What I Love About You

I love how you stretch your arms high above your head, arch your back and purse your lips.

I love how you stare at me so intently with your dark brown eyes as though trying to place me as though we've met before.

I love how those same eyes look as though they're laughing at some secret joke that only you are privy to.

I love how sweetness and calm emanate from you making me breathe deeply and pause for just a moment.

Each developmental milestone is the same for each baby and being through all of them once before made me question whether they'd still hold their magic. I catch one of your smiles and I know that they do. I love your smiles and am filled with a spark of joy each time I see one.

I love how you tolerate your older brother and his high energy and noise. You never flinch when he runs by, yelling and screaming. You have started to smile when he kicks open your door and shouts "Hi Mayli!!!!" when you wake in the morning.

I especially love your facial expressions like the one where you crease your eyebrows when I'm trying to make you smile. It's like your saying, "is that all you've got?" or "that's not funny" or "are you crazy lady?".

I love that you sleep. What more can I say?

I love it when you latch on when we're lying in bed and you're so close and so noisy with your gulping and sucking. I stroke your soft, velvet head and close my eyes.

You have shown me that having a newborn can be sweet and lovely and peaceful. That, I love.

I love how you're reforming me. Pulling me closer to God with a desire to read His word so I can better teach you. Pulling me closer to myself and what it means to be a woman, strong and free from the traps of guilt and self loathing. Really believing that I'm a daughter of God and that alone makes me good enough to be loved, to be heard, to be seen.

I love that you chose to come to earth and I love that you were sent to me.

And that is what I love about you.

All in a Day's Work

Nothing makes me feel like am an amazing mother more than watching my child do chores. (Except for maybe hiding quinoa in his oatmeal). Supposedly adult success can be attributed to whether or not a child did chores from ages 3-5. My kid is getting a head start.





I was unable to get a picture of him bringing in the groceries and putting them in the fridge. Too busy barking orders.
PS - I just realized he's naked/semi naked in many of these pictures. He's potty training. I typically do dress my child. Sometimes.

Grieving the Perfect Day

It was perfect.

The way he grinned as I poked my head in his room to say good morning. I sat on the edge of his bed as he earnestly told me how daddy was at the Book Choo Choo (Indigo) buying him a helicopter in his grey car. I gently let him down explaining that daddy was at the office but we could go downstairs for cheerios!! We held hands, our morning ritual, as we walked to the steps. I watched him get to the bottom as I waited to receive the go ahead to come down.

We played choo choo for a while. Using the coins from our piggy bank he paid to get water or cross the bridge. He gave me pennies while he clenched the toonie firmly in his hand.

Then he abruptly stood up and said, "cheer" and went over to the couch. Using the guidance from his fire truck choo choo I pulled out the cheerios, milk, bowl and spoon. Then began our morning routine. Me, sitting down first and then Milo, sidling up and plopping his bum in my lap. I held the bowl while he slowly ate the cheerios, frequently distracted by the allure of Umi Zoomi and their math powers.
We sat like this for over an hour. His legs crossed over mine, relaxing and laughing at the funny parts.

Then back to the trains. He wanted to do a photo shoot and we took turns taking pictures of each other with my iPhone. He even let me hold Big Dog.






I asked him if he wanted to go to Book Choo Choo but surprisingly he said no. So we stayed home and went to the basement and while I put toys in boxes he came behind me and threw them around the basement. I worked on the recycling instead. Less tempting to throw I guess.

I talked with Maria as he played and when he was ready we came upstairs and he finger painted with water colors. I made a pizza and then we sat on the couch once again, familiar and at ease, munching on pizza.

Then he went for a nap and I could hear him driving his truck into his wall and talking and probably looking out the window for at least an hour. At 6pm I found him on the floor, curled up with his bum in the air. I couldn't resist texting a picture to Hunter despite the cost.


And that was my perfect day with my perfect companion. It was so simple and sweet and I was acutely aware that it might be one of the last before he becomes a big brother and I am no longer a mother to one child.

