Lent

This year, for the first time in quite a while, I decided to give something up for Lent. At first I thought, "junk food", but then I realized I would lose my will to live if I had to go 47 days without any empty calories. So I settled on just half the junk food equation: sweets. Note that I did not give up sugar because honestly, sugar is in everything: ketchup, potato chips, bread, yogurt, mayonnaise, etc. And yes, I could - and have - given up sugar entirely in the past, and purchased sugar-free versions of the aforementioned goods. But that was not my goal. My goal was to eradicate foods that were sweet for the sake of being sweet, not those that happened to have incidental sugar. FURTHERMORE, I am not eating any sugar-free chocolates or ice cream either.

So, things I will not be eating during Lent:
Candy, chocolate, ice cream, cookies, brownies, pastries, whipping cream, pie, and cake.

Things I have not given up during Lent:
Nachos, perogies, cheese buns, bagels, crackers, peanut butter, french fries, poutine, popcorn, and trail mix (the kind without Smarties).

Not exactly a model of restraint, am I.

Also, I kind of fudged things a teensy bit. Usually, Lent starts on Ash Wednesday and ends on Easter Sunday. But my daughter is turning three (THREE!!!!) on Easter Sunday, so I'm going to throw her a birthday party the day before, and I am darn well going to eat cake that day. So I started my 47-day sweet-free existence a day early, so I can end it a bit early. Behold, for I am bending religion-based self-deprivation exercises to fit my will.

Checking In

It's been about six weeks since we changed Gwen's daycare arrangements. Previously, she went to daycare 3-4 days a week and spent one day with Gramma. Now, she spends 2 days at daycare, 1 day with Gramma, and 2 days at home with Chris. (Chris was smart, too: he chose to have Gwen at home for Monday & Friday, which means that Gwen's intense at-home time is Friday through Monday; since I am home on the weekends, it means Chris gets a break instead of having a four-day stretch on his own.) Chris commented to me recently that he feels more tired now than he ever did when he worked full time. Perhaps more surprisingly, I feel exhausted too. I don't think I've ever felt the "second shift" workload as keenly as I have for the past six weeks.

When I get home from work, I'm tired - both mentally and physically - and need a rest. However, Chris is tired too, and he needs a break from Gwen. Most compellingly, Gwen misses me and needs my attention - my active attention, as in "Get up and dance with me, Mama," - right away. I've been reflecting that from Gwen's perspective, she doesn't really notice that she spends less time with her caregiver and more time at home. But I know she notices that she is home more than I am, now, which has got to be pretty weird for her. Previously, when I left for work she would go to daycare. Now, I go to work and leave her at home to wonder why I keep leaving her. So while I am apart from Gwen the same amount of time that I was before, I think she experiences that absence in a different way. This is reflected in her response when I say things like, "Tomorrow, you get to go to the pool with Dada!" and she says, "And Mama too?" Naturally, this shreds my heart. However, I've talked to Chris and he confirms that she doesn't talk about me all that much during the day, so it's not like she spends that eight hours pining for my presence.

Another way the single-income lifestyle is impacting Gwen is that we are now a one-car family. This means that all three of us get into the car in the morning so that I can be dropped off at work, before Chris and Gwen turn around and head back home. Last week I had a hair appointment right after work. Now, if I had my own car still, I would have just driven straight from work to the appointment. But instead, Gwen and Chris came to pick me up at the office, then we all drove home together and got out of the car, and then I said good-bye to them and got into the driver's seat to go to the salon. When I said good-bye to Gwen, she looked so confused. It was the exact look I get when someone is trying to explain physics to me. I could see she was trying SO HARD to understand, but it just didn't make sense. Carefully and slowly, she said, "But ... we just picked up you." So true. Poor kid.

I feel a little self-conscious when I mention things like hair appointments and yoga classes, because wait a minute - all those things cost money! I imagine that whomever is hearing/reading these comments gets all suspicious, like why is this whiny blogger trying to engender our sympathy, obviously her life is not all that bad. And let me say: my life is not all that bad. Part of the reason it's not all that bad is because I have worked out some private deals with my yoga teacher and my hairdresser, such as work exchange, so that I am able to continue doing these things that I actually can't afford to do. I am really grateful to these people for their flexibility and graciousness.

