THe Name Change

You may have noticed that the object of Toby’s affection’s name has suddenly changed. That’s because I have found this child/predicament WAAAAAY too entertaining to omit from Toby’s blog. I also have an uber-practical husband who ruthlessly pointed out to me, after reading my last “un-edited” blog entry, that, although it was funny, I would probably be pillaged, sued and burned at the stake for using the REAL NAME of this unsuspecting 2.5 year old in such an oh-so public (that’s referring to all 5 of you who read my blog) venue.

I hereby Christen you, love-of-my-19-month-old’s-life-and-crazy-day-care-chick-who-likes-to-eat-markers : LAYLA.

Layla

After much anticipation and a great deal of build up I finally met Layla today.

We walked into daycare and as all of the other 18 month olds rebounded into the arms of their parents in heartbreaking-I-had-such-a-great-weekend-I-don’t-want-it-to-be-Monday-already-please-don’t-leave-me sobs, Toby leaped into the room and bounced over to meet a little girl whom he IMMEDIATELY introduced to me as Layla.

“Layla! Mommy - -Lay-LA!” he repeated with his finger about a millimeter from her face. The kid is NOT subtle.

As any good mother would do when meeting the love of their son’s life, I knelt down and smiled at my competition.

“Hello! Is your name Layla?” I asked sweetly.

She said nothing, so again, I asked,

“What’s YOUR name?”

Not. Even. A. Smile.

Oh come ON, kid. Have your parents taught you NOTHING about INLAWS?

I’d like to give this little girl the benefit of the doubt – but not only was she NOT blonde (she was brunette), but she had NONE of the attributes I had imagined would be required by my golden boy’s standards; smile included. And I don’t know if I’d say she’s 3. More like 2 and a half.

My skepticism about this Layla chick were even further reinforced as we left daycare today, my exhausted son trailing behind me as I tried to ignore his lamenting sadness about leaving “Laaaayyyyylaaa…”. On our way out we happened to run into one of the other daycare workers and I explained (in case she found his incessant Layla-ing creepy) that he “talks about Layla a lot”.

She snorted and chuckled and then with a wink said, “I’m not surprised!”

Good gracious, and here I was worried about him catching swine flu at daycare- - now here we are facing an even more potentially disastrous predicament; Layla….

How to get Daddy's attention

Rob went downstairs this morning to get something from the basement. Toby quickly ran to the top of the stairs and very sweetly called down for him,

“Daaaa-daaa!...”

he paused a few seconds before trying again,

“Daaaa-dddyyyyyy!….”

Finally he’d had enough of not getting a response and in as loud a voice he could muster yelled down the stairs,

“ROOOOOOOB!!!!!!!!”

He knows how to get our attention.

The Other Woman..

I’ve been replaced.

Before this morning, there were only 5 people in the world that Toby would mention without provocation from us ; Mommy, Daddy, Gaga, Bapa, and Wee wee. He will repeat people’s names to us if we ask about them - - but doesn’t usually INITIATE conversation about them…that is, until this morning when he woke up and immediately asked for “LAYLA"

LAYLA?!!?!

I ignored his request the first time thinking he must have wanted a book or something strange for breakfast, but still he persisted. Finally, I clued into the fact that Lola was someone at daycare. (Or some THING as we have learned after the Bag-bat incident…) I tried other words that started with L like Lunch or Laura…nope, it was only LAYLA he wanted, or “Leeeeeeeyyy-Lah!” as he would say it in his soft, dreamy eyed, long drawn out way…

So when I dropped him off this morning I casually asked Nicole (his new daycare mom) if they happened to have a Leyla at their daycare.

It seems they do. Not only is her name Layla, but, according to Nicole, she is VERY cute, blonde and "Quite a bit older" than him. (I think she’s 3)

So there you have it; only three weeks in and already I’ve been usurped by a hot broad named Layla.

National Punctuation Day!

