Better than me.

They are better than me. And I'm pretty great, but they are better. They are all the love in my heart, all the thoughts I can muster, all the force in my soul. They go into their world with my voice in their minds and if I ever forget that, I will fail them; I will fail myself.


It's more than lessons learned, manners, etiquette. It's confidence, self-awareness, comfort in one's own skin. This begins here, begins now. Began yesterday. Trial and error, or should I say Trials and Errors, because let's be honest: some days feel shameful and as much as I'd like to forget certain things happened at all, I need the memory to remind me. 


They are worthy. Worthy of everything I have in me and more; worthy of everything everyone has. I'd like to think it's all me, but every single person has an impact and good or bad, it's formative. It's important, needed, expansive. I can be the one to help interpret, help them see the value in any situation. But I can't live it for them without hampering. Hurt will happen and it must.


They are laughter and tears, crying, screaming, squealing, lilting notes of bubbling giggles that start in their throats and end in mine. Squirming, twisting, running, falling, jumping, kicking and hitting. Dancing, their feet and bodies moving to their own rhythmic, rhyming soundtrack condensed from countless stories and songs, both made up and written down. Always movement, always sound. 


They are softness. Smooth, like your fingers are touching nothing at all. Hair lifting in the slightest breeze, eyelashes longer than mine will ever be. Rounded edges, rounded bellies, fuzzy cheeks and pudgy toes. Softness, sweetness, snotty noses.

I am better than I ever imagined I was and I've learned most of that from them.


They are better than me. And I'm pretty great, but they are better.

Birthday girl.

Sonja's birthday is February 21st, but today was her birthday party. How exciting to be able to celebrate your birthday twice, right?


Peter and I are in complete agreement: next year, Sonja's birthday party will be at Tumblebums, or some other type of Kindergym. Just anywhere else, really. Don't get me wrong, it's fantastic having so many friends come to visit and Sonja has a great time, as do all the other kids who attend. I just really like the thought of taking some snacks and a cake to a different place and when the party is over, being able to just leave. Done.


Sonja has been asking for a rocking horse for the last month or so and after much searching and driving around, Peter finally found the perfect one. She is soft and fuzzy, she has a nice, stable base and she makes sounds when you press her ear. Sonja is in love. When her party was over and she was going in for her nap this afternoon, she made sure to say bye-bye to her new rocking horse.

Unwrapping.

'Daddy, open it! ...Please."

Notice the pink, heart-shaped sticker on Peter's hand.

Taking the plastic-wrapped pony out of the box.

The face says it all.

Now she just needs to be attached to the base.

Helping...

...by adding heart-shaped stickers. Everyone needs heart-shaped stickers.

"Hmm. Now which one..?"

First ride, pressing the ear to get the sounds.

After the guests arrived and everyone had some snacks and the kids all ran around for awhile, we brought out the cupcakes and sang Happy Birthday. Sonja blew out her three little candles, pulled them out of the icing and promptly stuffed the cupcake in her mouth. I don't blame her, they were delicious.

Mia and Ana.

Isla.

Ana.

Chocolate-cupcake smile!

The party was a success. We got to visit with great friends, all the food was eaten, the kids had a great time, and Sonja got the gift she was hoping for. But even better, we raised some money for Baby Molly Campbell and her family. The party was a toonie party, which means that each child brings two toonies and one goes to Sonja and one goes to charity. I got this idea from a few Moms I know and I just love it; Sonja doesn't need a whole bunch of presents and I'd rather the party focus on friends than on stuff. It's a win-win situation.


Haven's first birthday is in less than two months. Would Kindergym be too over the top for a one-year old..?

Rachel and Sammy, Peter and Haven.

Adorable.

Just so not lucky at all.

It's the strangest thing. I took Sonja and Haven to Kindergym this morning so that they could burn off some energy before nap time. Thank goodness for Kindergym. I was sitting on a mat with Haven, helping her play with some little toys and watching Sonja as she sat on a tricycle and ran all around the gym. Suddenly I was thinking about when I was little and I had a rabbit's foot. Really? Why did I start thinking about my old rabbit's foot at a time like that? The mind is a mystery.


