They're Back.

And you didn't even know they left.

P and The Boy returned home on the weekend from a two-week visit with the Grandparents. Which in some ways explains why I haven't posted anything on my blog in over a month.

I suppose spending the entire two-week break in my underwear, eating Chef Boy-R-Dee and sharing with you the scintillating details of my life was an option; I did other stuff instead.

Mostly I built things - a shed, screens, a shelf and extended the patio. The rest of the time was spent on a couple of small renos around the house. Sitting at my computer in Spaghetti-O covered underwear probably would have been more fun, but not nearly as rewarding.

Life with The Boy continues to be a hoot, and there are lots of stories to share, but for now I'll leave you with this.

While waiting for the plane on Saturday, The Boy felt compelled to tell people, "I have a gun." He said it in that adorable two-year-old way, but still, I'm surprised he didn't get Tasered.

The Can. Day 2

Potty progression continues!

Yesterday The Boy managed to stay dry all day. This morning P and I awaken to a shiny, happy coiler in the toilet! He beamed with pride, I gushed with joy, P canceled the diaper service.

Only a parent could get this excited about poo. Well, only parents and Chuck Berry.

Are We Close?

At 6:15 am this morning The Boy comes into our room and says, "Mom, I have to go pee." We both sit up in disbelief, "What?"

"I have to go pee."

Thirty seconds later the glorious sound of tinkling resonates from the bathroom.

I have to admit, up until this morning I had all but given up. We tried everything, books, videos, cartoons, role playing, demonstrations, logic (Son, this will really affect your dating potential when you get to high school). Out of frustration the other week I resorted to name-calling, which I can tell you, doesn't work.

The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that soon he'd be old enough to change his own damn diaper.

Can it be true? Are we close to end of diapers? There have been so many false starts I don't want to get my hopes up, but this has been the biggest step forward so far.

Sam I Am Gets a Nip Tuck

Soon to be released is a new plastic surgery book for children.

According to Newsweek: "My Beautiful Mommy" aims to reassure kids that Mom's bruises and bandages are just temporary, and the new improved mommy won't be different, just 'prettier'.

I don't think there's been another kids book that so positively builds up a child's body image and self-esteem since "Janey Gets Boobs for Christmas", "1-2-3. Be Thin Like Me" and the popular John Holmes board book for boys "You're born with a Ding. I'm born with a Dong."

My Beautiful Mommy is available from Big Tent Books.

The Future of Daycare

Ask any parent in Vancouver about daycare/preschool and their shoulders will slump. Then they'll sigh heavily before launching into their story of waitlists, lotteries and catchment areas. The shortage of daycare/preschool spaces is a huge problem around here.

But we're one of the lucky ones. Last week we were offered a space at one of the newer daycares in the city. It's a bit of the drive to get there, but at least we have something.

It's a little cramped, but The Boy doesn't seem to really mind. He complains about it, but don't all kids whine about going to daycare?











In addition to one hour of "exercise time" each day, the kids do a lot of arts and crafts. Making license plates mostly, but once in a while he comes home with a macaroni picture.

Happy Easter

Yesterday The Boy and his friend Clara had a little egg hunt at our place.



P's always wanted to buy one of those foil wrapped Italian Easter Eggs you see down on Commercial Drive. I always assumed they were cake, The Boy was pleased to discover it was actually chocolate. Despite being bigger than his head, he tied to eat it in one sitting.





Happy Easter everyone.

Sponge

Part of the fun of being a parent for me is the fact The Boy is totally gullible. Yesterday while playing with his Thomas and Friends train set, I started calling Sir Toppen Hat "Sir Top and Bottom". And being the parrot that he is, The Boy also started calling him Sir Top and Bottom.

It made me giggle, but I'd better stop. While somewhat amusing to me, likely offensive to another parent if The Boy was to ever say that at playgroup.

For the same reason I probably should also stop referring to Raffi as "The Bearded Dickwad".

They've Arrived!

Sitting on my desk right now are five figurines from The Boy's favourite show at the moment, Yo Gabba Gabba. They arrived in the mail today and are super cool. Half of me wants to keep them for myself, in their original boxes, mint, sealed in a vault, for all eternity (or until The Boy needs money for college). The other half realizes that they were bought for him to play with and I should hand them over.



One part Sesame Street, one part Electric Company with bits of Fat Albert and Zoom thrown in, YGG is a live action show that teaches kids wholesome lessons through faux hip-hop and dance. Things like waiting your turn, eating veggies, trying new foods, and my favourite, don't bite your friends.

All common sense lessons some say should be taught by parents and not a TV show. I agree, TV is not a substitute for parenting (although that would free up a lot of time), but it can reinforce the lessons you're already teaching. This doesn't mean P and I endorse an All-TV-All-The-Time policy in our house -- we make sure The Boy gets plenty of parks and swings and arts and crafts and walks and galleries and aquariums too -- but in moderation, age-appropriate TV isn't pure evil either.

Besides I don't think a zero TV policy necessarily raises better kids. The friends I had without a TV growing up were no smarter or faster than the rest of us, and they were actually a drag to hang around with. Because all they wanted to do when they went to someone's house was, you guessed it, watch TV.

Measuring Up

Lately I've been feeling short.

At 5' 10" I'm no giant, but always felt tall enough. The past couple of months though I've been feeling small.

I'm thinking of finding some shorter friends to hang out with, but not sure how. I thought of looking on Craigslist for a "Shorter Persons" group or something, but realized I might end up in a midgets' club.

Or worse...

"Oh... when you said "Short" I didn't realize that was a euphemism for a sex you can't describe. What's the safety word again? Banana?

Banana.

BANANA.

BAAH NAAH NAAH!

Are platform shoes back in style yet? Sign me up for three pairs.

He Can See In The Dark

Last weekend we moved The Boy out of his crib and into a Big-Boy-Bed. Since we moved last month, he's been off the crib, calling us at ungodly hours to open his window, or turn off the nightlight, or whatever. So we figured, "If he was in a Big-Boy-Bed, he'd be able to turn off his own damn nightlight."

I have to admit I wasn't totally enthusiastic about the BBB when P brought it up. I kind of like to notion of holding The Boy prisoner overnight because:

a) His remarkable lack of sleep is well documented. Calling us from his room at 4:00 AM is one thing, poking me in the eye to get me up at 4:00 AM is a totally different matter.

b) The door to his room is right next to the stairs, which means one groggy mis-step to the left and he'd be downstairs in a hurry.

c) He could sneak downstairs on his own. While the house is fairly kid-safe, we have a step-stool and he knows how to use it. He also knows how to turn on the stove, open the fridge, pull out food, break eggs, spill milk, reach for the knives and cutlery.

Come to think of it, I should get him make me breakfast, but he's a shitty cook.

But what the hell, parenting is nothing without taking chances, so on Saturday I set up his bed. Happily none of the above scenarios has played out (yet).

The Boy loves his BBB and sleeps solidly through the night. He does come into our room each morning, but only to crawl between us for a couple more hours sleep. And even though it's still dark outside, he somehow makes it into our room without taking a tumble.

Now, if I just get him to stop sleeping like a starfish I might get a bit more of the comforter.