Leaving for Toronto was a tougher undertaking than usual. I don’t always notice how much Ken does to make my life easier – it happens after nearly 12 years of marriage – but it was very apparent last Thursday. Apparently, he loads the stuff that I’ve already packed into the car while I gather food and last minute things. With Ken in London, England, I was scrambling to pack the car, the cooler, feed the cats and worms, and all the rest. So, this is a public “thank you” to Ken for all of the things he does that I don’t notice.
Archive for the ‘Daddy’ Category
When my sherpa is in another country
Wednesday, March 25th, 2009When you walk in the door
Thursday, March 19th, 2009When I came in the door last Friday with a story – Scarpetta, to be exact – coming through my iPod earbuds. I greeted Ken and Reid but said that I couldn’t hear them quite yet. Reid talked anyway. As I pulled the earbuds out, I heard Reid say, “Daddy hit a woman on the way home!” In an instant, I think, “Well, that’s a heck of a way to start a weekend.” I asked Ken for details, praying that Reid’s “hitting a woman” meant that he’d hit her car. Ken’s explanation was reassuring. He’d misjudged the space between their cars when changing lanes to get into the right-turn lane. The lady in the other car insisted on going to the collision reporting station, though damage was limited to more rubbing than denting or worse. Ken didn’t know immediately where to go but Reid might have been able to give directions since she’d been there when Amanda backed into Grandma Joyce’s car a while ago. Reid seemed to find the whole thing to be an adventure but Ken was noticeably less impressed with the goings-on. Age gives you such a different perspective, doesn’t it?
The nights are harder
Monday, March 16th, 2009Reid and I took Ken to the airport at bedtime on Saturday night. She had cried a bit at supper when she thought of him leaving and then when Ken got out of the car, Reid cried quite a lot. Poor man. He doesn’t like to travel to begin with and then to have tears at departure. Well, it just isn’t fair! Reid kept up the tears and fussing after we left Ken standing at the curb. She kept saying that she wished that he didnt have to go away. I told her that he wished that he could stay and that hed be back as soon as he could be. Then, I said that he loved and missed her and that I loved you both and that we would all be happy when we were together, or something to that effect and Reid said, in a voice breaking on a sob, But its really me! I took that to mean that it was her that was suffering far more than him or I.
Sunday was busy as usual, with swimming and pottery. Reid was able to hold her front starfish float for 7 seconds and her back starfish float for 30 seconds. The teacher challenged her to try for a minute and Reid said that she thought that she could do both for that long. I think she thinks 1 minute is shorter than 60 seconds, since her grasp of numbers is stronger than her understanding of units of time. I pulled Reid in her red wagon to pottery through the park. The path was entirely snow-covered and I had to go over a snowbank to get onto the road but it was still better than driving such a short distance. Getting Reid in and out of her seatbelt, even now that she is in a booster seat is such a hassle – though, of course, we never skip it. B accompanied us on his bike to see where we were going. In class, Reid worked entirely independently to create a landscape of a campfire with a chair beside it. Im not sure if she set out to make the campfire or just recognized it in the form that she built randomly. Next week well miss class and then at the last class we glaze and then were done. The 8 weeks have passed quickly.
B caught us with on the way home from pottery and as soon as we got home, I got out Reids bike and helmet and they rode around the block with me trailing. I think she might have grown enough that she needs the bike seat raised. She pedaled a bit while standing and seemed to go faster that way. After the loop, we sat in the driveway and worked on our paper-making a bit. We decided that the tissue paper fibres needed longer to decompose, though, and put everything into a pitcher to sit a while longer. B mixed water and corn starch together (once I figured out that what he said in French translated to corn starch) and called it an experiment. I missed what the experiment was exactly. When he was done, he and Reid painted on the driveway with the dyed goop. B was amazed that I would let Reid do such a thing but followed her suit. B and Reid drew hopscotch courts with chalk, got the hockey sticks and a ball out and played with bubbles. R, V and their parents came out, too. The kids played together and Reid helped R on his bike. Its a cool tricycle from Radio Flyer that you can push around with a handle. I visited with V as she sat in her stroller and with the mom.
