Flora to Cinder: Ex-boyfriend means your friend used to be a boy, but now he’s a girl.
Baby Seductor
Flora: And here is Ender, adored by all lady babies across Canada.
Whispering Death Rainbow
Cinder: So now everyone choose a name for your dragon, and its powers.
Flora: I know, I know, Whispering Rainbow.
K: That’s a pretty good name, but it needs something… Like Death. Whispering Death Rainbow.
Flora: Ok, that works, Whispering Death Rainbow.
Why Ender’s Ender
Ender turned one today, and never was a first birthday celebrated with more enthusiasm. Austen and Flora ooo-ed, aaa-ed and crooned over their baby brother all day long. All week long. All month long—all year long. They really are amazing, amazing, loving siblings.
Now, you’ve probably noticed Ender is not an ordinary baby. I never thought either Austen or Flora was a high-maintenance, high-needs baby—one of my core parenting beliefs is that babies cry to communicate, and need to be held, carried, cuddled and adored as much as is possible. Both Austen and Flora were fairly content babies. Ender, during his first year, has been a ridiculously happy baby. He’s happy when he wakes up. He’s happy when he gets tired and sleepy. He’s even mostly happy when he’s sick. He smiles and laughs and ga-ga-ga-s at everyone. He’s singlehandedly responsible for a huge baby explosion in Calgary and environs in the summer and fall of 2010. People would hold him, fall in love hopelessly, and go and make one of their own.
Why is Ender this little ray of (mischevious) sunshine? One astounded person—who apparently spent very little time paying attention to what was going in my life during this pregnancy!–told me it must be because I was so cheerful and happy when he was in utero. Ha! The best thing I can say about my mood for all but the two middle, pain-light months of the ordeal was that most of the time I succeeded in not inflicting too much of it onto the rest of my family. Ender certainly does not reflect my mental state during his first months of creation.
But he does reflect this: most mornings, when he wakes up, he is next to at least one beating heart, and frequently three or our. When he opens his eyes, and looks around, there are people who love him everywhere—not just mom, not just dad, but a Austen and a Flora, and those two often faster and more responsive to the baby’s wake up gurgle than the parents. He has lived, from his first day outside the womb, surrounded by people who love him. And his nuclear family is just the beginning. He knows his neighbours, and has been loved and cared for by them since he was born. And not just occasionally: they are always in and our of our house and we in and our of theirs. He’s fallen asleep in Lisa’s arms and on Janine’s knee. He’s been rocked to sleep by Paul, fed by Sabina, chased around the playground by Jen and Sara. All of our children have been loved and spoiled by their grandparents, but the relationships between the grandparents and the children took time to build. Ender inherits all of them, all seven years of rituals, games, and comfort. He doesn’t have to get to know certain people: he picks up on Austen and Flora’s cues and accepts them. They love and trust, he cares and trusts.
Happy birthday my precious third miracle. I’m so very, very, very happy you decided to join our family. You complete us, and you make us better. We love you.
September 2010 Post-Mortem
“Any establishment that has a dead mouse hanging on a string as part of its decor is a loony bin.”
Chester the Cat, in James Howe’s Howliday Inn, a follow up to Bunnicula
Austen and Flora were obsessed with the Bunnicula books throughout the summer. It seems a fitting beginning to September, the month during which we went mad. Well, the madness occurred earlier, when we planned what we were going to do in September. Which was: 1) finish all for the month work by September 9th (ha!), 2) drive to Manitoba for Sean’s cousin wedding for September 11, 3) continue on to the grandparents’ Otter Falls cabin in Whiteshell Provincial Park and spend a week there, 4) deposit me and Ender at the Winnipeg airport on September 18 for a flight to Calgary while Austen, Flora and Sean returned to the cabin for a few days, 5) while Ender, Dziadzia and and I fly out to Poland on September 19 for my cousin Agnieszka’s wedding (not to be confused with my sister-in-law Agnieszka’s wedding, which took place in Poland in June of 2009—Sean’s right, there might only be five female Polish names…), not to return until September 29, while 6) Sean, Austen and Flora would drive back to Calgary by themselves, just in time for Sean to do some video shoots on September 24.
We did it all, and most of it was fun. At some point, when most of my family is senile or dead, I’ll turn my various trips to Poland into novels or scripts. In the meantime, all I can say: there was a wedding. Fun was had. We came back in one piece. Well, three pieces, I suppose, as there were three of us. Ender learned to walk on his mother’s native soil, and danced at his first wedding aged 11 months and 10 days. And Austen and Flora had their first ever stretch of time without mom.
Not that Sean didn’t appreciate me before—but man, oh, man, was I ever appreciated and adulated all of October.
