The Rastafarian Rascal

Over the past few days (almost a week now) I have been wondering what is going on with Mia’s hair. She was born a straight haired brunette but as her feistiness has emerged so too have the curls in her hair. This week, however, her hair took on a life of its own. She would awake from her nap rosy cheeks and smiley face with her hair so completely askew I wondered if she’d been break dancing on her face the whole time. Sometimes after some light play outside (in this outrageous March humidity) the frizziness would reach epic proportions. Even barrettes and hair elastics couldn’t contain it; they merely accentuated the erraticness.

What had happened to straight lace brown?

And then I looked in the mirror.

Oh, my poor Mia.

You may be a menace. You may not have an ounce of good intentions in your sweet little bones. But you have the poor unfortunate hair genes of your mother.

May your life be continually blessed but non-humid living conditions, an expensive flat iron and copious anti-frizz beauty products to tame the chaos I have bestowed upon you.

(But at least you don’t have your father's cowlicks…)

A Tale of Two Children

I realize it has been a while between posts; part of that is the fact that nothing nearly as exciting as what happened to me on Valentines day has come close to inspiring another blog post and part of that is just life with two kids. Striking a work life balance with both Rob and I working propels time forward with such momentum I was hardly surprised at all by the warm weather this week; life is going at such a pace I am fully expecting to wake up one morning and find it is Christmas again.

Being behind in blogging means that sitting down to write leaves me jumbled with pieces of stories and anecdotes that I partially forget and are partially obsolete. For example, the fact that my oh-so-serious Mia started cracking a smile every time she climbed little stepstool in front of the sink in our bathroom is obscured by the fact that she now RACES up the step stool, grins emphatically and cackles with delight before grabbing my hemorrhoid ointment and leaping down to the floor and racing out of the room at full steam.

(This is a photo of Mia standing at the sink looking for trouble...)

What is interesting NOW about Mia is that she is a bugger.

I have discovered, as Mia’s devilish personality unfolds, that Toby is my angel child and Mia is my spirited one. I’m sure these titles will change back and forth as they grow up, but right now the halo goes to Toby and the red pointy ears and pitchfork CLEARLY belongs to Mia.

Toby loves to please; he looks for attention by scoring points in imaginary soccer and hockey games and delights in eating all of his salad and putting his clothes on all by himself.

Mia, on the other hand, tears the grates out of the floor, throws the CDS off the rack and pulls her brothers hair at every opportunity. She cackles with delight as she launches various parts of her dinner onto the floor and then grins at you when you try to discipline her. Trying to teach her right from wrong is like trying to rationalize with someone who is stoned out of their minds; eventually, after a few minutes of confused staring she bursts out laughing and does (insert bad behaviour) again before you can stop wagging your finger at her.

Trying to wean the devil down to one nap has been particularly grueling. Combine instinctively cheeky behaviour with sleep deprivation and you’ve got Henry World War III on your hands. THANK GOD she’s cute. But poor Toby, our little boy who strives to be good, is not only baffled, but also heartbroken by the repeated lessons in behaviour we so cruelly (and as of yet ineffectively) enforce.

Last night, after singing Toby his good night song, I lay in bed with him for a second, enjoying the quiet peacefulness of his deep breathing, when he confessed to me in his pre-sleep-grogginess,

“Mommy…I really don’t like it when Mia gets into trouble…”

I asked him why not and his answer was both matter-of-fact and completely honest,

“Because I love her SO much, that’s why”

If Toby had any ounce of Mia-ness to him I would have thought he’d staged it to secure his spot as best behaved kid of the day. Note to self: something to watch for when Mia turns 4.

I expect this time next week it may all change, but until then I am reveling in the sweetness of my little boy and increasingly comedic wickedness of my 14 month old. I will keep you all posted…

(Toby and Mommy smiling - Mia, about 2 seconds before she wriggled out of my arms and almost drowned)