Mr. Manners

Toby is working on his manners. It’s a bit of a slow process, but he’s catching on. He’s at the point now that he USUALLY says thank you and will gladly say please (when prompted) so long as it’s not peri-temper-tantrum.

Tonight, in eager anticipation of his impending apple juice, he commanded me with breathless excitement to “Get me an ice cube for my apple juice!!” Granted, when you’re THAT excited and already have a full 8 words in the sentence, tacking on a PLEASE must seem rather daunting to a 2 year old. But I calmly remained seated and explained to him that he hadn’t asked very politely.

Without missing a beat his tone changed as he cocked his head to his side and cooed, “PLEASE, Mommy DEAR??!?!?”

He may be a man’s man, but he certainly knows how to charm the ladies…

I got him the ice cube.

Mother's Day Cards

Toby spent a great deal of time making a mothers day card for my mom this weekend. At first he seemed a bit skeptical about putting his hockey stuff down long enough to engage in ARTS and CRAFTS which goes COMPLETELY against every ounce of morality that the poor guy has. But he soon grew excited by the fine array of firemen, sports and automobile stickers that I allowed him to choose from. He even found a lovely sticker of an eyeball that I’m sure grandma will GREATLY appreciate having on her card.

Once he had plastered the card in boyish stickers he decided to colour and eagerly handed me crayon after crayon with instructions on what to draw. His old standard is to ask that I draw “Hannah” (from daycare). Hannah is a lovely girl in his group with curly blonde hair. Quite appropriately I drew a stick figure with a dress, two dots for eyes and a mouth as well as some yellow hair. (See above - -not too complicated.)

When I was finished my fine portrait Toby looked down at it and GASPED with HORROR.

“Th-th-th—th-THAT’S not HANNAH, Mommy!” he bellowed, ‘That’s ABBY!!!”

I was then instructed to “DO IT AGAIN!”

Not only is the kid bossy; apparently he also has quite the eye for detail. I, on the other hand, need to work on my stick figures.

Garage Door Lessons

On the odd occasion that Rob gets home before Toby and me, he always opens the garage door for us. It’s a small gesture, but a kind one that always makes me feel happy; Rob’s way of welcoming us home. I guess I must have expressed some of this sentiment out loud to Toby because he has started taking note of the status of the garage door each night as we arrive home. Tonight, for example, we arrived home hours before Rob was expected, but as I opened the door with my remote garage door opener, Toby announced excitedly from the backseat, “LOOk, Mommy! Daddy opened that garage door for you!!! Isn’t that NICE?!?!”

When I tried to explain to him that I had, in fact, opened the garage door all by myself, he would have NONE of it. “No, mommy, DADDY opened the garage. He’s SOOO nice.”

I decided not to argue his point but smiled proudly at the realization that I had inadvertently delivered to our son his first lesson in chivalry.

Spring is Great but Hockey is Better

With spring comes a whole new world of outdoor discoveries. We’ve had so much fun after work these days, playing on the swing-set, lounging in the hammock, doing some gardening, and (of course) playing hockey on the back porch. Toby partakes in all of these activities with an eagerness that sheds new light on the remarkable world of nature that spring unveils.

Today he was digging in his sandbox while Rob and I were weeding the garden when he made a discovery. He quickly dropped his sand pail and came RUNNING over to us exclaiming, “What’s THIS, Mommy? What’s THIS Mommy?” I was expecting “this” to be either a leaf or a rock but it turned out to be a partially crushed worm, writhing away in a desperate attempt to survive the toddler-mauling it had just endured.

I explained to him about worms and where they live and how to properly handle one. It was all VERY exciting, however, he DID refuse to eat his burger at dinner for fear of harming any worms that may have been inside it. (YIKES!)

After dinner we called Grandma to tell her of our great discovery and Grandma wisely pointed out that Toby had already learned about worms when he watched the Robin pick some up off the ground to feed to her babies. We pointed out to our eager worm-catcher that he was not unlike the Robin in his ability to seek out worms.

It was at this point that Toby’s excited bounce stopped and the smile on his face turned to a furrowed brow as he stomped his feet and stated, “NO! I’m NOT a Robin! I’m a HOCKEY PLAYER.”

Spring is fun and all, but lets get our priorities straight!

And then sometimes I DON'T take after my mother...

My mother is not much of an athlete. By which I mean she almost failed grade 10 gym for her inability to do a somersault and often finds walking dangerous when combined with another activity such as drinking coffee or talking on the phone. I am fortunate enough to have a rather gifted athlete for a father so have only inherited a half dysfunctional gene for athleticism, the result of which allows me to cover up my athletic shortcomings by being an avid gym-goer and runner (neither of which require much athletic skill – just a little determination and a good pair of shoes.) It has taken me 32 years but after much perseverance and the recent purchase of an obscenely expensive stick, I can (finally) say with pride that I play hockey.

Rural hockey has been fantastic, but living out in the country has curbed my jogging. Sometimes when absolutely necessary I go for a run near my house. A round trip to the stop sign and back is about a 5 km trek that usually involves a life-threatening encounter with a scary dalmation and a loud mutt of a farm dog who threatens to chew my leg off. (In dog language, of course.) So there’s a great sense of freedom and excitement when I find an hour to myself in Toronto and can enjoy a leisurely run along a path or a busy street where there are things to see and dogs on leashes.

The only barrier to my complete enjoyment of my Toronto runs is my mother.

I’m not sure if it’s her own innate need to “look out for me” or the fact that it’s the only thing we don’t have in common; it’s probably a combination of the two. Without fail, my excited announcement that I’m “going for a run” is almost always met with a look of horror and a motherly warning. “That sounds like a bad idea” is the most common tidbit of advise I hear, but sometimes she gets creative and warns me about the perils of cars or that I’m going to get sweaty.

Today she outdid herself. Granted, it was starting to spit as I ventured out for my run, but as she shrugged her shoulders she sighed defeatedly the most athletically-ignorant statement of her life; “Well FINE then but make sure you take an umbrella…”