Leaving The Bear Cubs
I’m cuddled in bed with Flora on one side, Cinder on the other, and Ender on the belly, reading Horrible Science, when suddenly, Flora turns up her face and says, “I still haven’t decided if I can forgive you for leaving us for 10 whole days.” I shower her face with kisses. “If you left for three weeks,” she says, “I’d definitely never forgive you.” And tears. “I love you so much mommy, and you’re always with me. How will I sleep without you?”
We talk. We make promises that I will call every day, that we will Skype. Sean sits on the side of the bed and reminds her that Daddy and Cinder will be with her. And first, Grandma and Grandpa will be here too, and then they will drive back to Calgary, and Nana will be there, and Babi and Dziadzia… She nuzzles into my armpit. Soothed, but not relieved; resigned but not consoled.
I’ve never been away from my kids for 10 days. Not for a week. Once for three days, once for two. And I’m struck, suddenly,
Black Bear mother and cubs in den,, hibernating (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
by what a rare thing that is these days.
It makes me sad… then, overwhelmingly, incredibly happy. Sad that it’s a rare thing—that between broken marriages, shared holidays, demanding jobs and the general whacky scheduling that defines our culture what my kids take for granted, having both of their parents present in their lives most of the time is a rarity for most children. And outrageously happy that this rare thing is true for my children, that it is their “normal,” that they take it for granted—that they don’t have a sense that they are lucky or unusual or privileged, but that they think this is the way things are and ought to be.
(When do I write? As almost always, when they are asleep, this time, uncharacteristically, before they wake. And this piece, which was to be much longer, ends here, interrupted by a hug—Cinder wandered out of bed, looked out the window at the blackbirds feeding en masse on the lawn, took a picture, climbed into my lap for a cuddle, asked where his siblings were—“They’re still sleeping, you’re the first one up today”—and went back to bed. But my train of thought is broken, I type out a couple of lame paragraphs that don’t follow through on the beginning, delete them. Just as well, here comes Flora, displacing the computer in my lap. She cuddles into me and starts singing the Transformers’ song. And now I hear Ender making “I’m about to wake up noises… the morning interlude is over.)
Living With a Biter
Flora: Ender, I am not a steak!
Loose Teeth, Loose Toddlers
Flora wants to announce that she has lost her first tooth, an event she has been eagerly awaiting ever since Austen lost his first tooth… more than three years ago. The tooth of course will be packaged for display in Flora’s Museum of Natural Mystery.
I would like to announce that Ender has officially transformed from a lump into a very competent crawler, climber and explorer. This means, among other things, that today, $5 worth of organic raspberries mushed into the floor, blue marker happy faces on fridge (please god, don’t let it be Sharpies) = price of getting anything done in the kitchen with him under foot.
A Peculiar Aroma
Cinder: Mom, do you smell a peculiar aroma?
Jane: No… why, should I?
C: Not even on my leg?
J: Your leg smells? Why?
C: Because I put perfume on it.
J: Why did you put perfume on your leg?
Cinder: [laughing and jumping away joyously]: BECAUSE… I’M… WEIRD!
You’ve Been Warned
Austen: Mom, remember how there were 17 kids at Flora’s birthday party? Well, there are only going to be 7 here today–and I have to warn you. It won’t be like Flora’s. … we’re all going to be hyper and it’ll probably feel like there are more than 17 kids here. Because we are going to form an army and take over the co-op.
Neighbours, take cover. Austen’s birthday party starts in five minutes.
Name That Scientist
“One day, on tearing off some bark, I saw two rare beetles and seized on in each hand; then I saw a third and new kind, which I could not bear to lose, so that I popped the one which I held in my right hand into my mouth. Alas, it ejected some intensely acrid fluid, which burnt my tongue so that I was forced to spit the beetle out, which was lost, as well as the third one.”
Gunpowder
Cinder: Mom, can K and I have some sugar? Don’t worry, we don’t want to eat it — we just want to make gunpowder.
Flora’s List
We learnt something a little terrifying today.
We visited Vancouver Island last month, and met a lovely unschooling family with three children, two boys aged 15 and 10, and a girl, Nibs to friends, Flora’s age. You’d think Flora and Nibs would click, and they certainly did enjoy playing with each other. But it was the 10-year-old brother who captured Flora’s heart. She impressed him too. He hospitably took both Austen and Flora to the playroom as soon as we arrived so they could check out his Lego collection. A while later he came down, “Gosh, Mom, that little girl is really intelligent,” he told his mother. “She knows all about Star Wars.”
