Divide and Conquer

It's no secret, we've been having a bit of a rough patch around here. One of the hardest parts has been that up until now, Kevin and I have always parented together, meaning we eat as a family, play as a family, go to bed as a family, and basically do everything together.

My friend Debbie, who is a more experienced parent, has always maintained that this was insane. "Two kids will change all that,"she said. And of course she's right. There is just no way for two adults and two babies to do everything together and anyone get anything done. So since Archer was born, Kevin and I have been trying the divide-and-conquer approach: one parent plus one kid going in opposite directions in order to accomplish twice as much. And it works ... up to a point.

We do get a lot more done. The problem is that for practical reasons Kevin always takes Colin and I always take Archer, and so our children have developed wildly intense parental preferences. I suppose this isn't necessarily a problem, except that it creates hurt feelings. Not among the kids mind you. Colin is perfectly content when he can get mom and brother out of the picture and have his dad all to himself, and Archer is like, "Dad? What Dad? Where are the boobs?!" But Kevin isn't so happy that his youngest son screams like a banshee whenever he is alone with him, and this mama is tired of having her feelings trod on by a two year old who says things like, "Mama, you go back to bed, I want to play with daddy." (Do you know the number of ways a two year old has for hurting his mama's feelings? Oh, let me count the ways ...)

So recently, as part of my new Plan, I instituted "Swap Nights." The idea was that if Kevin had more time alone with Archer, Archer would be more at ease him. And if I could have some time with my eldest boy--without a baby in tow--then I wouldn't haven't be such a scold all the time and we could enjoy each other's company more. But it hasn't quite worked out that way.

A couple of weeks ago, I took Colin swimming--just the two of us--and we had a blast sliding down the slide and jumping into the pool ... until Colin decided it would be even more fun if he could take off by himself and run around the pool--the 10-foot-deep adult pool! So that evening ended in scolding and tears.

Then, the next week, I took Colin to a puppet show. One minute he's is squealing with delight, the next he is screaming, "I wanna go home!" Of course, once I take him out of the theatre he screams, "I don't wanna go home!" So which is it?! (By the way, it's not like Colin is afraid of puppets. We've been to many puppet shows as a family and he's loved them.)

Kevin's evenings with Archer didn't go any better. Apparently, five minutes after I left the house Archer burst into tears and was inconsolable until I returned two hours later, even though he was well-rested, well-fed and dry.

So what are we to do?

I suspect that Archer will simply outgrow his preferences--especially once we introduce a bottle. (I know, I know. My son is four months old and I haven't introduced the bottle yet. I am either crazy or stupid, or both.)

But what about Colin? Is this just what two year olds are like? Will he outgrow this? Or should I just grow up and stop trying to make my son like me. I guess one outta two ain't bad ...

A New Day, a New Day Plan

Well, I'll be the first to admit, everything here has just gone to sh*t. I'm out of the country for four days--four days of friends, feasting and wedding festivities--but it takes me twice that to get caught up. Kevin and Colin did a reasonable job of holding down the fort while Archer and I were away, but I still returned to about 12 loads of dirty laundry, dead plants, a feral dog, and only a half a loaf of stale bread in the cupboard. Now that the house is spit spot again, it's time to tackle the other things that have gone to sh*t lately...

First, Colin's eating habits. Colin's not eating anything. At least nothing more than cereal and bagels with cream cheese. Granted, he is the world's pickiest eater, but before this past month of upheaval I was getting him to eat more, try new things. He had discovered he actually did like peaches. And I got him to put vegetables in his mouth--twice! Of course, he immediately said they were "yucky," but it was progress, believe me.

Second, our family sleeping arrangements. I am a big fan of co-sleeping. It has enabled me to get a sinful amount of sleep despite having a newborn; however, I am ready to have my bed back to myself. Well, Kevin is welcome, too. In fact, I really miss sharing a bed with my husband, who spends about half of every night in Colin's bed trying to coax him to sleep. I don't understand. Why won't he just go the f*ck to sleep? By the way, have you seen this? It had us laughing to tears.

Third, potty training. It needs to happen already. We were doing really well before the baby was born, but since then the toddler has rebelled. New rule: underwear only, except for bedtimes and outings.