I feel sad when I think of that. I feel a sense of grief and mourning because it is a death. A death of what we've known for the past two years and almost 11 months. No longer will it just be Milo and I hanging out at the mall or Heritage Park or pilfering off Indigo. It won't be the three of us singing "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" at dizzying speeds during Family Home Evening. Everything will change. There are many unknowns.

For instance, will we still be able to cuddle on the couch and eat cheerios together? Will we go on dates to Ikea or the park? Maybe we will. Maybe we won't. I don't know.

But in this death there is an amazing birth, both literal and figurative. And it's all for the better. For example: I think I'll feel a little relief when Milo talks to his baby sister instead of to his stuffed dog. Or, in all seriousness, when I think of the extraordinary joy Milo has contributed to this world just by being himself, I can't help but think that it will be same with this baby girl. The world will be improved with her presence and life will be enriched in ways I can't imagine.

So, who can be sad when a death brings a joy like that?

Show Down

There was no way I could go up there.

Those McDonald's play structures are an abyss of plastic and germs and heaven forbid your kid gets lost in there because there is no coming out. Even worse in when your kid refuses to come down. I said, "two more times down the slide and we need to go". Well, he didn't want to go so he used that problem solving brain of his and decided to never come down.

Ten minutes later: "Come down Milo. Come down the slide" I'd call out. He'd just happily ignore me and continue playing with the wipers in the the elevated truck cab. Then he moved over to the helicopter and started spinning the propeller. "Come down Milo!" he'd just smile and continue on his way.

I started to panic. There's no way my 35 week pregnant body was going to get up into that play structure. There's no way a non-pregnant body could go up there. Trust me, I've tried.

So, he had the upper hand and that kid knew it. Twenty minutes pass and he still keeps ignoring me. What do I do? What do I do? It's thirty minutes now and I'm well aware that all of the other parents at that playground are convinced I'm a super push over. I text Hunter. "What should I do?" and he texts back "give him a spanking"! I text back, "he'll laugh at me!" and besides, how am I going to get at his little bum? He's hiding in a play structure 15 feet off the ground and I can't touch him!!!!

Then I did what every shamed faced parent does. Bribe. I repeated once more, "Come down right now!" and he replies, "NOOOOOOO" and I say, "when you get down do you want an ice cream"? Quiet. "YEAH!!! EYE!" (that's how he says ice cream).

I hear a pitter patter of feet and within seconds he and his dog have landed at the bottom of the slide. I wasn't sure if I should throttle him or laugh.

We leave the playground and I'm filled with conflict. I don't want to give that kid ice cream. Next thing you know he'll be whispering to my fetus, "hey, you want a tip? If you want ice cream just blatantly ignore Mommy. Works like a charm every time"!!!!

So I reneged on my offer. I said, "You were not good at listening to mommy" and he solemnly nodded his head. "You can have ice cream next time but not today" and he solemnly nodded his head once more.

So we left with both of our tempers intact but I sort of lied and definitely bribed to achieve that. I admit there is a smidgen of shame in my heart. But, I tell myself, at least we didn't have to stay for dinner.

Kids Are Like Wine, They Get Better With Age

No doubt he was cute. All 6lbs 14 ounces of him. He could fit from the nape of my neck to the top of my pubic bone and I could easily brush my lips against his warm, feathery head. And he would cry lots, and barely sleep but he was beautiful. And I thought, this is all there is.

Then he got older and he would stay up late and make all the ladies smile at wedding receptions. He would sleep more which some how made him infinitely more delightful and he would smile his smile and I'd swoon. I couldn't help it.



Then he was doing so many things. Sleeping for one thing. He rarely, if ever woke during the night and he started walking and making sounds and climbing into the dishwasher and clothes dryer (well, I may have put him there but he loved it)! I adored watching him pull things from drawers and cupboards,and removing rubber door stops with his teeth. He's so clever, that one.



And then, it just got better and better with trips to Heritage Park, and play dates with friends and blowing unsolicited kisses. And I thought, wow, maybe he does love me. He even began to cuddle. Sitting long enough for me to be reminded of the early days. He was heavier and he didn't fit my torso but he was still all mine.



