Stevie Wonder

For the past 2 years or so Toby has humored us with his diverse dancing techniques. One of my very favourite moments of the day are our after dinner dance parties. It started a while ago with me teaching him to air guitar to Bon Jovi. A mere 18 months old he captured many peoples attention by requesting Bon Jovi in his then still formative baby voice. But my most FAVOURITE dance of all is what we call his “Stevie Wonder Dance”.

Toby “made this up” himself. (As much as you can claim that Stevie’s head raise and sway was made up by Toby.) We coined it his “Stevie Wonder” dance right away. Always a ham, Toby likes to bring out his Stevie Wonder moves for any willing audience and to ANY genre of music.

So what excitement when we discovered that our PVR’d Oprah Special had the surprise guest of Stevie Wonder himeslf. I caught a few minutes of it today and quickly saved it to watch tonight with Toby.

At dinner I announced that we were going to see the REAL Stevie Wonder on TV.

Toby was speechless.

“Wow…” he said as he chewed his carrots and thought about this.

It’s a lot to process. For years “Stevie Wonder” was a simple swaying dance that made adults laugh. All of a sudden he was told that he was about to see THE REAL STEVIE WONDER. Akin to telling any 13 year old they were about to meet Justin Beiber, I would presume. No wonder the poor kid was speechless.

At last his voice came back and he asked the critical question that revealed to us just what was going on in his little brain,

“Mommy….will Stevie Wonder look like a CAT?”

I have to say, after all that build up (plus the 5 minutes it took to finish his carrots and race downstairs to the TV) the real Stevie Wonder would have been a TOTAL let down if he hadn’t appeared on a rising platform that miraculously ascended onto the stage.

“MOMMY!” He exclaimed excitedly, “HE CAME THROUGH THE STAGE!!!”

And so it turns out that even if he doesn’t look like a cat, Stevie Wonder is pretty special.

On Death and Dying

Knock on wood; we have never had to explain the concept of death to our inquisitive 3 year old. (Well, except for the ladybug incident…but that was an exceptional circumstance…) So what a shock when Toby and I were playing yesterday and he announced that one of his trucks was “dead”.

It was an intricate game that incorporated Lego, the horses from his farm animals, Tomas the Tank Engine and various cars and trucks in a repetitive story line in which the horses and cars woke up to find the blue truck missing. Turns out this truck had escaped in the night and was in the middle of the field. Broken. The cars would wake up the horses who would eat their breakfast of carrots and then rush off to enlist Thomas the Tank Engine (playing the role of mechanic) in the search and rescue of the blue truck.

Upon discovering the broken truck, Thomas would usually announce that it was missing a wheel, but on round 3 of the game Thomas was dismayed to announce to the horses that the truck was, in fact, DEAD.

For added flourish, Toby paused and raised his eyebrows at me after clinching the diagnosis.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I gave (what I thought was) an appropriate display of remorse and suggested that they take the truck back to the repair shop to be fixed.

“No, Mommy! He’s DEAD!”

(Apparently I had not demonstrated enough remorse to fully convey my understanding of the word “dead”)

“He’s SO MUCH DEAD that he can’t get UP!” Toby continued, “Mummy…he’s dead ALL OF THE TIME!”

Yikes! This kid means business. The truck was obviously dead. But how on earth did Toby understand what this meant? By the serious look on his face and his pessimism about the situation I got the sense that my 3 year old was starting to grasp the finality of death. Was he really ready to understand this concept? How far did I let this go? Would I really mess him up by pretending the mechanic could still fix his “dead” car or did the game stop here? Was a Lego graveyard and a funeral led by Sir Toppam Hat the next step?

Before I made up my mind which way to proceed, Toby took the game back into his own hands and decided for himself that Thomas would set to work on the futile situation. (I sense a true ER doctor lingering somewhere in there…)

Thankfully, it didn’t take Thomas long.

“AHA! I have figured it out! His battery is definitely DEAD. He needs a new battery!”