Fourth, the children's personal hygiene. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I don't always remember to brush Colin's teeth. Heck, these days, I'm not sure I've remember to brush my teeth twice a day. Same goes for our vitamins. Did you know that we have to give the children Vitamin D supplements every day because we have so little sunshine up this far north? Well, I had forgotten, and the pediatrician gave me hell about it. So, now I've got to remember to do that, and the teeth, and make sure nails are clipped, ears cleaned, faces washed, and that everyone has put on a clean pair of clothes at least once a day--Mama, too.

Fifth, Mama needs some time to herself. And not just between the hours of 10:00 and midnight when I get to clean up the house all by myself. I need at least one hour every day when I can sew or read a book or soak in the bathtub--alone. Did I mention that I haven't taken a bath alone in about a year?



So, here's my new day plan for accomplishing all this:

6:00 a.m. -- Kids wake up. Daddy does the breakfasts while Mama sleeps. By herself. Spread eagle to the corners of the bed.

7:00 a.m. -- Daddy goes to work. Mama takes over an entertains kids with books, songs, art projects. No more movies!

9:00 a.m. -- We get dressed. It takes about an hour. Archer = 5 minutes. Mama = 5 minutes. Colin = 50 minutes.

10:00 a.m. -- We go somewhere. Anywhere, so long as it's out of the house. Otherwise, Colin starts bouncing off the walls. Literally. (I'm not joking.)

12:00 p.m. -- Lunch at home. A real lunch. At least one piece of fruit. No more corn chips!

1:00 p.m. -- Naptime. All of us. Dishes can wait.

3:00 p.m. -- Wake up. Even if we could all keep sleeping until 5:00. Maybe that way Colin stands an outside chance of going to bed before 10:00.

5:00 p.m. -- Daddy comes home and takes the kids outside so that Mama can make dinner, tidy up the house, and do all those chores she can't do when she has a baby in her arms.

6:00 p.m. -- Dinner and play. But no playing with your dinner, Colin.

7:00 p.m. -- Bath, books and bed by 8:00. I'm often tempted to go out in the evenings since my kids are such night owls--taking Colin to the bookstore or Archer to the grocery store--but that's probably why our bedtimes are such a mess. So no more evening outings, although I don't know when I'm supposed to go to the grocery store now.

8:00 p.m. -- Mama's time.

10:00 p.m. -- Bed. And to each his own bed. Perhaps if I'm really in bed by 10:00, I stand an outside chance of waking up in the morning without two hours spent watching a movie with Colin while I nurse my (decaf) coffee. Although, as I write this, it is already 11:00, so the new day plan begins tomorrow.

(Archer laughs, "Day plans are for babies.")

What does your day look like? Especially if you have kids, how do you manage your day so that you can eek out a little personal time?

We get by with a little help from our friends

Whew! I just made it through my first-ever stint as a "single parent" to two children, and I'm pleased to say we all survived--well, maybe not my parents, who flew up to help out. They went home last Friday a little worse for the wear I fear, and I'm sure they were saying all the way back to Arkansas, "I'm so glad we don't have little kids anymore!"

With Kevin in France and Italy for "work" for the past two weeks, my mom came and took over the dishes, the laundry and the dog-walking, and my dad helped tend to the incessant demands of the two year old. They both mowed my lawn. It wasn't a trip to France or Italy but it was almost like a vacation for me. Almost ...

Our Homebirth Story

I can't believe it's been nearly two weeks since Ian Archer made his much-longed-for appearance and I am only just now sitting down to write our birth story. Hopefully I have not forgotten too many of the details as the result of post-partum amnesia because it was certainly an experience I want to remember--pain and all--for the rest of my life.

The story of Ian/Archer's birth (we still haven't quite settled on what this little boy will be called), really began two days before his arrival, on Wednesday, May 4th. I was already six days overdue and getting anxious and impatient. Up until that point I had been pretty sanguine about waiting for nature to take its course. Every day the baby was late was just one more day I had to do crafts, putter about the house, and read novels. But by six days overdue I was anxious that if he put off his arrival much longer he would be a really big boy. Babies supposedly gain half a pound a week just before birth, and at four days overdue, Colin was already 7 pounds 14 ounces. I didn't relish the thought of an eight pounder. More importantly, I was eager to have this baby before my mom arrived in town on Thursday, as I hadn't told her about our plans to have a homebirth until a few days before, and she had not been at all enthusiastic about the idea.

