Just to remember

In the swirl of our household and the flying limbs of running boys, a little baby has been quietly growing.  Steadily, watchingly, unfailingly, growing.

He grows during the days and he grows during the nights.  We’ve just come out of a particularly hard night with more wakings that I can count, on the tail of lots of nights that weren’t so restful either.  Rami slept for longer periods as a newborn than he does now due to some early teething, which last week brought on his first slight fever for a night.  He has, on occasion, given me a longer sleep cycle,  and I immediately count those few uninterrupted hours as part of a sleep reserve.

Today, though, the reserve is low, and I’ve asked Ben to take care of the older two boys as much as possible while I try to collect myself, to keep things together amidst the full force of fatigue.  As I tell the boys when a flailing arm of Rami’s inadvertently scratches them, he’s just being a baby.  He is rather brand new to the world, which is a good part of his charm, and I’d do well to remember that.

I wanted to write a post, a mostly uneventful post, about my newest little boy.  Just to remember how it is now.  How alert he is, always, so curious and upright in my arms that I can’t help but bring to mind a ferret.  How ready his smiles are, especially for the other boys gallopping around him.  How he coos to dolls and other toys with faces, a clear and distinct language.  How he likes to eat my hair and my white gold earrings, snuffling away in the left ear.  How eager he is for what comes next, lurching forward to food and the water glass, protesting if offered only the food prepared for him, rather than what I’m eating too.  So aware.

And his easy ways, being so very quick to recover after an unpleasant spell.  I’ve so much to learn from this babe.

We’re almost always together, and this warm little body that grows and grows is a kind of heartbeat to my days.  I’m accustomed to the way I don’t give him all of my direct attention, but he is there, grounding each of my days, as well as the nights that follow.  I took the pictures for this post just as he started to eat foods other than my milk, maybe two weeks ago.  I wanted to take a good, long look at my baby, nourished as he was, up until then, just by me.  Not in an effort to stall time, but to savour it, a little bit, and then a little bit more, before it passes by.

It’s the same impulse that leads me to jot down this random, ambling post about Rami, growing.  Just to remember.

Baby baths

The other day, when my mother was giving Rami a bath, I walked into the bedroom and saw this…

In case this requires explanation, it’s a little pile of baby clothes and a diaper being warmed in front of a (now infamous) space heater while she gives the baby a bath.

I sometimes wonder whether the fact that I disliked playing with dolls as a child was a harbinger of the fact that I don’t love bathing and dressing babies.  I do it (sometimes), and I do enjoy it when I do it.  And since Ben can count on one hand the number of times he’s bathed a baby, it’s just not a beloved ritual in this house.

Except when my mom’s around.  She loves to give a baby a bath, and she has A Method.  I think she was taught how to give a baby a bath while training as a nurse in Australia, and she applies her knowledge here.

The Method includes gathering a blanket for holding the baby in her lap, and a clean towel for after the bath.  After filling the baby tub with warm water, she will put very hot water in a separate container nearby to add to the water during the bath to ensure it stays warm. With Sam, she used to put two cotton balls on the ledge of the baby bathtub, to wet in the water and cleanse each eye (not so with the later boys – my slack influence?).

Then she’ll wash the baby’s hair, being careful to dry off the hair before bathing the body.  This is important because wet hair might make the baby cold, and the baby must not get cold.  (If you want to transform a mild-mannered Asian grandmother into a fire-breathing dragon, suggest to her that it’s alright to let a baby get cold.)

After bath, she’ll put lotion on baby, diaper and dress him with clothes warmed by the closest thing we have to a fire.

And I’ll get a clean, happy baby without lifting a finger.  Ahhh…

Sam (2006)

Nathaniel (2008)

Rami (2011)

this moment

Inspired by Soulemama. In her words: A Friday ritual. A single photo (more this week!) – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

The computer melted

Now, there’s a title you don’t get to write everyday.  And yes, it really did.

This story boasts two protagonists.  Nat and a space heater.

The space heater was brought up from the depths of our basement because the weather turned properly frigid last week.  I took it upstairs to the drafty third bedroom where Rami and I sleep.

Then, in the middle of the night, I awoke to a popping sound, and the heater switched off.  I don’t know what happened exactly, because the socket still works for lights and the heater still works in other sockets.  But it’s an old house and maybe the heater took up more energy than the bedroom socket could manage.  Whatever.