My rabbit's foot was a dark-pink colour and of course it was very soft and fluffy. I remember rubbing it up and down my cheek and marvelling at it's softness. It had a round metal top that always reminded me of the top of a Christmas ornament and there was short ball chain so that the rabbit's foot could be attached to a key chain or anything else I wanted. 


Like most kids, I had a relatively short attention span for anything but my most favoured toys. All other toys, although fiercely loved for the short period after they were acquired, quickly faded to the periphery. The rabbit's foot fell into this category, along with several other small, trinket-like items I got from vending machines and cereal boxes. Almost all of these things ended up being broken and thrown out, or stuffed into boxes and drawers to be forgotten.


My rabbit's foot ended up at the back of the top drawer of my dresser; my junk drawer. That drawer was stuffed with all kinds of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, along with old scented erasers, broken pencils, Hot Wheels, stickers that had lost their stick, socks that had lost their mates. It was essentially a graveyard, or more accurately, a resting place until I had the heart to throw the entire contents into the trash. And I finally got the nerve to dump everything out of that drawer the day I reached to the very back while rummaging to find something I had misplaced and pulled out my rabbit's foot instead.

That rabbit's foot had likely been at the back of that drawer for three years. I had completely forgotten I owned and it took me a few moments to realize that the thing in my hand and my rabbit's foot where one and the same. The soft, fuchsia fur was gone. Disintegrated. All that was left was the foot. The foot with the tiny, curled toes and bottom portion of the rabbit's leg extending up, clamped at the top with the Christmas ornament clasp and the ball chain. It was grotesque and when it finally dawned on me what I was looking at, I dropped the dismembered paw in horror and ran from the room.


That was the end of my childhood junk drawer; everything in it was permanently tainted and had to go. I pulled out the drawer and tipped it unceremoniously into a large black garbage bag. Good riddance. And the entire time, I wiped hot tears from my eyes and wondered what had happened to the rest of the rabbit.


The worst part was my memory of rubbing the soft fur of the rabbit's foot up and down over my cheeks. I never, ever thought that there was an actual foot under all that fur; I thought "rabbit's foot" was just a funny name for a fuzzy toy that was somewhat shaped like an animal's paw. I felt foolish and somehow wronged. I was twelve-years old and it was as if a part of my childhood ended the moment the foot was revealed; it couldn't be unseen, no matter how hard I tried. I started to wonder what other seemingly innocent and innocuous things in my life harboured shadowed and horrendous truths. I now suspect that the revelation of the rabbit's foot was the beginning of my harsh, cynic's eye on the world.


I can't recall the last time I saw a rabbit's foot and I honestly hope I never see one again. Until this memory popped into my mind this morning, I don't think I'd thought about it in over twenty years, but it's amazing how I'm as disgusted now as I was back then. Some things just aren't right and rabbit's feet are one of those things.

Pictures in her mind.

Sonja's birthday is the 21st of February and she has made it very clear that she wants a rocking horse. We are having her birthday party this Sunday (the 13th) and Peter is calling every toy store in town, trying to find the rocking horse we want to buy her. But there is a question hovering in the back of my mind: Is the rocking horse we want the rocking horse Sonja wants? 


As a kid, I had one of those rocking horses that was attached to a metal frame with springs. It was great, because not only could you rock it back and forth, you could also bounce up and down. It made a horrible metallic squeaking sound when I rode it and the springs were actually kinda dangerous; my delicate skin got pinched in those springs several times. But I loved it fiercely and I remember being pretty sad when my Mom told me I had to give it away to a smaller child because I'd outgrown it. Sure, I didn't really ride it anymore, but that didn't mean I wanted to give it away. I wasn't upset with my Mom, I knew she was right, but it was sad and hard for me to see it go. 

I never had a different rocking horse, and I don't recall ever wanting something other than the rocking horse I had, but Sonja is in a different situation. She has had occasion to sit on a couple different rocking horses in her young life and I find myself wondering what she pictures in her mind when she tells us she wants a rocking horse for her birthday. I know she will likely love the wooden, stylish horse we are wanting to buy her, but is she picturing and hoping for the plush, fuzzy horse she fell in love with back in November?


Since Sonja was born, we've just given her toys and clothes and she has been happy with pretty much everything. But I've been noticing a shift in the last few months, one where Sonja's opinions and aesthetic tastes are becoming less fleeting and more concrete; more a part of her burgeoning personality. I feel as though we're standing on a threshold, one where Sonja's babyhood lies behind us and her childhood stretches ahead. 


