In case you were wondering - yes, you can text before you can talk

The other day Julie dropped the two kids off with me downtown. I was at work and she needed to go to an appointment, so I offered to take them both out to a coffee shop around the corner from my office for half an hour.

It turned out to be a  much more surreal experience than I had imagined. I kept getting strange looks from everyone - on the sidewalk, in the buildings, in Starbucks. It hadn't occurred to me until then that kids never went downtown - at least not the part of downtown with all the office buildings. I'm pretty sure I'd have received a milder reaction had I brought them to a pub. I kept expecting someone to approach us with an, "excuse me sir, children aren't really allowed in office buildings."

We ordered a coffee, a milk, a yoghurt and a scone (I thought Emily could make do without a snack but I badly miscalculated and had to watch her eat more than half of my scone). As we sat down I thought I had better check my blackberry to make sure nothing urgent was going on (as if what I do could actually be defined as urgent). As I checked it, Emily started reaching for it and crying out. I looked at her, shrugged my shoulders, put the phone on lock and handed it to her, recognizing that we still had quite a bit of time to kill. Whatever would keep her entertained in a Starbucks full of shirts and ties worked for me.

To my astonishment, she started thumbing the keypad. And she had a clear pattern to her thumbing. Left, right, left, right, purposely hitting individual keys. Next she put the phone up to her ear and started a one way dialogue. "di si ma ti sa kin chi an. No, no, no ma chi ma. Mm hmm. Ala co." She brought the phone back down and started thumbing again. This kept her entertained for at least 10 minutes.

I've noticed recently that Emily is growing up quickly... too quickly. But this took the cake. Boy, I'm apparently doing well at modeling the benefits of the digital age. But somehow I'm convinced that texting isn't  1-year olds. I think I'll try to be more discreet from now on with my more anti-social behaviour. And maybe I'll take the kids downtown more often - to let the locals get used to seeing something different.

Chloe the perfectionist

This morning Chloe and I made banana oatmeal pancakes for Mommy (who was still sleeping) and Emily (who was entertaining herself by cruising along the furniture). Chloe loves to help out in the kitchen. We make everything from cereal to muffins to lunches for daycare together. I wouldn't say that her help speeds up the process exactly, but it sure makes it more interesting.

So, fast forward half an hour and Mommy, Daddy, Chloe, and Emily are all sitting down eating our pancakes when Chloe asks for another. "Chloe," I say, "finish up the last few pieces of that one first please." "But I don't want it," she says.

Daddy: Chloe, what's wrong with the pancake on your plate? Do you not like the chunks of banana?

Chloe: No, I don't like the banana.

Daddy, laughing: Well Chloe, you'll have to mush up the banana better next time.

A few minutes pass before Chloe speaks up again. "I don't want to make pancakes anymore," she says. "What, Chloe?" "I don't want to make pancakes again because I don't mash the bananas right."

Julie and I quickly assured her that she mashed the bananas just fine, and that Daddy actually likes the chunks. "It's just a taste preference Chloe. If you don't want chunks, you need to mash more. You didn't do anything wrong."

This seemed to allay her concerns for the time being, but not ours. This wasn't the first time Chloe had shown a strong tendency to internalize what she's told and to blame herself when something doesn't go right. She places a lot of responsibility and expectations on her shoulders, and takes most criticism to heart. She doesn't allow herself room for error, doesn't just shake things off very well.

I could give countless other examples of the unreasonable expectations she puts on herself and about her tendency to internalize everything (she won't draw in front of Mommy, for example, because she can't stay in the lines). I'm not sure where she gets it from, and it naturally occurs to me and to Julie that perhaps we're putting too many expectations on her. But I don't think we are. We're not trying to push her towards competition. We just want her to explore, to be a kid. We're not asking her to be anyone but herself... or are we?

One of the byproducts, perhaps, of having a high-needs child - an intense, active little girl, is that we must voice our expectations more often - not expectations of perfection or high-achievement, but the very basic of expectations for acceptable behavior, such as not throwing tantrums, not attacking a dog twice her size, going to bed and getting up at a reasonable hour without hysterics.

All of these things must be taught. It's our job to ensure she understands basic social expectations so that she can get along in the world. But for Chloe these expectations are more difficult to meet than for many other children. And so we voice our expectations more often and more forcefully.  The result could be that she feels as though she doesn't meet our expectations as often as she or we would like.