And suddenly it dawned on me. We HAD taught Toby about death. Repeatedly. As my cranky pregnant and later sleep deprived postpartum patience dwindled, the subject of my irritability was often whatever loud noise making plastic toy Toby would be playing with at the time. After he had put it aside I would covertly take the batteries out or turn the switch to “off” and then use the line “Toby I’m sorry, the battery is dead, the sound doesn’t work anymore - -you’ll have to play with it without sound for now.”

Little did I know I was simultaneously teaching him his first lesson on death and dying.

You’ll be happy to know that the blue truck, much like the ladybug, came back to life, thanks to the quick work of the horses, Thomas the tank Engine and a new battery. I let the situation satisfy him for now and will keep my fingers crossed that true death doesn’t cross his innocent life’s path for the next little while so he may be shielded just a little bit longer from the knowledge that batteries can’t fix everything.

Selective Breastfeeding

It has finally come – a glimmer of socialization with a touch of cleverness and Miss Mia has reached that dreaded stage where she has started noticing that things go on around her. As such, she no longer sleeps just anywhere. She also won’t eat if there is anything REMOTELY exciting going on. Things that meet her criteria include music, bright lights, anything and everything her loud mouth big brother does or says, conversations…the list goes on and on and gets more and more selective every day.

Needless to say, my repertoire of “activities to do while breastfeeding” is dwindling.

Today I was sitting in a quiet room with my computer shut and the lights on dim, hoping to give her a good feed when all of a sudden she PULLED off the breast and STARED at me before bursting into tears. I convinced her to go back on only to have this happen again a few seconds later. This time she didn’t cry but merely GLARED at me with a face that told me exactly just how PUT OUT she was by my watching her eat.

“MIA.” I said exasperatedly, “This is how it works. I can’t leave while you feed – it’s a packaged deal!”

What a shock – this reasoning didn’t work with my daughter. Apparently she no longer wants an audience at her breastfeeding sessions.

And so if you see me sitting alone in a dark, quiet room with a blanket over my head, you’ll know what I’m doing.

Oh, the things we do for our children!

Crushing a Princess' Dream

Toby has had quite a run of princess situations lately. Recently there was another theme week at daycare that revolved around princesses, and then there was the Royal Wedding, which he watched both at home AND at daycare. So no wonder he announced to me the other day that when he grows up he wants to be a princess.

I believe very strongly in allowing my kids to follow WHATEVER path they choose so long as they are passionate about what they do. When Toby decided he wanted to be an astronaut so he could go to the moon I said nothing of the high IQ, financial implications and years and years of schooling it would involve; I bit my mommy tongue and told him that sounded like a great plan.

But a PRINCESS? At what point does the very practical point – that being the fact that he is MALE – negate this option?

The first time it came up I said nothing.

The second time it came up I nodded and smiled.

Yesterday, though, perhaps having sensed my skepticism, he clarified to me, “Mommy, when I grow up FIRST I’m going to become a woman and THEN I’m going to be a princess? And you know what? I’m going to wear a PURPLE DRESS.”

As if the fact that it will be a PURPLE dress will somehow soften the blow of the sex change that took place in the previous sentence.

Kids have a way of putting our blanket statements to a test. Would it REALLY scar him if I told him that he couldn’t become a woman? What is the likelihood that years from now he’ll find himself in a purple dress lying on the couch of his shrink’s office saying in his estrogen-induced-high-pitched-female-voice “If only my mom had just been more open minded and not crushed my dreams of becoming Tobina at the age of 3, I would never have had such a tough life.”

By the time I had analyzed this and weighed the odds enough to feel confident in my decision to raise the sensible point to him he had moved on and was busy smashing his train track apart.

Perhaps some conversations are better left unsaid…

The Great Deer Incident of 2010

One night, a long time ago, I hit a deer on my way home from work. Toby was in bed already but the next morning I showed him my severely dented car before it went off to the mechanics to get fixed.

Little did I know it would soon become his FAVOURITE story.

ANY chance he gets, Toby reminds, questions and BUGS me about this incident. It initially came up a few months ago after having to have a conversation about seatbelts. I had explained to him that being buckled into his carseat was the equivalent of how adults have to wear seatbelts; to keep us safe in case of an accident.

