The Land of Milk and Coffee

The husband and I aren't all that wrapped up in romance, I have to say. That's not to say that we don't take the time to do nice things for each other but usually it is just part and parcel of our everyday life together. And we have never been much for gift giving either. Usually at Christmas time we buy something that we can enjoy together but that is about it. One year we went shopping together and each bought a really nice pair of hiking boots and that is about as close as it has ever gotten to actually buying a gift for the other person. So birthdays, holidays, and yes, even Valentines Day, usually passes kind of quietly. I suppose that this seems a bit unusual to some and I often get funny looks when someone asks, for example: "So, what will you and Nik do for Valentine's Day" and I try to explain that we don't normally DO anything. Over the years I've learned to answer without answering.

All this kind of fleetingly crossed my mind on Wednesday at about 9am in the morning when, at that early hour, I had already had the best Valentine's Day ever. At 2, 3 and 4am, however, I certainly wasn't thinking about hearts and roses when Sammy was kicking and crying out, grabbing at me and calling for milk like he was a man lost in the desert. We kind of got off track with the night weaning when he was so sick recently and I can never decide if the stamina needed to try it again is more than the stamina I need to just go with the flow, so to speak. Anyway, it was a rough night, compounded by the fact that I was a congested mess and can't take a proper decongestant because of the milk, AND I had been working many, many hours of overtime to finish a set of proposals that were due on Friday. So when Sammy and the alarm clock both went off at 6am, I talked loudly about how wouldn't it be nice if he went to help Poppi make the coffee, then rolled over as they went to face the morning chill.

In my half-asleep, half-awake state I was vaguely aware of Nik later bringing in a silent offering of coffee and juice and leaving it beside the bed. A bit later I heard him praising Sammy for using the potty. Then, thanks to a hit of nasal decongestent I slipped off into sleep. Meanwhile, the weather outside was frightful and the University where I work was closed so Nik decided to just leave me be even though he had his own looming deadline at work and his office was NOT closed.

When I finally came to, a little before 9am, Nik and the kids came in and climbed on the bed. Both Oliver and Sam were dressed and fed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Nik kissed me on the forehead as the kids climbed under the blankets, then reached over, took my coffee cup and disappeared out the door.

When he put a new cup of steaming coffee in my hands a few mintues later I looked and saw that the clock read 9 o'clock. "You jump in the shower," he said, "and when you're ready I'll head out to work."

So that is why, even minus the hearts and roses, my Valentine's Day and my Everyday is about as good as it gets.

Seeing is Believing

Every parent should be forced to watch themselves interact with their child on video. I've found that it opens up a whole new window into our parenting style. Working with our RDI consultant requires that we videotape various activities that we set up each day, then once a week we upload them to a file server and send them off to her for review. She then sends her assessments back to us and we use the feedback as a learning tool for thinking about our next activities. So far it has worked fairly well. In the beginning I set up the activities and pushed the record button judiciously. But after a few weeks I started getting a bit looser in my recording style so that now I often will just have the camera set up in a corner of the playroom or kitchen, hit the record button and see if we can capture something that meets our objectives. But even if we don't, if nothing really gels like it should, I still find it fascinating for the small picture it has given me of Oliver and myself -- and to a lesser extent other members of the family.

For one thing, I'm not such a bad mother. I mean, I know that but I also know how impatient and frustrated I can get. But I was really stunned one evening recently when I was reviewing the video of an activity that we were working on that never really came together. I was showing it to Nik and describing to him how frustrated I had gotten at one point. "Well, you don't look frustrated," he told me. And I looked down at my own image smiling serenely and had to agree. On the inside I was jumping up and down, stamping my feet and screaming: "Just cooperate, will you?!!" But on the outside I was smiling and nodding and quietly humming The Wheels on the Bus.

Another thing: when Oliver is really engaged in an activity with me or his father or RT he looks just like any other little boy who enjoys spending time with his family. We play a little and during the short pauses in action he turns and smiles up at us, beaming from ear to ear. Or he is all concentration as he carefully places each piece of pepperoni just so on top of the pie so as cover the maximum amount of real estate. Or he jumps up and down, all excited energy, as we discover the cache of hidden eggs that we will now get to break for our lunchtime omelet.

And there are other things, too, like how bossy I can be when it is Nik's turn to orchestrate an activity. Or how I sometimes talk differently to Oliver than I do to Sam. And did I mention how bossy I can be?

We are just four weeks into our video adventure but I can already see the evidence of our hard work and I'm looking forward to seeing where it will take us.

When Enough is Enough

Our little guy, Sam, talks as much as Oliver doesn't. His his physical size bears no relationship to the largeness of his verbal presence. Oliver's speech developed to a point, then stopped, then receeded altogether, so I missed out on what a pleasure it can be to watch how a child discovers the world through language. I am in awe of how Sam learns through the environment and then expresses it through words. I marvel at it. It is my guilty pleasure.

Oliver, however, doesn't share my pleasure in Sam's very vocal presence. In fact, Sam's incessant chatter really gets on his nerves. I understand that too, because Oliver and I are alike in the fact that we both like it quiet. Too much noise can be disturbing. Upsetting. Agitating. Especially first thing in the morning. So even though I love the blossoming dialogs that Sam and I are having, some mornings I wish for a mute button. Oliver expresses his displeasure by either leaving the room or by pushing Sam out of the room.

This morning I was helping Oliver with his breakfast and Sam, having finished his while narrating the whole sequence step-by-step, had wandered into the next room still talking. At not quite two, Sam is already pretty skilled with words but he hasn't yet mastered the fine art of conversation. So even through he was now in another room he was still talking to me; still expecting a reply. Tired of yelling between the two rooms I got up from where I was kneeling beside Oliver and moving towards the playroom I said "Sam!" in my most exasperated voice. Following immediately I heard, "Shut Up!" -- not from my mouth but certainly echoing what I was thinking.

Turning in surprise, I saw Oliver smiling quitely into his morning oatmeal.