As I laid all this out at my weekly appointment with my midwife, she became concerned: having someone present at a homebirth who is not comfortable with the idea is a recipe for disaster, she said. So, after some discussion, she agreed to sweep my membranes that day, and, if that didn't work, on the following day she'd give a naturopathic remedy to induce labour, a "cocktail" of lemon verbena, castor oil and apricot juice. As she was doing the sweeping, she felt the baby's head and noticed that, like his big brother before him, this baby was posterior--face up. This added to both our concerns because Colin's less-than-ideal position had caused me such painful back labour that I had begged for an epidural at only 5 centimetres. And, of course, at a homebirth, there would be no epidural. So, my midwife, Marie, sent me home with orders to practice my prenatal yoga poses to help turn the baby.

Thursday came and with it a few little contractions but still no baby. Kevin and I met Marie and our student midwife, Teylia, to do a mandatory non-stress test before she could give us the recipe for the induction. But before we left, Marie said I should really hold off on taking it until the next morning. "Go home, have a nice dinner with your mom, and then get a good night's sleep," she said, "and I think you'll be much better prepared for having this baby." Turns out, it was a very wise prescription, and I'm so glad I followed it, because that's exactly what happened.

We picked up my mom at the airport a few hours later, and once she got back to our house and saw the birth room--complete with bed, birthing tub, a sunny window, and a dozen pink roses, she said, "You know, I think this is probably a really good idea." I think her approval really set me at ease and helped this baby come on his own. That evening, we had a lovely dinner and I slipped off to my prenatal yoga class to do another hour and a half of cat/cow positions and pelvic swirls to help flip the baby. Then we all turned in early for a good night's sleep.

Marie, Teylia and Johanna enjoy a cup of tea after the birth.

Marie and Teylia weigh big boy Ian Archer: 8 pounds, 9 ounces!

Just a few hours later, at 2:00 a.m., I woke with my first good, strong contractions. I stayed in bed for the next hour counting them at about 7 minutes apart before I woke up Kevin, and then we went downstairs to start the day. I spent the next hour in the kitchen prepping food for after the birth until the contractions became about 3 minutes apart, at which point I called Teylia to give her the head's up that we'd be having a baby that day. Since the contractions weren't very strong, she suggested I lie down for a bit instead of wasting energy on kitchen chores. So I popped in the Hypnobirthing CDs I'd been practising with for the past several months, lay down on the couch, and prepared to work on my breathing until it became really necessary to call in the midwives.

This was simultaneous the best and the worst thing I could have done: best because I completely zoned out for the next two hours as I just sort of gave myself over to each contraction, and worst, because I only snapped out of it a when I felt the urge to push and I called out in a panic for someone to please call the midwives ASAP! Unfortunately, they lived 45 minutes away, so it was Teylia, the student midwife, who arrived first to find me completely dialated. Fortunately, she didn't tell me this or I might have panicked. Instead, she suggested I get into the birth tub if I felt like it.

Did I feel like it? It was heaven! Kevin had filled it up nice and hot, and as soon as I stepped inside I instantly felt the pain cut in half. And thank God, because at this point my water broke and I was soon deep in transition labour with the contractions coming every couple of minutes and requiring all of my concentration to breathe through the pain.

Ian Archer is handed to me just seconds after birth.

Minutes later we're resting on the bed.

One of the things that surprised me most about this labour was how much I wanted to be left alone to work through my contractions. I had thought that I would want people doing a lot of things to me and for me: massaging my back, telling me which positions would be most helpful, helping me to count through each contractions. In fact, that was what led me to seek out midwifery care in the first place: so I could have that continuous support. But nothing could have been further from my mind at the time. Other than asking Kevin to fetch me glass after glass of ice water, I just wanted to be left alone--I even complained about the midwives checking my dilation and the baby's heartbeat. I didn't want anyone touching me.

At some point during this transition Marie arrived, and I have never been so grateful to see someone's face. She told me that the baby was already crowning and that if I changed positions so that I was floating on my back (I had been folded over the side of the tub at this time), he would be out in no time.