Reid had some tuna while I heated pasta and sauce for supper. She meowed a lot, especially while I was opening the can. Leo would have been proud. He scored a bit of extra tuna since I couldnt very well give Reid some and him none. I actually got Reid through her bath and into bed more or less on time. She got sad once her head was on your pillow and she said, When Daddy is gone, only the days are good. At night, I miss him! and she started to cry a bit. It was good to be able to say that he would be there with us in only one week. I can keep her busy during the day but the nights will be harder.
Commentary on our parenting skills
Thursday, February 26th, 2009Reid wanted to play “baby” one weekend morning recently and, for once, I got to be the baby. I don’t understand why Reid wants to be the baby in a game since she is the baby in real life but usually she chooses that role. When she is the “mama”, though, I see how she sees me or maybe how she thinks I should be.
I tried to convince Reid to join me in the big bed for a cuddle with Daddy. Reid said that she couldn’t; she had things to fix in “my” bedroom. “Daddy was supposed to do it. But he didn’t do it.” Her tone was resigned, final. Ken offered a rude comment that Reid couldn’t here. It’s nice not to be the parent in the spotlight, especially when the light isn’t particularly flattering.
At one point, Reid declared that I needed a haircut. When I said that I was afraid, Reid quickly reassured me that she would be right there with me. (That’s the sort of thing I’d say.) Then, she added, “I’ll cut it myself.” (NOT something I’d say.) I told Ken that the latter bit of information made me more afraid and Reid, hearing the comment, reassured me that Daddy would be there, too. I tried another tack and asked my “mama” if she thought I was pretty. “You’re pretty at the front,” Mama-Reid said. “But you’re not pretty from the front. You need the back of your hair cut.” The latter was said in a firm voice, brooking no argument. (I like to think that I would never tell Reid that she wasn’t pretty, other than that her actions aren’t pretty.) Being a wiley Baby-Mama, I distracted Mama-Reid from the haircut with breakfast. I did say that we don’t ever *really* cut hair but I’m not sure if she was ever intending to try.
No rules against daddies in pottery class
Friday, February 13th, 2009As I mentioned, Ken took Reid to her first “Parent and Child” pottery class on Sunday. It would seem that in this context, as with most parenting magazines, “parent” is code for “mother”. Ken was the only adult male in the class and the kids were mostly girls as well. He said that the moms seemed to know each other as well and so he was doubly the outsider by virtue of his being a newbie and a man.
The fact that Ken was the only daddy in the class was not lost on Reid. She told me about it specifically and said also, “There’s no rule against daddies at pottery class!” But there was laughter, and maybe pride, in her voice at the audaciousness of *her* daddy. It’s good that Reid appreciates the lengths Ken will go to for her. Not that she always notices but I try to do so.
Didn’t miss me at all
Tuesday, February 10th, 2009Ken and Reid had a busy weekend while I was in Toronto. They started out with a visit to the library after school to choose some books and a video. Reid sees this as a perfect start to her weekend, or any evening, for that matter. They were at Canadian Children’s Museum when it opened at 9:00 on Saturday morning and stayed for 2.5 hours. I’m not sure where they spent their time exactly but I bet Ken had to suggest that they leave in the end. Reid’s frequent visits don’t diminish her desire to spend lots of time at the cargo ship, bus, theatre and so on. They ate their lunch in the Café du Musée before heading to the Canada Aviation Museum. The “airplane museum” is Ken’s favourite museum in Ottawa, I think. I tend not to go unless the Canada Science and Technology Museum Corporation member’s winter party is held there. Reid used to like to go but the last couple of visits haven’t gone so well. Where once Reid like to find family groupings – the helicopter family, for example, with its big (Daddy), middle-sized (Mama) and small (Reid) ‘copters. I don’t think that Ken will be taking Reid with him any time soon.