Today is National Punctuation Day. They have a day for EVERYTHING! But this is definitely a GOOD one….

There’s an article on page A19 of The Star that MAY have been written by a long lost Robinson relative of ours…based SOLELY on our similarly dramatic reaction to misplaced apostrophes that can ONLY be explained either by genetics or a close proximity to my mother. In his article he references a website Apostropheabuse.com. As someone who has been INFUSED with the HORRORS of bad grammar my entire life, just perusing the signs on the website made me cringe. And the more I saw the more visceral the reaction – something parallel to what dogs must sense when children release balloons in slow agonizingly high pitched squeaks of rubber on rubber air leakage….

I know, I know, I shouldn’t point the finger. You are all well aware of my own grammatical deficiencies - in particular, the confusion over its vs it’s. For some reason, my apostrophe alarm neglects all words that start with “it”. BELIEVE ME, it is not something that passes through my mother’s grammatical security system unnoticed. In fact, sometimes I throw in the odd misspelled “its” just to make sure she’s still alive and reading my blog.

So maybe I’m not one to talk. But I think that Punctuation Day is a fine way for the grammatical neurotics (or the unfortunate children of such) to channel their energy in more constructive way’s.

(I did that on purpose – if you didn’t catch it, please check out www.apostropheabuse.com if you STILL don’t get it…well, perhaps a date with my mother is in order?)

One more strike against Technology

I called my mother today to make arrangements for their visit tomorrow. She was out so I got my dad, who was BESIDE himself with boredom.

At first I tried to rationalize with him that, although he was home alone this afternoon, mom would be home this evening and then TOMORROW they were coming to see me.

THAT didn’t work. He was bored NOW and not only was he bored, he was good old tug-on-the-heartstrings-LONELY.

So I suggested he see his friend Ed. Ed, as in the saintly man who lives around the corner and LOVES visiting dad and can spend hours sipping coffee and listening to his same stories over and over again without complaints.

“ED!!?!?” Dad grumpily exclaimed, “I haven’t talked to Ed in MONTHS!”
“Well, all the more reason to call him!”
“Bah - -I don’t have TIME. I have too many little things to do…”

(I guess he was forgetting his claim of boredom from 30 seconds ago…)

“What do you have to do today?”

“Well, I’m trying to call my old friend Wally London. We played football together in the 1940s.”

“Well that’s great! You SHOULD call him”

“I already tried once this morning and….well….I don’t know what happened…he picked up and said he was UNAVAILABLE at the moment and wanted me to leave a message. Isn’t that STUPID?”

“No Dad, that’s called an answering machine”

(Dad was too far into his rant to hear my last statement)

“…I mean what does he mean by unavailable…I keep HEARING that all the TIME when I call people”

“DAD!” I interrupted, “It’s called an ANSWERING MACHINE”

“Oh….WELL…I think it’s ANNOYING.”

I pointed out to him that he was really making himself seem OLD and CRANKY, not knowing what an ANSWERING machine was. He thought about this for a minute before breaking into a chuckle..

“Yes, well…I suppose I am…”

Sometimes Life is just CONFUSING

Today was a confusing name day for Toby. I know that because I can hear him right now, recapping his day out loud for me from his crib as he tries to get it all sorted in his head before he goes to sleep.

All weekend I’d been gearing him up for a visit from Ga-ga and Ba-pah (Grandma and Grandpa Henry). Only THIS Grandma and Grandpa were coming from Chatham and, although he loves them dearly, were NOT the Gaga and Ba-pah he was expecting. He was quite excited to see them nonetheless and was even MORE excited to see that they had brought his 3 year old cousin Mikella (Ka-ka) with them.

The downside to THIS set of Grandparents visiting is that they do not come with a dog. Specifically, my mother’s dog, Fiddie (Wee-wee).