Well, "no time" in midwife parlance is perhaps a little different than in labouring-mother parlance, but our birth record shows that I began pushing around 7:45 a.m. and Ian Archer was born at 8:10 a.m. Although it seemed like a long time at that moment, compared to the two-and-a-half hours I pushed with Colin--all to no avail--this was "no time," indeed. And despite the fact that I laboured completely without pain medication, this was still the easier--and gentler--of the two births. Kevin says that when Ian Archer's head finally emerged in the water--face down, just as he should be--he took a good, calm look around before deciding it was safe to come all the way out. And once he did, the midwives put him on my chest, where he rested gently for a few moments before taking his first big breath in the soft light of the new morning.

Ian Archer gets his first check-up.


Home was a great place to give birth.

In the past two weeks I've thought a lot about the whole experience, and as far as I'm concerned it couldn't have gone better. I spent so much time in the months leading up to the birth worrying about how I would manage the pain because I had been so ill-equipped to deal with the pain of Colin's birth. With Colin, when the contractions started coming on strong, I just wanted to flee from the pain. But with Ian Archer, I remained calm and relaxed throughout the whole process, breathing through each contraction, resting as much as possible between them, and when the pain became challenging and I started to scream, I switch my voice to a low moan which helped me conserve energy and keep my wits about me.

In retrospect, only the pushing had been truly painful and at the time I was not afraid of it, I only wanted to "push" through it. In fact, I didn't actively push at all--not as women do in the movies and not like the nurses and doctors coached me to push in the hospital--my body did it all on its own. I just went with it. It was a lot like riding a really big roller coaster, where pushing was just the highest peak: You can't escape it, you just hang on and try not to lose your lunch.

[At this point in our narrative, Kevin pops in to remind me that I was seriously screaming at this stage of labour: "Baby come down! Baby come down!" and "I need this baby out NOW! Marie, can't you just pull him out?!" To which I say, sure, but I'm the one telling this story, Honey.]

Although I'm sure the ease of this birth had a lot to do with the fact that it was my second labour and second labours are generally much, much easier than first labours, I give a lot of credit to the fact that I was able to deliver in the comfort of my own home and to Marie, who embodied the ideal of a midwife--or sagefemme ("wise woman") in French. From early on in my pregnancy she insisted I improve my diet and get better rest, so that I was in great shape for the rigors of labour, unlike before my first labour, where I worked right up through my due date and stayed up all night the night before Colin was born, cleaning the house. Then toward the end of my pregnancy, Marie coached me on how to get the baby into a good delivery position--something my obstetrician never mentioned prior to my delivery with Colin. (Coincidentally, Vicky over at Coffee and Milkies has an interesting theory about obstetricians and birth positions, which I think is dead on.)

Colin gets his first look at his baby brother, while Mama enjoys breakfast in bed.

Marie also showed great foresight in urging me to wait a day before taking the verbena cocktail. Although it is a natural remedy and much less strong that a medical induction like Cervadil or Pitocin, it is still hard on the system. The only mom in our midwifery care group who took it was violently ill for hours before going into labour, and I'm definitely glad I avoided that. So often we want to control every detail of our lives--even the the birth of our babies. Thanks to modern medicine, we can; however, when we do there are frequently unintended consequences, as I learned when giving birth to Colin.

This time around, I wanted a truly natural birth and that's what I got from start to finish, in just six hours. I'm still amazed that my body could do all that all on its own, so long as I got out of its way. I'm also awed by the results. Within minutes of giving birth, I had delivered the placenta and was on the bed in the birthing room nursing my baby, who was in perfect shape save for some minor bruising on his face, which cleared up in a day or two. Within two hours of giving birth, I was stitched up, showered, and in my own sunshine-y bedroom where Ian Archer and I napped for the next several hours, uninterrupted by nurses and hospital roommates.

And although I did suffer the same degree of tearing I did while giving birth to Colin, my recovery has been so much easier. A few days after Ian Archer's birth, I was walking to the park with both my boys, and, now, 12 days out, I feel completely healed up, unlike the weeks and months it took me to heal after Colin. More importantly, I felt like myself the entire time, not the drugged up, zoned-out person I was in the days after having Colin, and I think this has made me a much better new mother--to both my boys.

In short, giving birth at home with a midwife was one of the most incredible experiences of my life and something I would recommend to anyone planning on having a baby. I will definitely be doing it again ... just not right away ;)

My Mother's Day

Yes, I know Mothers' Day was last weekend (even up here in Canada we observe it the first weekend in May), but you'll forgive me if I was not quite up to blogging two days after having a baby. Although it was an "easy" labour, it was still labour. So on Sunday, after my oxytocin rush wore off, I decided to spend the entire day in bed, which is exactly where every mother ought to get to spend her annual holiday.