Driving home today, in the middle of Calgary’s inevitable May snowstorm, Flora, out of the blue, announced, “I’m not quite sure who I’m going to marry yet.” This, incidentally, has been a question that’s been weighing heavily on her mind ever since she found out she couldn’t marry Austen. (“Yuck!” she said. “I am not mating with a stranger!” Good to hear, girl, good to hear.) Sean and I looked at each other, biting our lips. “But,” Flora continued, “K. is definitely on the top of my list. Because he knows all about Lego and Star Wars, and those are important qualities in a Daddy.” Pause. “And he has nice blond hair.” Pause. “So I’m not quite sure yet. But he’s at the top of my list, and I think he’ll be hard to beat.”
We didn’t laugh. But Sean did say, “Flora? You have a list?” To which she responded, “Of course, Daddy. Didn’t you?”
Internal Organs On The Ceiling
The heart and stomach still on ceiling. Lungs, intestines and brains have come down. So has the leech–watch out, Babi. It’s coming over on Friday.
Perhaps I should explain. Earlier this month, a momentous event in Austen and Flora’s homeschooling adventure took place: Babi smuggled across the American border two suitcases of Horrible Science and Horrible Histories magazines. OK, she didn’t exactly smuggle them: these are UK publications that are not available in Canada. But, Ray at Horrible Books in San Diego, California, periodically brings them in for US clients. Unfortunately, Ray’s reluctant to ship to Canada (he’s weird. It’s an American thing). But he’ll ship to New York and so, on her April trip to New York, instead of coming back with a suitcase full of Park Avenue goodies, Babi had to leave her undies behind in order to deliver 80 issues of Horrible Science and 80 issues of Horrible Histories to her grandchildren. What a good grandma. (I don’t think she really left her undies behind. I just put that in because it’s very late at night and I’m light-headed and delirious.)
The magazines came with all sorts of goodies, including rubber internal organs. It was just a matter of time before Austen and Flora would discover they attached to walls… and the ceiling…
Julie & Julia, Flora & Jane
Flora and I watched Julie & Julia together a few days ago: a monumental event. It was the first time my little girl and I watched a movie together that we both genuinely enjoyed (not that I loathe Zoboomafoo and The Wonder Pets, but I don’t choose to watch, if you grok my meaning). Moreover, it made us discover French cooking. The next day, we made Beef Bourginion. It was too die for. I got Julia Child books out of the library… we have plans to debone a duck and prepare it in pastry, just like in the movie… when Ender’s weaned.
Best Of Times, Worst Of Times
The best thing about unschooling is that yer kids spontaneously decide to spend two hours on their “sick” Sunday afternoon doing math. The worst thing about unschooling is that I then have to spend two hours of my “sick” Sunday afternoon with alien addition, slimy substraction, piffy patterns and monstrous multiplication… ;P I am now going to make them play video games.
The Most Important Word
Cinder: Ender, I’m going to teach you how to spell your first word. It’s the most important word for a baby to know. Ready? The first letter is B. You might think I’m spelling bum or barf, but no. I’ll teach you those later. B-O-O. No, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not Booger. Ok, where were we? B-O-O… and B. B-O-O-B. See? Isn’t that the most important word for a baby to know? I’ll teach you Booger tomorrow.
Nipple Malaria
Cinder: I just tested, and Ender the baby has an advanced case of nipple malaria. Flora–go get Mom! This is a disease that’s very common to babies and there is only one known cure!
P.S. Remember what I said about not remembering November? Ditto for December. Thank goodness Sean took lots of pictures and videos. I can look at them and say, hey, that’s what we did. Cool.
November? What November?
How you know I had a baby in October: I don’t remember November. Apparently, we went to a few homeschool days and even joined a craft co-op. I filed my first post-baby story on November 9―just a 900 word, no-interview column―and started interviewing for my first real story in the last week of November―talking with the CEO of Deloitte’s on November 22nd while breastfeeding Ender, Austen and Flora playing with their trains underfoot. Somewhere in the middle of all that, my aunt arrived from Poland and started cooking up a storm for us. Stuff happened. Good stuff. But I honestly don’t remember.
Austen and Flora adjusted extremely well, possibly more in love with their baby brother than I was. (Nah, impossible. No one could love him more than I do. But they came pretty damn close).
Of Brains And Cartilage
Cinder to Ender: I’m going to try to transfer you to the taco station [wrapping in blanket] without breaking any of your bones… SUCCESS! This is why a baby’s skeleton is made of cartilage, Ender–to minimize big-brother-caused breakage…
Later…
Cinder to Flora [as they take their Horrible Science Plaster of Paris brain out of its cast]: See, Flora, Ender’s brain just about this big. I mean, small. That’s why he can’t talk yet.
Nothing By The Book 