So not only did he have Ga-ga and Ba-pah and Ka-ka and no Wee-wee to contend with, but we complicated things further by taking him for a hike with my friends Gwen and Katie and their dogs Charlie (Cha) and Brodie (Bro-bo). A couple of times on the hike he looked at the dogs and then asked about “Wee Wee?” (Which, previous to this hike, was the only dog in the WORLD to him). And asking about Wee-wee obviously got him thinking because a few minutes later he would inevitably start asking about Ga-ga and Ba-pah and where THEY were this weekend.

SO tonight, in his crib, I hear him trying to sort through these TWO sets of grandparents and THREE dogs.

It went something like this :

“Mama…dada…Gaga? Ba-pah! Ka-ka! Wee wee? Bro-bo…Cha…Ma-ma…WeeWee? Ga-ga? Ba-pah?….Ka-ka! Dada…Gaga?...Mama…Wee wee?”

The nice thing was that it always came back to Mama and Dada. We’re obviously the pillars of strength and consistency in his fast paced–ever-changing-world. If only for the fact that there is only ONE of each of us and we don’t own a dog.

Mount Snot

Lesson #1 from daycare – kids get sick. We had about 1 successful no-tears day at daycare before the runny nose and intermittent fevers started. The rule at daycare is that runny noses are OK but fevers are not. So Rob and I find ourselves frantically checking his temperature three or four times a day and coming up with nightly contingency plans for who or how we will stay home with him should the fever spike...

So far this is the tally : 1 day off, 1 early pick up, 1 trip to the ER, 1 dose of steroids, 3 sleep ins and 21 anxious and fitful sleeps for mom and dad. Thank goodness for grandparents. My mom seems to have this incredible ability perform a last minute warp to her busy schedule that allows her to come up and babysit on a whim. I think it’s a grandparent thing.

This morning when I went in to get him I did my usual shot out to whoever the celestial being of children’s health is, and apprehensively went in his room. He was smiling up at me as two torrential downpours of green snotty framed his grin.

Seriously –I have NEVER in my LIFE been witness to such an impressive display of snot. It was like Mount Vesuvius erupting green molten sputum from the depths of his brain. And whenever he breathed, laughed or coughed, a snotty bubble display showered any and all neighbouring THINGS. Including his bear, his clothes, his food and, of course…Mommy.

So when I dropped him off (late) today, I had a chat with his daycare worker about Mount Snot and without even answering me she pointed to the rest of the 18 month olds who were also running around spewing the lovely liquid out of THEIR nasal passages as well.

Lesson #2 from day care : your child is never the only one.

BUT, as we have learned, Toby always likes to do it to the EXTREME and with his own little flourish. And as I left the daycare this morning I felt a little twinge of satisfaction that Toby’s snot was still the MOST green and the most PROLIFIC of the bunch.

The marvels of modern technology

I was reminded the other day why modern technology and people born in the 1920’s don’t mix. It’s an old story, but a good one, so I thought I’d share it…

There are 4 facts that you need to know in order for this story to make sense.

1. My last name is BOYD. I didn’t change it. Not because I don’t think the idea of completely obliterating my previous existence with a pile of government forms isn’t TERRIBLY romantic….it was just SO much easier NOT to.

2. Rob’s last name is HENRY.

3. When we moved to Collingwood we listed our phone number as Henry-Boyd because it made it just a WEE bit more difficult for patients to track me down, if only for the fact that way we’d be listed in the H’s instead of the B’s.

4. My dad’s father’s name was Henry.

So a few years ago we moved into our lovely house in Collingwood, called up Bell, got our phone connected and called up my dad on a casual Saturday afternoon just to chat.

My dad almost fell off his chair.

In fact, I think maybe he DID fall off his chair.

Right- - I forgot fact #5...my parents have caller ID.

Which my dad read before answering the phone in an unusually apprehensive whisper…

“Helllloooooooooo?”

(Fact #6 : My grandfather is dead. And has been since 1978.)