I was only able to do this, though, because my own mother was in town for the week and was doing the laundry, making the meals, walking the dog, entertaining the toddler, cleaning up the garden for spring, and fetching me things every half hour. So, alas, there was no break for her on Mothers' Day, but I hope she felt it was a day well spent nonetheless. I know I could not have been more grateful to share the day with her.

For the past two years I've had a little tradition on this blog for posting a Mothers' Day portrait, but I'm afraid I didn't quite manage one this year. I've not yet figured out how to orchestrate a photoshoot that involves two babies, neither of whom is crying, and a mama who isn't showing double chins. Instead, I'm leaving it to the professionals, and next weekend I have a friend coming to photograph the family.

So in the absence of my own portrait, I thought I'd post some portraits of my own mother on Mothers' Day: Here's to the incomparable Marianne. Please come back soon!

First Day of a New Life

My "reading chair" beckons--as well as books I started last Fall. Think I can finish before the baby comes?

No, we haven't had the baby yet--that day is still (hopefully) two weeks away. But last Friday was my last day at work, and so today begins my first official day as a stay-at-home mommy. Of course, I will be heading back to work in a year, but thanks to Canada's wonderful maternity leave, I get the best of both worlds: real time at home with *both* of my babies and a great job to return to in 12 months time--just when I'm sure I'll be missing it.

And oh, what a difference a year makes! Just over year ago, I hated my job and thought every day about how to quit and be a stay-at-home mom. I thought what I really needed was just to be at home with my boy--and that what my boy needed was to be at home with me. But it turns out, I just hated my job. (And for the record, Colin adores his day care.)

Since then, I've got a new job with a new editor (whom I adore), and I couldn't be happier with the direction my career has taken. In fact, when I was wrapping up projects in the office last week, I started to get a little sad about some of the things I'll miss while I'm away next year: redesigning our magazine, continuing to develop our digital edition, and all those stories I had planned to write but have instead handed off to my lovely replacement. And to think, I very nearly gave up on all this...

A view of my office back when I hated my job--who wouldn't hate any job that kept you away from such an adorable baby?

That said, I am really looking forward to this next year at home, although I'm already bracing myself for the biggest challenge of my life: home alone all day with two little boys and the "Tom & Jerry Show" of Remy, the dog, and Fanny, the cat. Although, I've been Colin's mother for over two years now, I've never really felt the responsibility of being "The Mother." Because I had been at my job for only a few months before he was born, I was only eligible for three months maternity leave, and, though I know that may seem generous by American standards, here it is viewed as being negligent and rather tragic.

Certainly, my introduction to motherhood wasn't what I had hoped it would be. Those first three months of Colin's life were such a whirlwind: a baby who wouldn't sleep, figuring out breast-feeding for the first time, and three months of cold, isolating winter. Then I had to return to work just as I was getting the hang of things. It was up to Kevin, who took the next three months at home, to develop a routine and introduce solids and have all the fun in the sunshine with our growing baby. This time, I'll have four times as much maternity leave and the benefits of being a much more experienced mother.

So what am I going to make of this new life (even if it is just for a year)? I've sketched a rough outline: a daily routine of walking the dog, trips to the park, some crafts, a daily outing to the library or a toddler class or a play group, and then naps, naps, naps. I'm also hoping to get Colin potty trained and eating a better diet; he is still the world's pickiest eater. More importantly, I'm going to try to be a more relaxed person, so that this new little life I am bringing into the world can benefit from a happy, calm, and contented mother--something I am sorry to say Colin really missed out on.

But that day is still two weeks away. So what am I going to do in the meantime? Well, Mama has planned a perfect little "stay-cation" for herself. With Colin still in day care, I am going to make the most of this rare time alone by reading, writing and crafting, going shopping by myself, seeing matinee movies, lingering in cafés, and naps, naps, naps--in short, all of those things I haven't be able to do since becoming a mom and that I won't get to do again for a long, long time. Let's just hope that this baby co-operates and keeps to his scheduled date-of-arrival. Mama really needs this time to herself.