Julie and I have been talking about strategies for helping to increase Chloe's confidence while acknowledging that there are times - more than we'd like, when we have to express our expectations for certain behaviors. We've especially been focusing on telling Chloe when we make mistakes and apologizing to her when we haven't met her expectations.  

Fast forward to later on the pancake day. Chloe is whining and crying for a glass of milk. I keep telling her that she'll have to ask nicely. Finally, I loose my patience and raise my voice a bit. "Chloe, you have to stop whining. There's no reason for you to be whining and crying all the time. You know what you need to do if you'd like some milk."

I hate when I do this, because it never helps, and of course she started crying all the more. I lead her over to the couch so we could sit together. She cried for another minute and then turned to me and said, "Daddy, sniff sniff, I was whining because I was frustrated" (this is a term she's been using lately to express when she's not able to bring her emotions under control). "I know, honey," I say. "Thank you for telling me. Listen Chloe, Daddy shouldn't have gotten angry. It was a mistake. I was frustrated too. I shouldn't have gotten mad. I'm sorry honey for getting mad at you. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes." "Yeah," said Chloe, "everyone makes mistakes sometimes."

I could have been someone. I could have been a contributor!

Wait, I am! I've begun contributing to the fussy baby site. It's a wonderful site full of shared trials and resources for mothers dealing with fussy babies and high need children. I'll be contributing a posting every two weeks or thereabouts. Take a look!

Shit my kid says - September

Chloe: Daddy, let's play hide-and-seek.

Daddy: O.k., you count and I'll hide.

Chloe: O.k: 123456789 10.Where are you Daddy?.......

.... I found you!

Daddy: Oh, you did. O.k., your turn to hide.

Chloe: O.k., Daddy. I'll hide here, where you were hiding.

Daddy: Chloe, you can't hide where Daddy hid. I'll know where you are.

Chloe: Yeah.

Daddy: But that's the whole point of hide-and-seek. You have to hide and I have to find you.

Chloe: Yeah. I'll hide here and you can find me.

Daddy: Ah.... O.k. 1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10. Ready or not, here I come!

Chloe: He he he

Daddy: I found you!

Chloe: O.k., my turn to count. You go hide in the closet over there Daddy.

Daddy: Chloe, I'm not going to hide where you tell me to hide. You'll know where I am.

Chloe: Yeah. So I can find you.

Daddy: O.k.

Happy birthday Emily

I'd been meaning to get to this entry earlier, but it's been a rough week. First Chloe came down with hives for no apparent reason - they lasted several days, and then Emily became very ill with a virus that has made her miserable with a sore throat, a nasty cough, and frequent vomiting. She's still sick, but she's already seen a doctor twice. We're hoping that by tomorrow we'll see improvement.

If there's one glimmer of light to have emerged from all of this, it is that Daddy has been able to spend some very good time with Emily - sick as she's been. I stayed home with her yesterday and this morning and it's been an unexpected treat.

Emily loves to be happy, and at the right moments, when the Advil was at it's maximum effectiveness, Emily would become who she is at her best, the most innocent, tentative, loveable of creatures. She would follow me around the house, peeking around corners with her coy smile. When I would respond to her in kind, she would give me whatever was in her hand. This is a little game she likes to play - her way of interacting without words. She asks that I take something from her, often a stuffed animal, and then turns to crawl away. After a few steps, she turns back and reaches for what she gave me, naturally expecting me to return her gift. In this way, I assume she's learning how to share and how to trust. She never looks happier than when she's giving something up, or getting something back. It's a connection between us, a give and take relationship.

This is all part of what I learned about Emily these past few days - that is, that she has a subtle, gentle way of imposing herself on us, very unlike her sister who attacks like a bear. I was also reminded of how innocent childhood can be. She's so protected right now, and so it follows, open, honest, sincere. She has no need yet to be any other way.

Most of us with loving, caring families started off this way, I suppose, and it's worth reflecting on the fact that the walls, the defenses, the careful armor we've built around ourselves since very early on wasn't always necessary and certainly isn't our natural state. In our interactions with each other we've built a world that seemingly requires us to be only partly ourselves, sometimes even with the people closest to us. Sometimes this makes sense, and believe me, I don't have any interest in learning the personal intricacies of everyone's lives. But there must be a time and place, now and then, to be as we once were - open, human, beautiful to those who love us.

