Questions, questions, questions, (Anna)

It's fascinating to hear some of the things that Emma is wondering about at the moment:

"Do horses have fingers? What about elbows?"
"What sound do penguins make?"
"Mumma, are you going to die?" (adding "I don't want you to.")
"Mumma. Are you Santa?"
"Can I have a new sleigh for Christmas? What about some reindeer?"

One of those nights (Anna)

Toddlers' emotions are intense. Whoa. We went through about 10 complete meltdowns tonight (and only 5 of them were mine ;). She was furious! I was desperate! Every time we thought we had got though it, another one emerged about two minutes later. By the end of it I think we were both exhausted.

And then eventually it was like all the crying had been spent, and she cuddled up in my arms, all snuggly and lovey-dovey and I stroked her hair and sung to her. Then I tucked her into bed (after giving her her nightly "Mummy" kiss - a ritual while Caroline is away and can't do it herself), along with the full entourage of every animal she owns, and she fell asleep clutching my finger (my "finkie" - a cross between a pinky and a finger) murmuring "I love you, Mumma."

I think she just needed a really good cry in her Mumma's arms.

I wonder, which feeling represents parenthood more? Those moments when I could have happily thrown her out the window, or the wonderful softness of her hair and the profound intimacy as she snuggled up to me later? Perhaps that is the epitome of parenting - it is both, usually at the same time.

Paper cuts...but no books in the bed (Anna)

I was telling Emma firmly tonight that it was time for bed - no playing, no reading in bed, no squawking etc. Just sleep.

She nodded and said, "Ok. I'll just call you if I have a paper cut."

Multiplying Mummas (Anna)

When Emma makes her eyes go cross-eyes, she says with great glee: "I've got two Mummas!" (she's talking about two of me) So if she's got two Mummas and two Mummys now, we're soon going to be having Mums coming out of every room in the house. A quick way to expand your family!

Our little goof (Anna)

Emma has learned to go cross-eyed. She thinks it's the funniest thing ever.

Tornado baby (Anna)

A kid who is missing one of her Mums + a cold day with lots of time inside = a house that looks like a Tornado has swept through it.

Music (part 2)

Emma: "Mumma, can we put on some dark music?"
Mumma: Mmm. What do you mean by dark music?" (thinking concertos in minor keys or Alanis Morrisette)
Emma: Um. Mr Moon, Mr Moon.

Something with a beat (Anna)

After almost 3 years of idle comments and random conversations on our part, we are in the shocking position of finding that Emma says things that SOUND LIKE US! Who knew this could happen with a young child? All that time when she was looking at our mouths while we spoke...turns out she was actually listening to us! It's like we have have an influence on her development or something!

This morning's example? While we were listening to music, she said, "No, Mumma, I want different music. I don't want nap music. I want something with a beat."

(When I raised an eyebrow at her, she hastily added, "Please" - further evidence that we are not merely bleeting empty words into a vacuum.) Wow. Profound.

Disclaimer: This does not in any way suggest that everything out of Emma's mouth can be traced back to our influence. Absolutely not. Aliens also come down in the middle of the night and teach her all sorts of things that have nothing to do with us...

Where are you titchy tiny, itsy bitsy, teeny weeny tiny teddy (Anna)

Why is that Emma's favourite stuffie - who must be found before bedtime - is "tiny teddy", who is only about two inches long. Life would be so much simpler if her favourite toy was "big teddy", who is much more easily found and doesn't have the same tendency to go off on adventures into the deep, dark recesses of the couch.

Quote of the day (Anna)

Now this is the kind of thinking that's going to make Emma highly successful in life...and get her into a lot of touble at school in the meantime...

"I'm not kicking you, Mummy. I'm giving you a high five with my feet."

Quote of the day (Anna)

"Do sharks clap?"