Reid started a new swimming class on Sunday morning and the highlights seems to have been jumping into water that was over her head. It hasn’t been that long since Reid wouldn’t jump into shoulder-deep water unless the teacher was holding her hands. Reid also told me about finding a diving ring. On the first try! She explained that sometimes she doesn’t get them at all. I suggested that she would have increased success if she opened her eyes when she was under water. Reid gave me a skeptical look and said, “I don’t do that.” The “silly mama!” part of the sentence was only implied.
I signed Reid and me up for a parent-child pottery class at the Gloucester Pottery School a few weeks ago and the first class was Sunday afternoon. Since I was away, Ken eagerly filled in. Or, at least, he agreed to go in my place. I’d left telling him about this obligation to the last minute since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to dwell on it much in advance. In the end, I think it wasn’t as bad as anticipated. Reid’s eyes sparkled when she told me “what we made”. When I asked Ken what he had made, I learned that Reid had been speaking with the royal “we” in her description of what had been made. Ken said that Reid kept taking over his creations. I’m not how well I’ll like it if/when she does that to me. I’m not as magnanimous as Ken – it’s birth order, eh, I’m the “baby” in my heart.
I’d picked up the fixings for some kid-friendly meals – spaghetti and meat sauce, fish and chips, stirfry chicken and veggies – and they seemed to enjoy them. If it’d been me, I might have been tempted to hit the mall’s food court but Ken isn’t as keen on dining out of the house as me. Ken told me that Reid is much better behaved when I’m not around and also that she went to sleep without any trouble. I don’t think either of them me missed me overly much but they both were glad to see me. I’m glad to have had the weekend but was happy for the welcome back hugs as well.
Food for the worms
Wednesday, February 4th, 2009One night a while ago, I purchased a salad from Loblaws to go with the roast chicken that often finds its way into my cart on grocery night. (No, no, I didn’t cook the roast chicken but I’m flattered that you even wondered.) The salad in question had roasted sweet potatoes, sunflower seeds, cranberries and some kind of green leaves. I didn’t even offer any to Reid and Ken. Ken told me in the past that he considers sweet potatoes a once-a-year food and Reid pretty much projectile vomitted the first time I gave her sweet potatoes and has never developed a taste for them.
In any case, just as I was starting to eat the salad to which I’d treated myself, Reid told me not to eat it in a rather worried voice. She said, “It looks like food for the worms!” I could see why she say that. I tear open tea bags and sprinkle the leaves on the little bits of veggies that we give them. I don’t purée their food as the manual that came with the vermicomposter suggests I should but I do cut the bigger bits up. Such intensive food preparation seems a bit too much like pampering for worms, who are supposed to be part of our household’s waste management system rather than pets.
But I digress. I told Reid that she was under no obligation to share my salad. When she said that it looked “yucky,” I reminded her that it was rude to comment on other people’s food choices. Ken, in his secret, so-the-kid-doesn’t-hear voice, told me that he agreed with Reid. I’m said to say that the salad wasn’t as delicious as I’d imagined – too oily – and I’ve not had the opportunity to desensitize them to it’s appearance. I’ve got a Mediterranean vegetable stew in the crockpot for supper tonight. I hope it gets a better reception because the worms can’t possibly eat Reid and Ken’s shares.
Another difference between Ken and me
Friday, January 23rd, 2009Reid will sometimes close her eyes and reach out, touch one of us, and say, “Is this Mama?” Or maybe she’ll be touching something and ask if it is a [something or other]. Ken and I seem to have come to unspoken agreement that we should respond “yes” to the questions, whether or not that is the truth, or supply a silly answer to the silly question. At one point I asked if she could tell the differences between Ken’s hands and mine. Reid told me that she could do so easily. “Mama’s hands are wrinkly,” she said with a smile that made me almost forget that “old” usually goes with “wrinkly”. Sadly, it’s true. Ken’s hands are freckly and hairy but wrinkle free. My hands, on the other hand, – sorry I couldn’t resist that – are as wrinkly as Grandma Joyce’s hands should be. Her hands are even wrinkly for her age, in my opinion. Reid will have to hope that she has inherited her dad’s hand genes or I’ll gloat at the first hand wrinkle.