Happy 1st birthday Emily. May I always remember how you sparkled, even at a year.

Minimalism - an update on our progress (or lack thereof)

A number of people have been asking us about our attempts to simplify our lives by getting rid of stuff. Others have been understandably silent on the matter. The whole notion, after all, can sound a bit preachy or, cringe, trendy. But hey, it's my blog, and I'm not forcing anyone to read it.

The truth is, the whole movement can get pretty extreme, almost religious in its zeal, and we're not the religious types. But like most religions, there is at least grain of human truth, of wisdom at its core. Taken to its extreme, the minimalist movement is a rejection of modernity, a rebellion against consumer culture, a search for something more, well grounded, rooted, natural. And well I appreciate the sentiment, humankind has been searching for ways to return to what is simple and true for a long, long time.

The desire to get back to something more real, more true, is nothing new. Neither is the idea that we're extraordinarily alienated in our modern, secular world, worshiping false idols in the form of consumer goods or celebrities or sentimental tragedies. As Leonard Cohen sings, "everybody's got this aching feeling like their father or their dog just died." But we don't even need it to be our own dog any more, it can be our neighbour's dog, or the dog's puppies who are being left without a mother. Or it could be some drunken singer or a flighty princess - it's all tragic.  But what about dear old Dad? Well, if a dog can evoke such strong emotions, how much can be left to elevate Dad's tragedy. But that's o.k. The dog, the princess, the singer, it's all so tragic. 

But I digress. What I'm trying to get at is that I completely agree with the perspective that the world is full of lost souls trying to find their place, their meaning, their identity, and eventually a little internal peace. And in the absence of these, they languish in sentimentality, abnormal devotion, and mass consumption as an alternative. I can't help but agree, because I'm one of them (every day I'm tempted to buy one more coffee, one more muffin, whatever little thing will pick my day up a bit, even though I know it won't last). But the search for meaning, for truth, for beauty and simplicity, has been going on for years, since long before mass consumerism, capitalism and television. Just look to the Romantic poets - perhaps the minimalists of their time.

What inspired Julie and I about minimalism was the idea of getting rid of some of the noise, the static in our lives. We thought about our house, the toys everywhere, the stuff that just kept coming in, the difficult time we had keeping the place clean, and how much we wasted - how little we actually used. And we saw that it wasn't good. Moreover, we saw that it was a bad example to set for Chloe and Emily (it's funny how their clutter of toys was what brought us to our realization - not our stuff). We saw that the empire of crap we were creating was not fulfilling, was not helpful in our lives. In fact, it took away from the time we had to spend with each other, with our kids, with ourselves. It was, at best, a distraction. At worst, it was controlling what little free time we had. My Grandfather has said for years, "if you don't rule over stuff, the stuff will rule over you. And you don't want to be ruled by stuff." Maybe this is the best argument there is for a more minimalist lifestyle.

I agree that consumer goods do become false idols when they're owned simply for the sake of owning them; when they're guarded and kept close out of some fear of losing them - as if by loosing our stuff, we loose ourselves. But not buying what we don't need, is that all we require to discover truth and fulfillment?  I don't think it's quite that simple. Of course not. But once we're no longer quite so distracted, we might have more space to pause, to think, to reflect, and that's probably a good start.

By turning down the noise, slowing down the blur of  things in our daily lives - the empty calories, maybe we'll discover a few joys that have been right there in front of us all along. In the end, maybe it's not as much about evil modernity as it is about freedom of choice and self-control. After all, we all created this world we live in - this world of mass-consumerism, and we continue to create it everyday. We can change it too, and we don't need to start cooking over campfires to do it.

So, back to where we're at. How hard can it be to throw stuff out? Well, it's surprisingly hard. And I don't mean making the choices. That part has been easy for both of us. But in a household with a two bag garbage limit and just one car to take things to the Salvation Army and the garbage dump, it takes a long time to get rid of stuff. I'm absolutely stunned to find just how much stuff we've been accumulating during the 5 years we've lived here and how long it takes to go through it. We're taking a one room at a time approach, and we're getting there.

Meanwhile, and this is the most important part, we're both being careful not to bring anything new into the house until we've talked it over and established that we either really need it or really want it. The result is that very little is actually entering the house. It's a start, and we are starting to notice a difference. But what we thought we'd be able to pull off in a month will probably take a few years. On the upside, we're making our next move, whenever it comes, a heck of a lot easier.