“Oooh” he said knowingly, “Like when you hit that MOOSE, Mommy?”

I clarified that it had not, in fact, been a moose, but a deer.

But WHY had I hit that deer? (Because it had jumped in front of my car). And WHAT had it done to the car? (Schmucked it.) And WHAT had happened to the deer? (It flew into the air) and WHERE had I sent my car? (To the mechanics be fixed).

For days after my innocent ”seatbelt lesson” I was plagued with questions about The Great Deer Mishap.

This rapid fire questioning continued for days and then (FINALLY) he let it go.

Until this week.

As he was rounding my car to get into his side he noticed my little “deer alert” things that I bought for $2 at Dollorama. Apparently they make some sort of sound that humans can’t hear but somehow warn deer in particular (according to the package) that you’re coming. I thought for $2 it was worth a shot. Given the bag of worms it then opened up, I’m starting to rethink my purchase. I braced myself and then explained to him what they were.

Toby looked at me very seriously.

“Is this so you don’t hit any more DEERS, Mommy?” (Thank heavens he’d at least stopped referring to them as MOOSE.)

“Yes.”

“Cause last day when you hit a deer you hurt your car?”

“Yes”

“Did you hit the FRONT of your car?”

“Yes”

“Did it hurt the STEERING WHEEL?”

“No”

“And then you had to have a WHITE car while they fixed your BLUE car?”

I paused after this question and searched in the depths of my pre-Mia memory for the colour of the rental car and concluded that it had, in fact, been white. How does he REMEMBER these things?

I will spare you any further details but suffice it to say that my son continually demonstrates himself to be a perfect blend of my husband and myself; lecturing, ruminating and obsessing over a minor car mishap (like his dad) but adding the odd Moose-like-flare for exaggeration just to prove he’s got a little of me in him, too.

My Mother's Day Gift

About a month ago, after a seemingly unimportant trip into town, Rob arrived home looking rather smug. It wasn’t long before he divulged the secret behind his smugness; he had bought me a mother’s day present.

I wasn’t sure HOW to respond to his triumphant confession at first. Rob is not a huge gift giver. He’s also not prone to secrecy. But his mother has taught him well, and he has always made an effort to make me feel special on mother’s day. Maybe this time he had gone all out? I decided not to build this up too much and responded with an appropriate amount of gratitude and tried to let it go.

As the days passed by and mother’s day grew closer, Rob continued to mention this “gift” on numerous occasions. Sometimes as we sat peacefully in the hottub after the kids had gone to bed, he’d break the silence by voicing his thoughts aloud, “Did I mention that I bought you a mothers day present?” Othertimes it would come up when Toby mentioned that he was learning about mothers day at daycare,

“Toby,” Rob would say to him, “That’s great! And do you know what? I bought mommy a present for Mothers day which we can give it to her together.”

Despite my attempts not to read into things too much, I couldn’t help but be SLIGHTLY curious. I remembered a few years back mentioning to Rob that when our family was complete I’d like a piece of jewelry with my kids’ birthstones in it. Had he ACTUALLY remembered this?

I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. I know for myself that by the time Mother's day actually rolled around I was definitely eager to unveil this much-mentioned accomplishment of Rob’s.

I didn’t have to wait long. As I stood at the kitchen counter making my coffee I heard Rob and Toby coming upstairs with my gift. (Rob was urging Toby on to give it to me). I resisted the urge to turn around and look as Toby crept towards me, gift in hand. Finally I felt his little hand close around my fingers and I turned around and peeked.

After 31 days of built up anticipation, the triumphant gift was finally in my hands.

It was a frying pan.

The concept of twins

It was an exciting day at daycare today because it was one of Toby’s friends’ birthdays. As he excitedly announced this to me I realized it was one of the twins. Just as I was processing this he added, “And there were TWO Birthdays, Mommy!” and then named the other twin whose birthday it also was today.

“Toby,” I asked, “Do you know WHY they have the same birthday?”

Toby thought about this for a second, trying to put the obvious into words.

“Yes, Mommy.” He concluded, “It’s because they match.”