And now he's so big. He throws shoes at my head when angry and says sorry when he throws his train. He gives directions from the back seat while I drive and he insists I change my clothes if he doesn't like them. He yells, "Red stop!!" at red lights and "Green Go" at green lights. He laughs when cartoons fall down and when he pushes his trains off his bed. He is concerned when babies cry and he starts making a whimpering sound when Clifford the Big Red Dog is sad. He pedals his tricycle while yelling, "fast!! fast!!!" and he runs. Oh how he runs. I'm not sure if he can actually walk because everywhere we go he runs the same hop/skip, gallop sort of run that makes me wish I could freeze him as he is right now.

And I can say that since his birth the taste of him has become deeper and more full. It is tangy and sweet with the occasional, but rare, bitter residue and I can say that I've always loved him but I can also say that I love him even more now. Yes indeed, my kid gets better and better with age.

The Overwhelming Benevolence of Mark

It all started with a story around the dinner table.

I was recounting a trip down the cereal aisle at Superstore when all of a sudden Milo starts gesturing excitedly. I turn to where he was pointing and there it was. The pink, beautiful parrot in all it's sugary glory. Not just any parrot but the Fruit Loops Parrot. He had never seen it before, never tasted it before and yet he could not resist the alluring, multicolored, seducing box. I thought, "damn you, you evil marketers that manipulate and exploit children. Hope you enjoy hell. I will never succumb to your wiles".

Looks like I don't need to because Milo has uncles.

I shared this story at the family retreat, the weekend of Jun 16-19th and Mark, in his overwhelming benevolence, purchased a box and placed it on top of the refrigerator just waiting, biding his time to facilitate the box's entrance. Hunter and I warily ignored it but on the last day it was taken down, opened up and placed in full view.

Forget about croissant french toast, forget about fresh succulent fruit Milo saw it and it was as though they were the only two things in this world. "UHHH, UHHH" he yelled pointing to the creepy parrot and we knew we had lost the battle. We poured some out, hoping he'd find it repulsive and after the first bite he expelled: "ummm, ummm. Nummy". He couldn't forget about it all day. He had fruit loops for breakfast and lunch and a couple days later while going down that very same cereal aisle he stopped and pointed to his new found friend and said "mine, mine!!"

Desperately trying to avert a melt down I thought of many ways to distract him, but to no avail so finally I said "Sorry. You can only have it when Mark's in town. He has to buy it for you". And resigned, Milo turned away and I grinned, congratulating myself on my cleverness because I won the war.

ps- Hope you bring a box next time we see you Mark!

Gorgeous, Gorgeous!!!!

Several months ago we went swimming at the local Y we frequently haunt. I swam laps while Hunter and Milo splashed and zoomed down the slide. There were a group of women in the viewing area watching them and after a while they stopped Hunter and said "he's (referring to Milo, not Hunter. That'd be inappropriate) so cute! What nationality is he?" Hunter replied, "Italian and Chinese" at which point the ladies clapped their hands and exclaimed, "HANDSOME, HANDSOME! He's so HANDSOME!".

Well now, next time we go swimming we'll have another baby and if those ladies are there they'll exclaim "GORGEOUS, GORGEOUS!!" because this baby is a girl!!! Meet our little Mai Li.

If It's Worth Telling

My motto for this blog is that if it's a story worth telling it's a story worth writing. So where to start? Just the other night I was sitting in bed with Hunter almost falling asleep when I jumped awake and exclaimed "I forgot to tell you what Milo did today!".

Nonno and he were washing the BMW and while dad was leaning over to wipe Milo grabbs the nozzle, points the gun at Nonno and shoots. He sprays water all over him with a radiant grin. Nonno decided to finish washing while Milo napped.

I laughed and laughed marveling at his comic genius. How does a two year old know what's funny? How does he know how to tease? Sure, sure, he mimics and follows what we do but I've never sprayed him in the head with a hose. He did that all on his own. My little Seinfeld in the making.