Follow the thought process
Saturday, January 17th, 2009As you may know, Ken was scheduled to testify at a court martial the first week of January. Just like on tv, his credentials were entered into evidence and then the lawyers debated his standing before the judge accepted him as an “expert witness”. He must have been convincing since he was allowed to come home earlier than predicted.
With the added challenge of getting around a city in the midst of a transit strike, I was a bit nervous being in charge of picking Ken up at the airport at 5:00 pm. I was more afraid of him trying unsuccessfully to find a taxi and the eventual cost of a rush-hour ride home. As luck would have it, his plane was early but Border Services was short-staffed and Reid and I had time to buy a treat and get to the doors Ken came out of with time to spare.
Reid had had her heart set on a popsicle even though it was wickedly cold outside and wasn’t the least bit tempted by the chocolate bars that I pointed out. Since *we* weren’t outside, I decided that no lasting harm would result and paid for the gigantic 5-stripe LifeSaver Frozen Snack that Reid wanted. To the best of my knowledge, Reid has never had a regular LifeSaver candy because I’m paranoid about her choking on one and so I told her about the existence of the candies. (If she has had one, please don’t tell me about it and don’t give her any more.)
After a couple of licks, Reid asked, “Where is the switch to make it light up, Mommy?” I was puzzled and Reid noticed. “Lightsabers light up,” she said, stating the obvious. I remembered all of the little Star Wars characters at her school’s Halloween party and figured out the connection. I told her that it was a “Life SaVer” not a “Lightsaber”. Please note that while the “b” and the “v” sounds are often interchanged when Reid speaks, I keep them distinct. By the time Ken appeared, Reid was chattering about her flashlight. I tried to explain Reid’s thought processes to Ken simply, since he’d been in transit all day, but a flow chart would really have helped or at least one of those bouncing balls that help people follow the text on videos.
We were talking about fruits
Wednesday, January 7th, 2009I gave Reid a banana to eat on the way to school this morning. I take advantage of advice that says brushing before breakfast is better for your teeth (see this article on when to brush your teeth if you don’t believe me) and let her eat in the car. Ken pays more attention to the risks to the car and Reid’s clothes than I do (but while he is away … ;+) Anyway, as I was saying, Reid was eating a banana and gave be the last inch or so. I thanked her, as nice people should, and said that I’d been hoping that she would give me a piece. Reid smiled and then said, “Once I didn’t eat the nipple but Daddy did. Daddy likes nipples. [giggle]” And I could resist replying, “Umm. Yeah.” I was thinking that this would be one of those discussions that would make you laugh now and make Reid cringe when she is old enough to get the double meaning. I might have thought also that Ken would squirm a bit when I told it but, as I said, he is in Colorado Springs.
Reid moved onto her next favourite fruit – grapes. “I eat squishy grapes. Any grapes, even rotten grapes, I’ll eat.” I said that I didn’t realize that she ate squishy grapes and Reid insisted that she did eat them. She said, in fact, that at her old daycare the teachers said, “Reid, don’t eat the squishy grapes!” She laughed when she told me this. Reid asked whether she ate grapes as a baby and I said that she did but that I had cut them in half so that she wouldn’t choke. She asked if I gave her squishy ones and I said, “no”. When pressed for the reason, I explained that I was more picky about what went in her tummy back then. I had thought that she would have taken on the pickiness herself but apparently I was wrong.
(Note: We – Reid and I, maybe also Ken – call the bitter part right at the end of the banana a “nipple”. It has never seemed like a questionable label until today)