September 4, 2007 by Barbara.

On Saturday, I told Reid that we were going to change our going-to-bed routine this week. I said that she would have milkies in the rocking chair and then we’d go to the bathroom to rince her teeth and then she would lay in her bed and go to sleep, just like she does at daycare. Reid got a quite thoughtful look on her face and seemed to be a little smaller than before as she commented about me sleeping with Ken and then said, in a heartbreakingly small voice, “I don’t have friends.” You could’ve heard my heart breaking a bit when I heard that. Of course, I told her she still had friends, that Mama and Daddy love her very much.

Come bedtime last night, I nursed Reid and then we went to the bathroom. Reid likes to rinse her teeth and spit - especially the spitting since she is not normally allowed to spit. I led her to her bed and snuggled in with her. The dentist can say that Reid must have her teeth rinsed after nursing but she doesn’t get to make it so that Reid feels like she has no friends. Reid wanted to nurse, though, and I told her the dentist said Reid’s teeth were getting sick. At first she argued that she liked milkies and wanted milkies and then she started to cry. There went my heart again, as she sobbed, “I want milkies.” I held her close and told her I loved her and that I liked giving her milkies, that she could have some in the morning.

I know that she probably wanted the comfort of sucking more than she lacked the breastmilk. She had nursed unhurriedly in the rocking chair before we got into bed. For 3 years I’ve been able to offer her comfort at my breast beyond simply breastmilk. I haven’t regretted a minute of the time we’ve spent together though I do regret however much it contributed to the cavity. Studies show extended nursers are healthier and more confident. I’m glad I’m giving these things to her but I admit that it was hard to hear her saying what she missed - it almost would have been easier to do it when she didn’t have words to tell me what she thought. I thought it, too, that making your baby go to sleep alone and then crawling into bed with someone just wasn’t fair. I hope the balance we reached will work.

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September 4, 2007 by Barbara.

We lucked into a last minute rental of a cottage in Iroquois, Ontario (just an hour from Ottawa on the St Lawrence River) and so we’re not saying bad things about the people who said they were coming but then had to cancel. It’s funny that we went from a conversation of “if they all come, we’ll have to stack them like cord wood” to “wow, and now so-and-so has cancelled” to “so, what are the chances of a cottage” to “okay, now we have to tell anyone that changes their mind or decides to come that they can’t” in such a short time. There was also Aunt Karin email that said she and Shea were coming and my panicked phone call to explain they weren’t welcome - and her giggling that she knew I’d call before 8 am over her untrue message. I can laugh about it now. In the end, we found a cottage that we’ve thought of renting off and on for a couple of years and all is well.

We decide to do a bit touristing in the area, too. Once we got back from hot air balloon hunting Saturday morning, we packed up the car and headed to Fort Wellington, in Prescott. Ken and I went once a number of years ago, probably in the 1990s and we hadn’t been back. It’s a good historic site - relatively small but well-maintained. There were four costumed interpreters on-site, three of them women although one was dressed as a soldier. I’m not keen on historic cross-dressing but university-aged females do better than their male counterparts on the scored interviews that decide federal government jobs and it would be even more odd to see a fort with four “wives” and only one “soldier”.

We peeked into the officer’s quarters. The furnishings are posh and well-made and look a lot like what we have at home, except for the painted yellow floors. Still, we “oohed” and “ahhed” at what we were seeing. The next stop was the latrine building. In case you haven’t been to Fort Wellington, I’ll describe them:

• Officers’ latrine: seats one, entrance from the end of the building;
• Women and children’s latrine: seats two over round holes in board, entrance from the front; and
• Soldier’s latrine: seats 8,  a wooden frame for perching precariously on while dangling one’s bottom, plus a tin cover long basin as urinal, entrance from the front.

Guess which one Reid was most interested in trying out. That’s right, the one where she was most likely to end up at the bottom of the pit. The information panel reported that the latrines were excavated in 1990 and one of the artifacts that was found was a child’s doll. My heart squeezed for that little girl who lost her dolly so long ago.

We climbed up the earthworks to look at a canon and Reid climbed on the carriage but not on the gun itself. I just couldn’t have let that happen, not having worked in forts for 4 years in university, knowing first hand that kids can get hurt and also that it’s disrespectful to artillery soldiers. We rolled down the ramp. Reid seems to have trouble getting her top and bottom halves to roll in sync. Sometimes her legs trailed and sometimes they led, it was funny to see either way. We went down the stone “hall” into the lookout area, with Reid making comments all the while, “It’s bumpy, Mama. You hold my hand; I’ll hold Daddy’s. Watch your feet.”

The woman who was dressed as a soldier’s wife in the barracks was wonderful. She encouraged Reid to lay on a bed and explained how whole families shared a double bunk-space with kids sleeping on the floors underneath the bunk, joined by rats and cat or dogs, of course. She helped Reid try on a dress and a day cap and showed her a bonnet. Then, she showed Reid the pants the soldiers would have worn and placed the tunic over Reid’s shoulders. She showed Reid a shoe that was not cut for right or left foot and Reid put it on and kept it on until we left the display. She got out a backpack, wooden canteen and cartouche (ammunition pouch) and let Reid try each on in turn. The interpretor provided Reid-sized bits of information for each item and more details if Ken or I seemed interested. Reid “scrubbed” the floor with a cleaning brush and then we went up to the floor with the play fort and Ken read the displays while Reid and I went around the exterior “hall”. I can’t remember the military term for it, but there were firing slots in the floor to allow defence against attackers who might try to destroy the barracks. There was a metal outline of a soldier demonstrating this firing stance in one corner. Reid looked at him and continued around the perimeter, calling out “look another soldier” as she started her second circuit.

Throughout the visit, we tried to explain the canons, look out and all in Reid-understandable words and concepts. She seemed happy with what she was hearing and asked questions that showed she was understanding what we said. Small children don’t have a good grasp of time but do accept “a long, long time ago.” Of course, the War of 1812 and when Mama was a baby share the same place in history more or less but that’s okay as long as Reid knows that soldiers have been protecting us for a long, long time.

We ate our lunch on the grass near the parking lot with the intent of Reid sleeping while we drove to the cottage. Instead she watched the river and talked to us on the drive, which would have been too short for a proper nap.

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