I have a feeling we'd better hold on tight...

Downside, upside.

Home sweet home! If only I'd had a camera crew filming the moment at the airport when Sonja ran joyously into my arms. It was everything I was hoping it would be. I was so excited to see her and Peter, I had butterflies. It truly is great to be home.


The downside is that I hated leaving Kate and Glenn and Landen. I so wish we all lived closer together. Haven and I spent three nights in Olds and we barely left the house, but it was so nice just spending time together. Kate said it best yesterday when she said, "Man, I wish we lived closer, we could get together and just hang out with the kids all day." Precisely. 

And then an upside: the three of them are coming out to BC at the end of April and we will go up and visit them at Kate's Mom's place on Gabriola Island. Oh, how I love having things to look forward to! 

Art and memories.

My friend Kate has great taste and owns several pieces of art, many of which she inherited from her Dad. I remember and love all of the pieces that belonged to Kate's Dad, since she and I have known each other since we were five-years old and I often used to join her when she visited her Dad on weekends. She has had a lot of the prints and paintings re-matted and re-framed and it's so nice to see them being looked after and given a fresh start. 

I don't doubt that the olfactory sense is the sense most closely attached to memory. There have been many, many times that a certain scent has stopped me and taken me back to a specific moment in time. But when I haven't visited Kate in a long while and I walk into her house and see these pieces of art, they immediately take me back to our childhood and bring back smile-inducing memories of her Dad; his constant and blaring opera, his crazy-adventurous and more-than-slightly-scary cooking antics, his flamboyant and grandiose ideas. But they also remind me of Kate and me; the stages of our lives and the stages of our friendship throughout the years. 

I'm not the type of person who wishes that all my memories were good memories and in this one area of life, I certainly get what I wish for. But I'm happy for it because at some point, the tough moments become as important and memorable as the easy ones. I've known Kate almost my entire life and we've had good and bad times, but she will always be a sister to me. It's wild that we're both married and now we're both mothers. Being here and meeting her gorgeous Babe is incredible. 

But I find myself looking around at this fantastic art on the walls, immersed in memories of when we were kids, running around her Dad's house, giving him a hard time by telling him his music sucked and there was no way were were eating whatever was lurking in that pot. I'll never forget his feigned look of hurt incredulity, saying something like, "But why not? I've been stewing that tongue all day and it's going to be just beautiful!" 

Yesterday Kate admitted that she finds herself listening to opera and classical music on CBC and enjoying it; she even recognizes a lot of the music from her childhood. Well, of course. I would expect nothing less.

Not at home.

You snuggle in and try to just forget that this isn't your bed, this isn't your room. The window is on the wrong wall and the closet's in the wrong place. The heat comes on and it takes you a minute to realize what the hell that sound is. Never mind, shake it off, go to sleep already. Drifting... What the hell was that? Weird house noises, where are you coming from anyway? Damn. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep. Toes are cold. Get another blanket and snuggle in again. ...OK, what the hell is that noise??

The joys of being away from home. The room is awesome, by the way; Kate did an amazing job of making sure both Haven and I are comfortable during our stay. So it has nothing to do with the accommodations and everything to do with the fact that I seldom sleep away from home. I've stayed a couple nights at Peter's folks' place and ran into similar issues.

Haven had an equally uneasy time getting to sleep last night, but she is an adaptable sort and by nap time today she had things pretty well worked out. My fingers are crossed that tonight goes well.

For me, the most entertaining part of sleeping away from home is waking up. There's always that moment of disorientation where you are confused and wondering where you are, because before your eyes open, you have no reason to think that you'll be anywhere but in your own room, in your own house. The slow-moving realization of being somewhere else is like arriving where you are all over again; like every time you wake up, you'd only just arrived in that very moment and up until then, you'd been snoozing in your own familiar bed. And then within a few days, the sensation just fades.

This is a short, three-night stay, so I'll be home again and everything will be just how my mind strains to imagine it before I open my eyes. Not to mention I will be home with my Love and my wee Sonja.  Until then, more fun tomorrow with great friends and lovely Babes.

Blast from the past: Peter and Sonja snoozing when she was four-months old.