless woman and myself,
But I wanted to top off L’il I’s bottle of breastmilk.
“Can you wait a few minutes?
I just need to see if I can squeeze out another ounce or two.”
I pulled out my little hand pump,
And did just that.
Slowly. Painstakingly.
“Oh my God. That is the slowest thing I have ever seen!”
There’s probably a reason nobody tells you about these things before you have children.
Young C started nursery school yesterday and I felt the first oh-no-my-baby’s-growing-up twinge since L’il I was born. It started to set in as I was hanging around for a little bit when we first arrived and he so clearly didn’t need me there — perhaps he didn’t even want me there. He cried everytime we dropped him off for the first few weeks of daycare last summer; yesterday he barely noticed when I left. I returned home and there was L’il I up on her hands and knees, rocking back and forth, on the verge of crawling and talking and nursery school herself. Or so it seemed.
This nursery school program is only two and a half hours long, twice or thrice weekly. It is hardly the trial of seperation that full-time daycare was. And the difference between two and three years of age is enormous. It’s no wonder he didn’t cry. In fact, we are reaching to be able to afford this program because he so clearly needs something. L’il I’s nap schedule and my desire/need to do some work during her naps means we’ve had to drop most of our routine morning outings. And even when we do get to the Early Years drop-in or a story time the average participant age is much closer to L’il I’s than it is to C’s. “There will be kids my age at my nursery school. Right, Mom?”