A view of my new "office": same computer, same picture frame, but with a lot less work and some fresh flowers courtesy of my lovely, lovely replacement.

Mamas' Night Out

Last night the weirdest thing happened. I went out. On a weeknight. With four other mama-friends. And there wasn't a kid in sight. I don't know how we all managed to find babysitters and a night when one of us (or one of our babies) wasn't sick, but we did, and we had two-and-a-half hours to ourselves of drinks, dessert and uninterrupted conversation.

We all met through a new moms' group two years ago, when our babies were just a couple of months old, and we've gotten together every few months ever since. Together, we've watched our babies grow from colicky, sleepless infants, to talking, potty-training toddlers, and it's been such a help to me--who doesn't have other friends with little babies--that they've been going through everything I have at every step along the way. If one of us was having trouble with teething or introducing solids or finding a daycare spot, chances are someone had already been through it and was happy to share their knowledge. And if no one had yet figured out a solution--such as how to curtail defiance in two-year-olds--well, at least we could all commiserate.

Oddly enough, the impetus to our night on-the-town was a comment one of the mamas recently made on Facebook lamenting the fact that her life used to be so much more interesting before she had kids. Maybe it was the bad weather or the darkness of February or the terrible twos, but we had all been feeling the same thing pretty much simultaneously. By the end of the day, we had scheduled our night out.

But you know what? I don't think these mamas have boring lives at all. For once, when our conversation wasn't all about babies (and wasn't being constantly interrupted by said babies), we got to hear about one another's interests and hobbies and histories and careers, and I know I'm bias but I thought it was pretty interesting stuff. So I guess, in the end, the real question is not how we managed to have such a night out but why we've never done it before--and when we'll do it again.

Our babes in the early days.

Playing Favorites

These days, it's all about "Dada" around our house. When Colin wants something down from a shelf, he calls for "Dada." When he's upset and wants to be comforted, he calls out "Dada, Dada." From the time he wakes up until the time he goes to bed, Colin is all about his Dada. He actually seems to have dropped the word "Mama" from his tiny vocabulary, and now calls me "Dada," too.

I'm trying to be a good sport about this--OK, I'm really not trying that hard, rather I'm doing a lot of moping around the house about how "my son no longer loves me"--but as melodramatic as I know that is, I'm finding it really difficult to come terms with losing my most-favoured parent status. I can't help wondering where I went wrong that Colin should no longer love me most. Was it my failed attempts at weaning? That's bound to provoke some resentment. Is it because I'm now doing some "gentle ignoring" whenever Colin launches into one of his Wagnerian tantrums? Or maybe it's because I'm just a lot less patient and attentive these days. For the past couple of months, my work-life has been so stressful that I have no patience left at the end of the day to deal with Colin's toddler histrionics, so Kevin's been doing most of the parenting while I work out my frustrations chopping vegetables or--more often--vegging in front of the computer with a beer.

The funny thing is, until recently, I was the most-favoured parent, and I didn't like that role either. Because, let's face it, being #1 in your child's life is really hard. They look to you to soothe every trauma. They want to be held by you--and only you--all the time. It doesn't matter if you haven't eaten all day, or really need to get dressed to go to work, or really, really, really have to pee. They want YOU, and that sort of favouritism can be really exhausting. And it leaves very little time for vegging in front of the computer with a beer.

So I promised myself that when the day came that Colin preferred his father (because I knew that day would come), I would be gracious and grateful. But being Miss Congeniality is just a lot harder than I expected. Part of the problem, I know, is just societal expectations. We all expect that the mother should always be #1 in a child's life because for most of us she always was. It was only natural. She was the one who cared for us day-in and day-out and knew how to cut the crusts just so and how to do all the voices in our favourite children's books.

But Kevin and I have tried to use a different model. We wanted to be true co-parents: to split the child-rearing 50/50. So I try to remind myself that if Colin prefers his father to me about half the time, we must be succeeding. And I'm grateful, too, that when one of us is stressed out and distracted for weeks on end, Colin has another parent who can fulfill that leading role for him. But I still catch myself hoping that sometimes, when Colin is saying "Dada," what he really means is "Mama."

Parents' Day

In addition to our family vacation, Kevin and I recently took a much-needed vacation from parenting. During Canada Day weekend, we both found ourselves with a Friday off from work and, much to our surprise, we found that Colin's daycare would be staying open. So rather than keep him home with us like all the other good little parents, we shipped him off to daycare and decided to take one day just for ourselves.