Oblivious to the fact that my dad was thinking he was having a near death encounter with the ghost of his dead father, I carried on in my usual conversational style with him before I was rudely cut off by the sudden return of his voice,

“WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE ARE YOU CALLING ME FROM!?!?!?”

It took me a little while to clue in, but finally I did, and I quickly adopted a softer approach...

“Dad?...”

“Lyssie?...”

“Yes, dad, it’s me…I’m calling you from my house…everything is OK.”

I won’t pretend that the explanation can be contained in a single blog entry. Or that it came easily. But EVENTUALLY I managed to convince my aging father that I was NOT the reincarnated ghost of his dead father calling him from beyond the grave. I ALSO managed to convince him that EVERY call comes with a “caller ID” and that, in SOME circumstances it is both useful and no-quite-so-scary. After some time, he even began to answer the phone again.

Morning Phone Calls

There is nothing sweeter than being privy to the immeasurable bond that my husband has with our amazing child…..

As much as I have complained about the sudden change in routine for ME, I think Rob’s return to work has affected me the least. Poor Rob has now gone from spending every waking moment with Toby to a class of 13 year olds and poor Toby has gone from spending every waking moment with his Dada to the day care ladies, Nora, Ruth and Emma and a multitude of other kids.

He loves daycare, now, and he loves Nora and asks about her on weekends, but by FAR the person he asks about the most his wonderful Daddy.

Every morning when I go to get him up I am met by a big grin and an immediate accusation, “DADA!!!?!?!” As if I have single handedly banished him from Toby’s morning life. Oh, no, little guy, my life as well would be MUCH EASIER if Dada were around in the mornings. But still the question persists. As I get him out of his sleep sac, “Dada?” and as I change his diaper, “Dada….” and as I make him breakfast he wanders around the house calling, “Dada!...Dada?”

It is quite heartbreaking, despite the fact that I know that Dada is merely doing his job and that Toby will be reunited with him in 8 hours or so….The other morning I just couldn’t stand it so I came up with the idea to call Dada on his cell phone (he was on his way to work- -it’s a 40 minute drive…)

So I called up my uber-practical-don’t-call-my-cell-phone-unless-your-water-has-broken-or-someone-is-dying husband (no, I’m NOT pregnant again, that rule comes from a time…about 18 months ago…). I quickly reassured him that the house had NOT in fact burned down and that the child WAS still alive but that we both missed him SO MUCH that we just had to call and say good morning.

He paused.

And then I put the phone up to Toby’s ear. I heard Rob’s cheerful greeting and a HUGE smile crossed Toby’s face. He looked up at me and thanked me with a satisfied whisper, “….dada…” before shoving his cheek back into the receiver. “MORE!” he said and Rob and Toby engaged is the most heartwarming conversation over the phone. It was pretty one sided as Toby has fairly selective language at the best of times. But I could see the grin and hear the delight in Rob’s voice every time Toby marveled over “dada’s” presence and repeatedly asked for “more.”

The next morning it wasn’t US that called, but Rob.

“Oh, hi, nothing wrong, I was just checking in….is Toby up yet?”

And so we have a NEW morning routine….

Our Morning Routine

Since Rob has gone back to school and Toby has started daycare, I have noticed a dramatic CHANGE in my usual morning routine.

Rob leaves before I get up. Or Toby gets up. Or even the SUN gets up. Which is, in my opinion, WAAAY too early. But he’s a morning person so he does it cheerfully. And hey, if you’re going to be woken up by SOMETHING it’s nice that it’s a happy husband’s whistles than a cranky moan. Which is the way I usually wake up…

The moan escapes my lips the moment my eyes open and I realize that :
a) it’s morning
b) the kid is awake and banging on his crib to get up
and
c) I have all of 2 minutes to get myself up, showered, dressed and looking presentable before he discovers how to climb out of his crib and comes to get me himself.