No (Anna)

There is a "philosophy" of parenting whereby parents do everything they can to avoid saying "no". And there are many, many times as a parent when it is true that nos can be couched in more positive terms. e.g. "Mum, can I have another cookie?" "No, but if you're hungry, you can have a cracker." "Can we go to the playground?" "Not at the moment, but we'll go on the weekend." etc etc

But I do think there are some questions which deserve an adamant "no," even though I increasingly get the feeling that that might be an old-fashioned opinion. That might be because Emma has been overtly testing boundaries recently, and, honestly, I'm not sure that any other answer would work. (Sometimes, instead of no, when it's clear she already knows the answer, we'll say "Nice try, small fry, won't fly. But we all know that means no, too.)

- Mumma, is it ok if I climb onto the roof and jump off? (No. Next question?)
- Mumma, do you want to dip your finger in my poo? (No! Uuugh.)
- Mumma, can I lick the soy sauce bottle? (No, Emma. Next question?)
- Mumma, can I put my spoon up your nose? (Um. No.)
- Mumma, can I drive us home? (Nice try. Great idea! No.)
- Mumma, can I scribble on the wall? (No. You know that.)

I mean, really. Exactly how is one supposed to avoid no in these situations? Oh wait, here's one:

- Mumma, can I stay awake all night until the morning? (Yes, but you have to be in bed with your head on the pillow and your eyes closed.)

Clearly, we are traumatizing our daughter by constantly thwarting her ideas.

Toys, toys, toys (Anna)

We spent a happy hour today in a really good toy shop (a dying breed in light of certain multinational conglomerates that seem to sell nothing but cheap plastic stuff that say stupid things in American accents.)

I have a bit of a conflicting view about toys. On the one hand, I think most toys are ridiculously expensive, bad quality and really irritating (see comments above), and that kids generally have way too much stuff, encouraging them to leap from one thing to another without actually focusing on anything and not taking care of any of it. I generally think that parents (or grandparents) often choose quantity over quality, and in some case do it to appease fear, guilt, anxiety, inadequacy, jealousy or other parental emotions (mostly unacknowledged ones). Or, worse, because they don't how how to say no. I generally think that young kids, in particular, are often happier with a cardboard box and a pencil than with the latest greatest singing, dinging, blinging thing.

Having said that, there ARE some really cool toys out there, some of which I wish had been around when I was a kid, and some of which I might very well spend a ridiculous amount of money on "for Emmy" so that I can have a turn with them, too. Maybe I'll just have to "put them on my Christmas list."

Rich (Anna)

Emma spent a good 15 minutes today carefully transferring all the money from my wallet into her toy wallet. Then she turned to me and said happily, "Mumma, I'm rich!"

I noddded and said, 'Great. I'm glad one of us is. Because I'm pretty sure my wallet is empty."

This seems like a pretty apt metaphor for parenting more generally really.

Burgeoning geography (Anna)

Emma was daydreaming in her car seat one day and she suddenly piped up: "Mumma-Mummy, I don't live in Vancouver!"
The Mums: Oh yeah? Where do you live?
Emma: I live in Canada.
The Mums: Oh. Well, Vancouver is in Canada (proceeds to explain the difference between a city and a country in a way that is much too complicated for a two-year-old.)
Emma: But my friends live in Canada, and I want to live with them, so I live in Canada too, not Vancouver.

And then she added: "But sometimes I get on a airplane and fly away."

So now you know.

Wild, just wild, about wonderful books (Anna)

We have a perpetual problem with library books in our house.

The problem goes something like this:

We borrow a bunch of kids' library books.
We cuddle up in bed, on the red chair, on the couch and read the books.
We fall in love with the books, and the cuddles and closeness they represent.
Emma learns all the words, until she can recite them to us.
The books become part of the family, and become symbols of our daughter's childhood.
We ignore the reminder emails from the library.
We take the library books back at the 11th hour, and painfully hand them over, feeling a bit like it's sacriligious to give them back. We swear that we will buy copies of our absolute favourites, a pledge that isn't feasible, practically or financially.
We borrow a bunch of new kids' books, and the cycle starts all over again.