Shit my kid says - August

Chloe has quite a vivid imagination. She's always playing games with her dolls. She takes them to daycare, on holidays, to the splash pad. And she's often making up crazy names for them, like Pinu or Chara, or Chacha. I can't even remember them all, there are so many.

So one morning Julie came out of our room and heard Chloe playing in her room with her dolls.  She was putting them to bed, tucking them in, as she often does, when she said, "There now. It's time to go to sleep baby Accident." She went about the rest of the day taking baby Accident to all of the various activities with which she was involved. Julie and I couldn't stop laughing all day.

For the record, she didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but I think she has the name all ready for the next one.

A child's voice

The moments of my childhood appear to me now as lost treasures. I can't remember the bulk of them. I couldn't for the life of me, for example, explain how I got from there to here - what I was like as a two year old, a five year old, even a teenager.... not really. And yet I believe my adult life, for better or for worse, has been shaped by who I was as a child. Isn't that irony for you. I can't recall most of the innumerable defining moments in my life, and yet I can't escape them either.

My earliest memory is of falling into water. Missing the mark while trying to step from a dock to a boat. That's it - the dock, the boat, water. That's what I remember. Just flashes. My parents have filled in the rest. I was following my father. It was Kingston harbour (the horror). I apparently sank like a stone and Mom jumped immediately into the dark, murky water, trying to memorize where she'd seen me fall. She flailed her hands about in the water until she found me.

After the incident in Kingston harbour, my memories become a blur for a while. I remember my Grandfather telling me I had to go to school all day - that it was the law of the land. That was when I was entering Grade one. I remember, later, Mom having snacks ready for us when we got home from school each day. I remember having to face Dad when I was suspended for smoking at school. He said nothing for a long time. That was the worst part.

For years and years our lives are confined, to a greater or lesser extent, to the parameters our parents set up for us. And all of that time all we want to do is free ourselves from their hold. The boundaries our parents establish for us provide safety, security, comfort - a Garden of Eden of sorts. But let's face it, they also represent tyranny in the fullest sense of the word. But then so does the Garden of Eden. Is there any greater tyrant than God with his father-knows-best rules and expectations? All she did was eat a fucking apple.

But of course it wasn't about the apple for Eve, just as it wasn't about the cigarette for me. It was about asserting individuality - about saying, "hey, I'm here. I exist, I'm autonomous, and I can prove it. - I smoke, therefore I am." For Eve's sins, Man (and woman) was tossed from God's enlightened despotism. Just what Eve wanted, I presume, until she found herself having to make all of her own decisions and deal with her own mortality - nice touch God. "You don't want to play by my rules, you can figure out how to light a damn fire to keep warm, pay your own tuition, find yourself a job and oh, by the way, you're going to kick the bucket some day." Sound like Dad? Dads never pull any punches, and neither does God.

Of course there's nothing wrong with any of this - at least the parent part. Our most important role as parents is to a) keep the kid safe, and b) prepare her for a world without us - a world where she can assert her individuality and, by that assertion, achieve an identity and... freedom.

And for all that, as adults we have complex, often highly charged feelings about our parents. We long to be under their protection again. We're angry because we know we can't go back. As in the Garden, with knowledge innocence is lost but a certain freedom is gained. Freud, Milton, and many others have all explored these themes. We resent our parents for being less than perfect - after all, if they're human, how can they truly protect us? We're furious that one day they'll die and abandon us here. We resent that they brought us here but can't protect us from the one thing that matters, our eventual demise. And as we grow older ourselves, we soften and gain a more tender view of our parents. They are our the link, crucial to our story. Their humanity no longer angers and frightens us. It informs us. And for the first time, if we're lucky, we may eventually start to form a true relationship with each parent - one not based on power, protection or mentoring, but on two human beings who share an important bond, and a common understanding. It's not easy - lots of baggage, but it's possible. And it seems to me that it is an important step in growing up. That's the part that's missing with religion. God, the church, Mother Mary. They don't allow us to grow up. They continue to shelter us and direct us. 

I look at Chloe and the many trials she must face each day - both with us and the world, and it gets me thinking of our relationships with our parents. Everyday she's growing up, but most of the fears, the comforting, the little battles (and there are so many of them right now), she won't remember. She'll struggle one day, as I am now, to remember the details of a childhood that will so clearly inform who she is as an adult. She won't be able to go back, to be that child again. But she won't be able to escape it either. How many times a day do we tell her what she has to do to be a "good girl" or a "big girl." We tell her what she can't do, what she shouldn't do. She wants to please us (for now) and we exploit that desire to please in order to ensure that she has the right socialization to get along in the world. We have no choice. It's our job. But oh, how much she tries already to assert her individuality, to say, "I'm here, and I matter." And it's our role too, to acknowledge this assertion.  I don't remember all the childhood moments that have come to define me, but I do remember always being able to speak, to have a voice.

And one day blurs into the next

 June was a tough month - a month of difficult transitions. I started back to work, leaving Julie to continue working part time with no daycare for Emily. Emily decided that she no longer wanted to take an afternoon nap and gave her parents tremendous anxiety over her sleep in general. Chloe couldn't understand why the sun went to bed so late and got up so early and, as a consequence, she neither went to bed early enough nor slept in late enough. And I was frustrated that I couldn't get any time to work on the basement, which is a half renovated mess right now. All-in-all, nothing to be too concerned about. You might even consider us lucky to be burdened with such mundane crises.

Still, the incessant demands, the lack of personal time and the daily obligations - both at home and at work, do take their toll and I find myself at times wondering when things will let up a bit. Last week Julie and I watched Date Night, with Steve Carell and Tina Fey, and were surprised that we didn't find it as funny as we ought to have. The basic premise is that this bland couple from the suburbs, who have no time to love each other properly or to do much else other than to take care of their whiny, needy, energy and creativity sucking children, accidentally get themselves involved in a high stakes crime drama on one of their pre-planned date nights. Talk about holding a mirror up to ourselves. Shit, for us, it wasn't a story, but more of a documentary,  minus the high stakes crime drama - ouch, even more depressing.

As I write this, I'm conscious of the fact that Julie and I are trying to schedule a babysitter so we can have our own scheduled date nights. Mabye we can go out in Vanier to make it more exciting (for Torontonians, think Scarborough - no, not that bad but the best we can do in Ottawa).

Ah well, I remind myself that this will pass. While we'll always be parents, we won't always be parents of young rug rats, and we should appreciate the small moments of magic - several per day, that come with the mind-numbing neediness.

Today I came home, opened the door, and Chloe was there to greet me. "Hi Daddy, how's it going?" she said, with her best-behaved voice. "Great Chloe, how are you?" "I'm doing well. How was your day at work today?" "It was good Chloe. I sure missed you. Can I get a hug?" "Yes. Daddy, let's play games together quietly while Mommy's putting Emily to bed." "O.k."

These moments almost make up for the the trying times, and with her wonderful welcome tonight I almost forgot that she pooed in her underwear this morning right before we had to go out the door. Yes, pooed, and yes, she knew what she was doing.

I have to admit it. I'm looking forward to date night.

Chloe - my fickle friend

The children did not know Levin ... but they did not show towards him any of that strange shyness and hostility children so often feel for grown-up people who 'pretend'.... Pretense about anything whatever may deceive the cleverest and shrewdest of men, but the dullest child will see through it, no matter how artfully it may be disguised.

Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

I knew that when I went back to work I would see less of the girls, and that this would be an adjustment. What I didn't bargain for was my oldest girl completely ignoring me when I was home. She's mad at me, and she lets me know - daily. She doesn't want me to help put her to bed, I'm no longer allowed to share in the nighttime ritual of talking about our favourite parts of the day, and in the morning I'm not allowed to get her up. It has to be Mommy.

As might be imagined, this is crushing for me. Oh, I try to convince myself that it's no big deal.  She's just having a hard time adjusting - no surprise with Chloe. But try as I might, I can't help but care a great deal. And of course it shows. I try too hard. I have big colourful greetings for her when I get home (to which she responds by looking at me as though I'm from outer space). I ask her all about her day and tell her how much I've been looking forward to seeing her. I even ask her if she's missed me (I know, pathetic). Who knew I'd need to feel liked so much by my kid. Of course the more I try, the more she calls me on my insincerity - my acting, and the less she wants to do with me.

The best inroads I've been able to make so far have been on the weekends. I tell her first thing Saturday morning that I'm going to be home for the whole weekend and that we'll be able to spend the day together. This slowly melts her heart, and until Monday morning we're friends again. But come Monday.... ah, I guess I'll just have to weather this until it passes.