So what to do with a whole day to ourselves? The possibilities were overwhelming, but in the end we decided to do all the things that we couldn't do when we have a toddler in tow.

Number 1: Sit quietly in an outdoor café, while slowly sipping coffee and reading a book. Although we've often taken little excursions to the Duchess Bake Shop, this was the first time we've been without an impatient dog and an impatient toddler. We actually got to savour our Parisian-style croissants--even go back for seconds--while reading whole chapters of our books.

Number 2: Visit galleries and boutiques. I've often passed by the art galleries and clothing boutiques on 124th Street here in Edmonton, but I've never been able to do more than window shop because, well, toddlers and art galleries specializing in wood and glass sculpture just don't mix. But this time, I walked in every single storefront, and even though I walked out empty-handed, it was a very successful shopping trip.



Number 3: Eat at Da-De-Os. Da-De-O's is a gritty hole-in-the-wall Edmonton diner, specializing in Cajun cuisine, and, well, being from southern Arkansas, I love me some po' boys and gumbo. Unfortunately, Da-De-O's is classified as a bar (so no minors allowed), and, consequently, I've never been inside. Of course, Kevin and I could have gone there on one of our date nights, but those are few and far between and are usually reserved for adult dinner parties, trips to the theatre, or special birthday dinners, which do not take place a gritty hole-in-the-wall diners. Despite it's modest surroundings, our lunch at Da-De-O's was fantastic, complete with jalepeño jelly and two rounds of Alley Kat's Blackened Alligator Lager--laissez les bon temps rouler!

Number 4: Go see a movie in 3-D. As mentioned above, our date nights are usually reserved for special occasions, so Kevin and I rarely go to the movie theatre any more. We used to go at least once a week back when we were footloose and fancy free, but now we tend to just download films on iTunes. However, the one thing you can't do on iTunes is watch a movie in 3-D, so on our day off, we really wanted to experience one. Turns out, the only 3-D movie showing was Toy Story 3.

Now you might say that an animated children's movie was an odd choice for our childless holiday, but we've seen just about every Pixar movie and we have loved them all. And Toy Story 3 might be our favourite of the bunch. The characters were just so well-developed (yes, even Barbie and Ken), and the characterizations of childhood and children were spot-on. Kevin and I were rolling in the aisles with laughter during one scene in the baby room at a daycare because that is exactly what it's like at Colin's daycare.

However, for all of it's light-hearted comedy the ending really pulled at the heartstrings. There's a scene at the end (spoiler alert!), in which the mother walks into her son's bedroom after he's packed it up to go to college and sees the empty walls and empty cupboards and starts to cry. Of course then I, too, started to cry and proceeded to bawl my eyes out until the credits rolled. At which point, Kevin and I drove straight to the daycare and picked up our beautiful boy. After all, parenthood--for all of its trials and tribulations--is much too short.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Happy Mothers' Day to all the mothers--and "allomothers"--out there! I think I'm beginning to enjoy this manufactured holiday even more than I enjoy my own birthday. Birthdays can happen in the middle of the week, offering no respite from the drudgery of work and work-a-day routine. But Mothers' Day always comes on a Sunday (the best day of the week, in my opinion, because it's supposed to be a day of rest), and it's preceded by weeks of marketing blitz reminding fathers to take note.

This Mothers' Day brought a trip to our favorite local diner (which is better than breakfast-in-bed because there's nothing to clean up afterwards), visits to two local bookstores, and a trip to the pool. It probably sounds like a lot, but it was actually the most restful day I've had in months! A big hug and a kiss to my two favorite men who made it possible.

And in keeping with this little tradition we've started, here's my Second-Annual Mothers' Day Portrait (or three):

Carpe Diem!

One of the things I really miss about my life before babies is spontaneity. That, and eating out on a regular basis. So, imagine my delight when I got to do both of those things this past weekend--and enjoy most first sushi meal since becoming pregnant!