Mothers Day Flash Back

A year ago this weekend I made the discovery that I was pregnant. There wasn’t one sudden instant when I knew, but a very faint line on the Saturday morning test gave me a heads up, while Rob firmly concluded that it was negative and refused to give it a second thought. But I knew better and kept it as my little secret until a suitably dark enough line emerged on Monday morning, clinching the diagnosis for my skeptical husband.

Those two days of suspecting but not being able to share the news with my black and white husband (or anyone else for that matter) started the bond I now have with Mia. Whereas with Toby I couldn’t WAIT to share the news, this time I reveled in the secrecy of my pregnancy. From the very start Mia was all mine…I was excited, but also nervous. How would I manage life with two? How would Toby react? How could I possibly love another as much as I love him? Would I get my wish of having a daughter or be investing in new soccer cleats for myself so I could keep up with the testosterone in our house? And the biggest question of all - - what would I be doing this time next year?

What a joyous feeling to be on this end of the fence and to KNOW. I got my girl. Toby adores her. My heart has expanded appropriately (to put it mildly) to accommodate this new addition. And what does life look like today?

I contemplated this at 6:45 this morning. Mia had slept through the night, woken up smiling and had a great feed and I’d brought her into bed with us for a few moments of quiet before Toby got up. Rob and I were taking turns making her laugh.

I thought about the “me” of this time last year – excited, nervous, well rested, 10 pounds lighter and unaware of what laid ahead. And I felt this great surge of accomplishment, satisfaction and joy…And then Mia projectile vomited all over my face.

Chaos ensued; as I wiped my glasses and face off, Rob jumped up and sprang into laundry-action and somewhere from the depths of the basement I heard Toby start to cry.

And so my mother’s day conclusion is? Life is certainly unpredictable…and motherhood brings with it the greatest highs and the lowest of lows imaginable. But at the end of the day, it’s the greatest gift of all.

Life Lessons on Ladybugs

Toby was sitting at the counter this afternoon having his snack while I was making dinner when all of a sudden he spied a lady bug on the ground. He quickly got down and started to play with it excitedly. I wasn't pay much attention because I was busy creating kid friendly supper food (NO EASY FEAT!) when he climbed back up on his stool and announced matter-of-factly, “Well THAT lady bug isn’t going to fly again!” and returned to his snack. He then finished it up with, “Yup. He’s gone and got DEAD, that ladybug.” And took a deep satisfied gulp of his juice.

Well THAT got my attention. I know EXACTLY what it means when kids develop a love of torturing animals and this was NOT a behaviour I had either anticipated or would tolerate. But I gave my son the benefit of the doubt by gingerly asking how this lady bug had “gotten” dead.

“OH.” He said coldly, “I did it to him.”

Rob took one look at my panic-stricken face and reassured me that he IS only 3.

I wasn’t reassured.

I raced over to where the poor ladybug lay on the floor and examined him.

“Oh, DEAR, Toby!” I tried to enlist his empathy, “The POOR LADYBUG!”

Toby put his juice down to come over and look. When he was down on the floor with me and making eye contact I asked him very seriously why he had hurt the ladybug.

Apparently it was a BAD ladybug because it had not wanted to get up on Toby’s finger. So it got squished.

I had hoped to garner SOME emotion from Toby as I taught him that it’s not nice to hurt ANYTHING – animal, insect or person – no matter what they’ve done to you. (Including something as appalling as refusing to get on your finger…) I used an example of how he felt when he got hurt. I think he understood, but I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t elicited even a remorseful LOOK from the boy.

My skepticism was further reinforced when he got back up on his chair and promptly burst into tears because he had spilled his orange juice on his new pirate placemat. (Aha! So you DO have feelings...)

But not to worry - - a few minutes later the miracle of Easter occurred on our kitchen floor and that very same ladybug was seen scurrying across the floor again. I pointed this out to Toby excitedly and he very calmly got down onto the floor to inspect the resurrection.

I am relieved to report that my life lesson from the floor of the kitchen DID in fact take; as he watched the Jesus Christ of Ladybugs frantically scurry away from him I overheard him whisper, “Don’t worry, Ladybug. This time I’m not going to squish you.”

I think we’re making progress.