I brought the space heater downstairs so it could warm our (surprise!) drafty sunroom and computer nook.  At the end of the night, I unplugged the heater, and angled it toward our computer tower, which rests on the floor.  I did this on purpose so the kids wouldn’t trip on the cord and to get the heater out of the way.

The next morning, Nat woke up first as usual and discovered the heater.  He apparently plugged it in “to warm up the house”, sweet thing, but he didn’t angle it away from the computer tower.

And so it melted.  Which meant the button on the front could no longer be depressed, and the computer could not be turned on.

I called our trusty (and well-used) computer guy and he suggested trying to pry off the front cover to see if the power button beneath it could still be turned on.  I got out the proper screwdriver bit and wrenched that baby off (feeling so very handy), and lo! the computer can still be turned on because only the plastic exterior melted.  Yay!

The only trouble is that now the computer looks like this. (Notice how I staged the space heater on the left for dramatic effect?)

Oh well.  Possibly in some other life I might care.

On an off day, a glass of spilled milk can frustrate me, but for some reason I looked at the melted computer and was all Doris Day about it,  que sera, sera-ing to an easy resolution.  I know some may find my approach to an accident involving a heater and a computer overly blase (perhaps emailing me links for socket covers protectors?), but me, I’m loving my under-reaction and want to employ it for all future household shenanigans.

Besides, a part of me thinks my son was trying to warm up the house for me, because I’m always cold in it in the winter (close the door!  close the fridge! quick, make me a tea!).  It’s almost enough to make me look at the computer wreck with a certain fondness.

This post also appears at http://4mothers1blog.wordpress.com.

skating

The last few days has seen Natty asking to go skating with me, and we finally had our chance yesterday while Sam was at school and my mother was at home with a sleeping baby.  We headed out, Natty and I, for his second skate ever, and my first skate since taking Sam for his first skate!

It was a lovely warm day, above zero, and there were only a handful of other skaters.  It was my first time to our neighbourhood rink, just a few blocks away.  The rink was divided into two, with a section for hockey, so the leisure rink was fairly small as rinks go, but more than big enough for us.

Natty used a red A-frame that was originally meant for Sam – Ben assembled it last year (amidst much cussing) – but Ben’s not keen on skating, and I was pregnant, feeling fatigued and cautious, and so Sam never ended up using the frame last year.

So it made its debut with Natty, who managed well on it (in Sam’s helmet, no less), and could push it around a bit, although he preferred to dramatically slump over it with his shoulders.  When I first tried to push him forward on it, the little frame separated and I crashed along with Nat on the ice, to the gasps of nearby skaters.  But we learned that lesson quickly, got the hang of it, and I could move Natty forward quite easily after that, and he got to do some gliding, as well as the requisite acquainting with the ice.

Did you know that it is perfectly possible to make snow angels on the ice?  Natty told me so.

And because shortly after our arrival at the rink, Natty and I found that we had the entire space to ourselves, I took the opportunity to lie down on the ice myself, make an ice angel of my own, and gaze up at what Natty was seeing.

And similarly to look down at what he was seeing too…

While it was nice and neighbourly to chat with the other skaters at the beginning, I was quietly thrilled to discover our solitude on the ice.  It added even more richesse to what already felt luxurious – in addition to the time, in the middle of the day, with just one child, to mess around on skates, just for fun, now we also had the freedom to walk, glide, roll or loll about on the ice as we pleased without risk of disturbing anyone. Everything slowed right down.

We were not out for much more than an hour, but the sense of space it gave lasted much longer than that.  I don’t entirely understand why moments like these can be so evasive, but I just have to try harder to create and notice them.

I do believe that Natty enjoyed himself.  Even though he told me while skating that he would like to go to gymnastics.  However, the next day, at gymnastics, he told me that he would like to go skating.  So he’s probably just messing with me as usual.

Natty’s been keeping fairly close to my side these days, and it was so good to have some time with him, just the two of us.  We walked, hand in hand, mostly in silence after our skate, and the company could not have been finer.

this moment

Inspired by Soulemama. In her words: A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

Spinning art

For Christmas, Ben got me a salad spinner.   He noticed I was enjoying salads more lately, and so he thought it might be nice.  He had also forgotten to take the price tag off, and the spinner proudly displayed $40.   It’s true that it was made of a special safe plastic and was collapsible, but wha…?.  I tactfully asked, and he agreed, and the spinner was returned.  (For the record, he then got me a pair of skates – yay!)

But it must have triggered a tucked-away memory of an art project, because several days later I was in a thrift store looking around, spotted a bunch of salad spinners, and remembererd their possibilities.  So I bought one ($2).  Not for salads, but for spin art!

The boys and I just tried it, an idea from the Artful Parent, which is a blog teeming with accessible art activities for young children.  Spin art is totally satisfying, almost mesmerizing work.  To make it, basically you put a circular piece of paper in a salad spinner, plop some paint on it, and spin away.

I had to post about it for two reasons:

1.  You only need 3 things:  a salad spinner, paint (we used tempera paints), and paper.

2.  It’s a great art activity for boys, and Sam and Nat worked at it together, in harmony, for almost an hour.

Each of these reasons needs a little elaboration.  Reason #1 needs elaboration because, well, this isn’t exactly true.  Because of course you need a place to do the art, some smocks or clothing you don’t mind getting paint on (or just turn clothes inside out), and scissors to cut the paper into circles to fit the salad spinner.  But most of us have these things, so the project still counts as accessible! The most important thing to add to this point for the non-salad spinning types out there is that you need a container of some kind to put under the salad spinner or you will be flinging paint all over the room!  I hadn’t realized this at first, but thank heavens before we started painting, the boys were playing with the spinner with pompoms dipped in water (please don’t ask) and I saw the water everywhere.   I used a large circular cake pan as the paint catcher and all was well.

As for Reason #2, of course this activity will engage girls also.  But it’s especially nice for boys because there’s a lot of action in making this art.  First, they can shake up the paint in the bottle (warning:  ensure the caps are on tight!) and shake like their lives depend on it, they will.  Then they can undo the cap and squirt the paint on themselves with just a little guidance to avoid pouring too much in.  They can return the lid to the spinner, and of course they get to spin away.

Nat could do all of these steps comfortably, and the full participation was great for him.  Also, Sam was able to cut circles out of the paper while he waited for his turn, and wrote his and his brother’s name on them.  Which was really helpful, because it is very hard after the first few to remember who made what.

And a couple of miscellaneous thoughts…  First, thicker paper works better.  We used both paper plates and regular paper, and the plates worked better, with less curling around the edges once the paint dried.  And second, I only had one salad spinner and was initially sorry I hadn’t picked up another one.  But as it turned out, I actually think it worked better that the two boys had to share.  The wait added a bit of anticipation but was short enough not to cause frustration, and they got to watch and enjoy each others’ work.

Neither of my sons is particularly interested in sitting quietly and drawing pictures, but I’m convinced they can enjoy making art all the same, and this action-packed art project hits the spot.  The room was full of excitement (“My turn! My turn!”), curiosity (peeking into the hole at the top of the salad spinner while spinning), and encouragement of each other (“Wow, that looks great!”).

That was pleasure enough for me, but as a final bonus, we are making a mobile out of the artwork for their infant brother.  I hope seeing their artwork floating above the diaper table gives them the same pleasure it gives me, and I’ll be asked to give that spinner another whirl.

A modified version of this post appears at http:4mothers1blog.wordpress.com.

this moment

Inspired by Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

Sparkly storytelling

I think I’m what the internets would call a media-cautious parent.  Basically, I’m careful about what my children see on (computer or television or handheld) screens, because I’m often not crazy about what’s playing on those screens or the way they engage or disengage my boys, as the case may be.  In our house, we are contented to live without cable (a decision that long preceded parenthood), and use our old TV to play the occasional DVD.

But I had wondered about good quality storytelling on audio, like a radio program.  The same issues arose around content though, and as I didn’t take the time to delve into the possibilities, it left my mind.

But I’ve recently discovered Sparkle Stories, an online source for audio stories for children (they also have a lovely blog, which sometimes features written stories).   Its husband and wife creators promise that each week its listeners will receive an original and entertaining story for up to six different storylines.  Told by the husband, a Waldorf teacher, these stories are designed to nurture the imagination and foster a sense of wonder in the world.

So we gave a try to Martin and Sylvia, a series about a brother and sister, geared for 4-8 year olds, and I think we’ve hit on a success.

I have a confession:  I haven’t listened to completion any of the stories we’ve played so I can’t tell you more.  That’s because I was working, or cooking, or tending to my other kids.  Because the reality is that a good part of the attraction of Sparkle Stories, like its media counterparts, is that is buys a divided parent a bit of time.  But for me, the media-cautious parent, the other major appeal is that I don’t feel like I need to know more about the stories, because I trust the source.

While my 5 year old didn’t turn somersaults in the air after his first story, he has quietly asked for it again and again.  And that’s another thing I like about our experience with the Sparkle Stories.  There’s no gimmick or glamour, just a good tale told well.  It doesn’t overpower the listener or lull him into a trance.  But when I watch my son gaze out the window during for the duration of an entire story, I’m quite sure his heart and mind are going to intriguing places, and kind of wish I could follow along with them.

This post also appears at 4Mothers.

A Christmas smattering

Before I leave the holiday season altogether, I just wanted to note a few non-representative highlights from this year.  We did other things, and had lots of family time, but for some reason, the following smattering of thoughts is what’s making it up here.

First, Ben and I hosted a Christmas Eve party.  I’ll confess that when Ben first suggested it, he was met with a glare of ‘add one shred more work to my life and you’re a dead man’.  Not very peaceful, I know, but I’m a work in progress who is very, very tired due to Rami’s night wakings.  Anyway, Ben swore that he would do all the work and not stress me.  I was skeptical but he was persistent and since anything’s possible, I agreed.

So I thought I’d mention here that he actually did pull it off, cleaning the house the day before, decorating and cooking the meal with enough lead time so that he went out to play squash and took the kids out in the afternoon before the dinner.  (In case you’re wondering, he made an Asian seafood stew as the main course.)  I made some shortbread cookies in a quiet house with a baby and that was pretty much it.  The gingerbread Christmas trees in the photo are a traditional favourite made every year by my mother-in-law.

I enjoyed some of Ben’s (cross-cultural) decorating touches, like the red bow on the wooden lizard we brought home from Malaysia.  And I’ve added a few other snapshots that make me think of the festivities…

Here is the closest thing I have to a Christmas photo of the older boys…

… for you know how it goes…

And finally I want to remember one more thing.  The night before our party, in part as a measure to keep the house clean, Ben and I took the boys out for dinner to a restaurant called Buddha’s Vegetarian Foods.  It’s a no-frills eatery that everyone in the family loves.

After dinner, Ben waited with Sam at the front of the restaurant.  When I met them, Sam was carrying a plastic bag, quietly but intently, with a look of something-special-just-happened.  I discovered that the restaurant owner has given him an unwrapped tin of chocolate biscuits (the PC version of Cadbury’s lady fingers).  I think I was as delighted as Sam was with what I’m quite sure was a re-gift.  Firstly, I love those treats although I never buy them.  But even more, because Ben said that as the owner gave us the gift, she said, “you’ve been coming here so long”.

And I realized that I first ate at the restaurant in the summer of my second year of law school, which was about 15 years ago.  And the owner was there then too.  I even remember one time when I didn’t have enough money and didn’t know what to do.  I was short only a dollar or two, but it was embarassing.  But the owner was kind, and just said to pay later.  Which I did do, and of course by then, she didn’t even remember the debt.  Anyway, I still remember the feeling a silver lining to the incident, which was that the owner knew me well enough to believe I’d keep my word.

Over the years, I have gone to that restaurant as a single woman, then a married one, then the mother of one boy, then two boys, and now three boys.  It’s strange how nice it feels to have that little bit of history, that little piece of connection in a big city, and to have it recognized by the owner too.  And it gave me a merry feeling, so I sang out “Merry Christmas” to the workers, some of whom had been doting on the boys during dinner.  And I knew it wasn’t the culturally right thing to say to the Buddhists, and I’m not a follower of Christ myself, but it is a season of goodwill for many of us, and I hope they knew that’s the message I was really trying to convey.

And so I guess that sometimes happy tidings arrive in unlikely places.  Because when I think back on some of my favourite moments this Christmas, that visit to Buddha’s restaurant keeps coming to mind.