The trick, I have discovered, to being spontaneous and eating out post-parenthood is learning to seize the day, to be watchful for fleeting opportunities and pounce on them before they can flit by. This past Saturday I had planned what I thought was an exciting--if not exactly spontaneous--morning out: our regular trip to the Farmers' Market, followed by a quick stop at the corner bookstore to play with the train set, then a nice brunch in which Colin does not throw all of his food on the floor, and all before my company Easter egg hunt at 1:00 p.m. Well, if the best laid plans often go awry, then that goes doubly so when you have children.

Such an outing--an elaborate one, I'll grant you--would normally take us about six hours. But on this particular morning, we didn't manage to get out of the house until 11:00 a.m., and by then, Colin was already getting hungry and cranky. Realizing that nothing throws a monkey wrench into plans faster than a hungry child, I scrapped everything and hollered for Kevin to stop the car at the first restaurant we passed: as chance would have it, a very upscale sushi restaurant that we used to frequent before we had kids.

Now, normally I would never entertain the idea of taking my food-throwing toddler to an upscale restaurant, but it was 11:00 a.m. on a Saturday, and we were literally the only patrons in the restaurant. As such, we got one of the exclusive private rooms, where you sit on the floor at low tables--the perfect set-up, it turns out, for babies. Since there was no remarkable height from which to watch his food fall to the floor, Colin was no longer interested in throwing it.

And despite what you may think, there are actually lots of things in a sushi restaurant that toddler is willing to eat. Raw fish might be off limits, but rice is always a winner, the miso soup was a surprise hit, and vegetables deep fried in a light batter might be the only vegetables my son ever graciously consents to eating. Most surprising of all: Colin adored the chops sticks--and sticking them everywhere: up noses, and in ears ... I mean, everywhere.

But we made it through an entire meal without any major spills, messes, or tantrums. Mama got to enjoy sushi for the first time in two years, and we made it to the Easter egg hung with full bellies and time to spare. In the end, it was a better day than any I could have planned. I guess, life with babies can be pretty spontaneous after all.

My first Mother's Day portrait

Mothers' Day

This year was my first Mother's Day as a mother, and I spent it doing the things most mothers do: having someone else make me breakfast, buy me flowers, and take me out to lunch; going for a walk in the sunshine and cuddling up with my loved ones for an afternoon nap. I also spent my first Mother's Day as a mother with my mother-in-law -- and not unhappily. She is staying with us these three weeks to take care of Colin while I transition back to work. And though I was apprehensive about this arrangement -- if "guests, like fish, begin to stink after three days" as Twain says, what must they be like after three weeks?! -- I am surprised to find that my mother-on-law still smells as nice as my Mother's Day roses.

Of course, who would mind an extra pair of hands around the house to hold the baby, make dinner, and do a little light cleaning, right? Oddly enough, I tend to resent such assistance, in general, and from my mother-in-law, in particular. I've discovered over the years that I am incredibly territorial and mistakenly perceive another woman's helpful attentions, such as sweeping my floors, wiping off my countertops, and pruning my houseplants, as a judgment on my housekeeping. (OK, well, the guerrilla pruning was perhaps not misinterpreted.) But, after becoming a mother myself, and now never having enough hands to calm crying babies, walk hyperactive dogs, and keep up with the housework, I am just grateful for the help, and I'm finally beginning to see it as it was, no doubt, intended: just help.

But there's a little more to it than that, I discovered today. I read an interesting article on Salon about the historical importance of Homo sapiens sharing the duties of motherhood. "You can never have too many mothers", the article is called, and it's an interview with a biologist who theorizes that humans were able to develop the skills necessary for advance civilization (cooperation, empathy, etc.), because human babies were so needy that they necessitated dependence on "alloparents," surrogate parents such as grandmothers, aunts, husbands, and that "baby-crazy 12-year-old girl" to help with the child rearing. Because "it takes a village" to raise a human child, Homo sapiens were able to overcome their loner ways and actually form villages -- the precursor to civilization -- or so the theory goes.

In reading it, I've discovered an unusual mirror on my own experience. I've been so overwhelmed by the challenges of parenthood that I've finally been forced to accept help -- and not just from my mother-in-law, but from my own mother and countless friends. And not only have I learned to accept this help and appreciate it as a sign of love towards me, I appreciate the gesture of love towards Colin. Those unwanted ministrations of my mother-in-law toward my plants and my countertops are nothing but beautiful when they are directed toward my son. After all, he can never have too much love, nor too many mothers.

A few pictures of Colin's many mothers: