07.23.08

My love, my light…

So about two weeks ago, Oliver started going to preschool, two full days a week. My original game plan was to have him start going either this fall or early next year, but it became increasingly obvious to me that a preschool setting was something that he could really benefit from - now. I had a place in mind, a centre that came highly recommended by several different people, so at the end of June Oliver and I went for a tour.

I fell in love with it immediately; it was exactly the kind of place I wanted him to be in. While I walked around and chatted with one of the teachers Oliver sat down with the kids, had a snack and never looked back. Despite the fact that the dialogue was mostly in French – a language he’s yet to learn – he was comfortable, and when I walked over to him a half hour later and told him it was time to go he scowled at me and announced that he wanted to stay. Forever.

But when I dropped him off for his first day, he balked. We found his cubbie and put his things in before heading into the preschool room with the other kids, and when I bent down to give him a hug he wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed tight. “Stay, Mummy,” he mumbled in my ear. “I want you to stay.”

I hugged him back, hard, whispered that I’d be back at the end of the day and told him I loved him, very much. Julia was with me, and as we walked toward the door I glanced over my shoulder and saw Oliver standing there watching us leave, his arms hanging limply at his sides, lower lip quivering, eyes brimming with tears. As the door clicked shut behind us we heard him start to cry and as much as I wanted to sit in the car and have a little weep myself, I couldn’t; by the time we’d reached the car Julia was in tears, because (and I quote), “I don’t like it when Oliver is sad,” and I had to keep myself pulled together for her sake (which, quite frankly, was difficult).

He didn’t notice us at first when we arrived to pick him up later that afternoon; he was standing in front of a bookshelf by the far wall playing with a music box, listening intently to the song. But when he looked up and saw us in the doorway he locked eyes with me and fell completely to pieces; he ran over to me, buried his head in my neck and sobbed uncontrollably.

It was like that the next few times I dropped him off and picked him up – the pitiful, wistful looks and the pleads that I stay as I’d leave in the morning; the sobbing upon my return, the kind of relieved, oh thank god you came back for me where have you been sobs – and although his teachers assured me that he was putting in great days, I was beginning to wonder if I’d made the right decision by sending him. Should I have waited? Was he really ready, or did he just need more time to adjust?

And then, yesterday: no tears when I dropped him off. He did ask if I could stay, but he didn’t cry when I said no; instead, he stood beside his teacher and bid me a cheery au revoir. When Julia and I picked him up that afternoon he was, again, completely engrossed in an activity, and when he saw that we’d arrived he shot over to us like a bullet. Julia stepped in front of me to greet him, but Oliver literally pushed her aside and ran into my outstretched arms, grinning from ear to ear.

When I picked him up yesterday there was no crying. No sobbing, no shaking, no snot on my shoulder, just a very cute little boy who’d had a great day at preschool and was really happy to see his mummy and sister at the end of it.

I drove home with my kids in the backseat, happily reunited after a day apart, and my swelling heart. My beautiful little boy, my love, my light…is growing up.

I am so very, very proud.

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Posted in life with oliver, parenting at 1:15 pm by mamatulip

Tagged: growing up, letting go, love, parenting, preschool, pride, separation anxiety

Permalink 3 Comments

07.21.08

Zombie mannequins ate my brain!

Friday, July 18; 6pm: After months of planning, the BFF weekend had finally arrived. I stood at the front door and surveyed my goods: my large wheelie-suitcase was packed to the tits. I had my laptop, some munchies, two gigantic jugs of water and my camera. I’d even grabbed my own pillow.

I was ready to go.

While most of me was beyond excited to get away for a weekend of blogging fun and debauchery in Niagara Falls, there was a (small) part of me that was a bit nervous about leaving Dave alone with the kids for a whole weekend. It hasn’t been all smiling children and fluffy bunnies around here lately; on the contrary, the kids have been a bit off the wall and Dave and I have shifted from laid-back summer mentality to hunkering down in full-on survival mode. While I knew that Dave would be okay with them, I was slightly worried that, once I returned, he would never let me go anywhere EVER AGAIN. (NEVER EVER)

So I really wasn’t all that surprised when, not an hour and a half into the weekend, Dave called to report that Oliver had an accident at Zellers, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he weren’t sitting in one of those spaceship carts. Beside his sister. So not only did Julia get peed on, the pee ran off the spaceship seat and pooled on the floor at on Dave’s feet.

Off to a great start!

I spoke to him in hushed, pitiful tones for a few minutes before heading straight to the cocktail party sponsored by Random House, where I got completely shitfaced on wine and Coronas and ate about 873 too many chicken skewers. The party continued well into the night in Sandra, Julie, Jana and Kittenpie’s room; Lara and I wound up spending $88 on two bottles of wine in the lobby bar (worth every penny!). Like the true class act that I am, I stumbled back in to my room at an ungodly hour, threw myself down on the bed between two of my roommates and farted loudly.

Who wants to room with ME next year? HUH?

Saturday, July 19; 8.15am: Head pounding. Room spinning. Throat very sore. Peel lips from teeth. Hello, hangover.

10:30am: Our roundtable discussion about – wait for it…blogging. Being able to get together like that – armed with ridiculously expensive hotel munchies and our laptops – and have open dialogue was really cool. Initially, we touched on why we’d started blogging and being a part of this, the blogsphere, which lead us to other topics – privacy, dry spells, the pressures of blogging, what we do and don’t write about, commenting and comments – and we spent a good hour going around the table sharing a blog that, for whatever reason, really spoke to us. Good stuff.

(An aside: if you’re ever in Niagara Falls and are looking for a hotel that can offer reliable Internet, think twice before coughing up to stay at the Hilton. Despite the fact that they’d known for months that we’d be there for a BLOGGING event, the Internet connection during our discussion was spotty at best and there was nobody on hand (besides Sci-Fi Dad, who was able to get several of us online for a spell by simply standing by our laptops) who was in the know that could help us. To say the least, it was frustrating, not to mention quite disappointing.)

We split up for lunch before meeting up again for either a wine tour or a cross-border shopping run. I went on the wine tour; chauffeured a select few lovely ladies around in Dave’s fine vehicle: a ’95 Explorer complete with a non-locking rear door, erratic wipers and no air (I found myself quite envious of the group who arrived in the Flex) – and had such a good time. Our tour guide, a somewhat scrawny-looking guy named Marcus who had a faux-hawk and appeared to be not a day over 21, turned out to be really good – he was super informative and the tour itself was really interesting. Most importantly, the wine was good (and there was lots of it!).

When we got back we had just enough time to change before hitting up the Hard Rock for dinner. It was really, really loud in there, but the food was good and so was our waitress. We had a Hote(l) Party at the hotel afterward that involved zombies and mannequins and zombie mannequins and twats and twits and side-splitting laughter and CLEARLY, several bottles of wine.

We made our way out slowly on Sunday; most of us opted out of the Maid of the Mist in favour of swimming at the hotel (there was a curly slide!) and grabbing food before leaving.

I was exhausted by the time I got home, and not feeling all that great; the sore throat I’d had on and off since Thursday had kicked in to high gear (and a few hours after we put Oliver down he woke up with one, too). This was the longest I’ve ever been away from my kids and although I was absolutely delighted to get back and smother them with hugs and kisses, I really needed to get away. Being able to re-connect with some of the people I’ve met before was fabulous, and meeting new people and discovering who the writer was behind the blog was very, very cool (not to mention the adorable babies I got to snuggle!). I met people that I had a lot in common with, above and beyond our blogs, and having the chance to really connect with them was an incredible experience – one that, when I started this blog almost three years ago, I never dreamed of having.

Thanks to everyone who helped organize this weekend, to our sponsors and to everyone who came and was a part of it. It was a blast, and I can’t wait to do it again next year.

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Posted in blogland at 8:05 am by mamatulip

Tagged: BFF, blogging, connecting, debauchery, friendships, good stuff, wine, zombie mannequins

Permalink 38 Comments

07.15.08

Beef juice

Family-wise, this past weekend wasn’t the best. The kids were ~~kind of~~ crazy; it was as though after we’d put them to bed on Friday night they sat up late into the night hatching diabolical spirit-breaking plots against us, honing in on the best and most effective ways to completely drain Dave and I of our patience, stamina, goodwill and sanity. It was a long weekend, one that seemingly was never going to end, NEVER EVER, and by the time we got our little darlings to bed on Sunday night we were exhausted and rendered borderline comatose.

Yesterday, however, was a much better day – it was gorgeous out, and after Oliver’s swimming lesson we hit the park. Julia met up with some friends from school and they ran around playing Monsters, a game that, as far as I could tell, entailed them running around the playground growling at each other. By the time we were ready to head home Julia and a friend had wandered off to a nearby pavilion, and as Oliver and I walked toward the pavilion I smiled at who I assumed was Julia’s friend’s mother, standing at a picnic table with a few other women.

“Hey, Julia, it’s time to go,” I said. “Oliver’s got to go pee and then we’ll go home and have our picnic.” (While Oliver was in the pool that morning, Julia and I had decided on having a picnic lunch in the backyard.)

“What can we have for lunch?” she asked, clambering across a table.

“Oliver and I talked about mac n’ cheese and fruit salad,” I said, turning to look at Oliver, who I had perched on my left hip. “Right, buddy?”

He nodded.

Julia said goodbye to her friend and then turned to look at me. “Can we have beef juice, too?”

I stared blankly at her, for I had no earthly idea what she was talking about. “Beef juice?” I repeated, somewhat incredulously, the slow realization of how wrong my daughter asking me for beef juice must have sounded to the women under the pavilion creeping over me.

I smiled weakly at my daughter. “What’s beef juice, honey?”

(Frankly, I wasn’t all that sure wanted to know.)

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Daddy likes it,” she said. Figures, I thought as we headed toward the washrooms, making a mental note to contact him at work post-haste to ask him about beef juice.

After our picnic, complete with Creamsicles in the shade and relay races across the backyard, I put the kids down for quiet time and carried my laptop out to the sun porch, where I got busy sending an email to my husband asking what the deal with the juice was.

LOL Does Julia/Oliver want some? He replied, to which I shot back, yeah. julia specifically asked for beef juice at the park, in front of a bunch of other mothers. it was an interesting moment. so dude, seriously, what is beef juice? i couldn't find any in the fridge.

(Because part of me really did expect to open the fridge and see a jug with a giant BEEF JUICE label on it.)

A few minutes later the phone rang. “It’s just easier to tell you over the phone,” he said, and launched into the story of how on Sunday morning he was sitting at the dining room table, eating breakfast with the kids. He’d made up some Five Alive, something we don’t normally have on hand, and had a glass. Of course the kids, with their finely sharpened sensory skills, were able to glean instantly that Daddy was drinking something different and new. Something different and new that Julia wanted, immediately.

Dave scrunched up his face. “You guys won’t like this stuff,” he downplayed.

Julia opened her eyes big and wide. “Yes I will,” she said, nodding emphatically. “I will.”

“No you won’t. This isn’t real juice, its…beef juice,” Dave countered. A few minutes later he took his plate into the kitchen, only to walk back in to the dining room and find Julia guzzling his juice.

She put the empty cup on the table. “I love beef juice,” she happily proclaimed.

So my one kid calls me a fuckdog, my husband has a haircut that makes him look like a garden gnome and my other kid asks for beef juice to drink with lunch – in public. Putting the fun back in dysfunctional…that's us.