Once I am 100% ready to go, I get him up and the fun begins. 100% ready to go meaning whatever I happen to get accomplished in my 2 minutes of morning solitude….

I sometimes wonder how I was ever LATE before I had a kid. I mean, seriously, what is there to make you late when it’s just YOU? I don’t cry and kick my legs and wiggle my bum when I try to get my underwear on. And I don’t run around the house in circles, naked, trying to engage someone in a game of tag before putting on my clothes in the morning. (Ohhhhh no…the days of that are LOOOOONG gone…). And I don’t spill my breakfast over my belly and then get upset and smear it into my hair and cry until the snot drips down into my mouth and yoghurt. And I don’t require a thick application of suntan lotion on all 4 of my fast moving extremeties before going off to work for the day. And, perhaps most importantly and the current BAIN of my existence, I don’t come with an automatic-at-all-times-HAT requirement.

Mornings at our place take great SKILL and EFFICIENCY. By 8:15 when I leave the house, and everyone else in the world is probably sipping coffee while reading their newspaper, I can quietly gloat to myself about my sense of accomplishment for the day.

So this morning, when I realized that I had managed to get myself AND the kid dressed, cleaned, diapered, suntan-lotioned, fed, caffeinated and ready to go (hat and all), I was excited. And when I realized that I had done ALL of that WITHOUT getting yoghurt, snot, coffee OR suntan lotion on myself I got even MORE excited. And when I realized I had done ALL of that and it was only 8:14am ….I got cocky. And that’s when I made my fatal mistake.

I decided to go and brush my teeth.

I blame it on a lack of concentration. And I know it doesn’t take MUCH concentration to brush your teeth. But this last minute tooth brushing occurred in the context of a dressed-fed-suntanlotion-ed-hat-wearing-ready-for-daycare-18-month-old who was hopping from foot to foot, tugging on my pants while yelling “MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!” at a cacophonous rate.

Have YOU ever tried to do anything while someone stood beside you and yelled your name on repeat at ear splitting decibles?

In any case, I lost my concentration and forgot to close my mouth and drooled my mouthful of toothpaste all…..down…my…..clean ….blouse…..

No gloating today!

Cucumber Slices and Forks

Every day at daycare Toby gets a “progress report” that tells us what he’s been up to that day, how long he napped, what he ate for lunch and what sort of things they found in his diaper. As someone who has spent the last 18 months fussing about the above things in DETAIL, it’s something I look forward to reading every day.
Sometimes I think they write it fairly generically - -like, for example, when they say he had pasta, yoghurt and CUCUMBER SLICES for lunch, I’m always a little skeptical. Unless they serve some sort of magical cucumber slices that look, taste and smell like chocolate; my son has never let me even put a cucumber slice up to his LIPS let alone CONSUME one. They have about a 15 millisecond survival time on his plate before they are thrown onto the floor with the usually verbose explanation, “NO NO NO NO!!!” accompanied by a look of utter DISGUST and DISAPPOINTMENT at me.

The first time I read about the horrendous CUCUMBER SLICE as part of his meal I almost marched right back in there to clarify and ask what magical cucumber they had come from OR offer some useful strategies to get flying cucumber bits out of the daycare worker’s hair… But when I thought about it some more I came to the conclusion that they were probably just somewhere in his vicinity. And they seem to think he’s a perfect ANGEL so far (?) so I don’t want to crush their delusions JUST yet….

So imagine my surprise yesterday when his progress report SPECIFICALLY mentioned lunch time and how he had “asked for a fork.” With an exclamation mark. And a smiley face.

“Toby asked for a FORK! ☺ “

Random.

Until I thought about it.

And how ODD it would be if you were sitting there peacefully serving 10 toddlers lunch and one of them decided to announce, “FORK! FORK! FORK!” in a somewhat slurred attempt at the English language.

I wonder how long it took them to realize he WASN’T in fact swearing at them. I hope it made their day as much as the image of it made mine!