And again I repeat: my life is not all that bad. This can't go on forever, and it won't. In the meantime, I think the only thing we are living without that I consider a necessity, rather than a luxury, is our monthly contribution to RRSPs and Gwen's RESP. This includes a Home Buyer's Loan payback as we took money out of our RRSPs to buy our house four years ago. We are living without a lot of other stuff right now but that is the one that nags at me. Unfortunately, I don't think our financial advisor/Revenue Canada is interested in any kind of work exchange regarding those funds.

I Need a Tissue!

I found a little video clip illustrating Gwen's imaginary play fixation, "I need a tissue," which I wrote about in her recent newsletter. Even better, this clip demonstrates her consistently high-pitched voice, something I recently ranted to a friend about via email:

"Sound is coming out of her mouth, nonstop, for the 12(ish) hours of every day that she is awake. IT. NEVER. STOPS. And even when it is cheerful, sing-songy noise, it is still NOISE, usually high-pitched and irritating, and sometimes I can't take it! Especially when I have to somehow cut into that nonstop noise and try to get her to focus on whatever I'm trying to get her to do: put on her jacket, brush her teeth, clean up her toys, wash her hands, hold still, hold still, hold still, HOLD STILL. It's maddening."

My favourite thing about this clip, though, is how Gwen's friend Claire is totally dumbfounded by the tissue fixation and refuses to play along.

Dear Gwen: Month Thirty-Four

Dear Gwen,

Today you turn thirty-four months old.

You astound me every day with the things you say and, especially, the way you say them. Recently, the word "fubar" has entered your vocabulary, and I can't even describe the shock when I first heard you say it. "Where did she learn that from?" I asked your dad, who was just as clueless as I was. I heard you use it a few more times, but never with enough context to make it comprehensible. Then, last weekend, we were watching Curious George, one of your favourite movies. "Give me a hug, you little furball!" The Man in the Yellow Hat (aka Ted) enthused to his monkey friend, and you immediately echoed, "Give me a hug, you little fubar!" Ahhhh. Enlightenment! Furball, when translated into your particular accent, becomes fubar. This was confirmed when we looked after your grandparents' dog, Fritz, for a couple of days: you repeatedly referred to him as a "little fubar".

Speaking of Fritz, boy, you sure loved having him around. I think it's because you finally had someone in the household you outranked. You talked to him nonstop, and wore him out pretty darn well. Typical monologue: "Fritz! Fritzy. Fritz. Come! Come! Come come come come come! Fritz, come! Here! Right! Now! Fritz, you can do it! You can do it! You can do it! You can do it! Come on, Fritz! Come! Come! Come! Come here! Fritz! Come! Come on, Fritz!" (Repeat for approximately seven billion hours, or until bedtime, whichever is later.)

You are starting to get very interested in imaginative play, and will make your animals or dolls talk to each other. Strangely, their conversations always centre around one thing: the need for a tissue. It usually goes something like this:

Horse: Hello! I'm a horse!
Cow (in slightly different voice): And I'm a cow!
Horse: How are you today?
Cow: I'm fine! But I need a tissue! Will you get one for me?
Horse: Sure! (Goes and gets a tissue.)
Cow: (makes nose-blowing noises) Thank you!
Horse: You're welcome! Now I need a tissue! Will you get one for me?
Cow: Sure! (Goes and gets a tissue.)
Horse: (makes nose-blowing noises) Ahh, much better!

I have heard countless variations on this script from dozens of characters; the dialogue repeats endlessly, with a great many tissues being harmed in the process. Most curiously, I have never heard you, Gwen, in your own voice and speaking for your self, ask for a tissue or show any interest in one when it is offered. Your brain is a fascinating place.It's not only your animals that talk to each other. Recently, you have begun having dialogues with your own extremities as well. Your hands talk to each other in the manner of sock puppets, even when they are not adorned with an actual sock; your feet talk to each other, too, and you scrunch and unscrunch your toes to imply a moving mouth. After a meal, for example, as I fetch a wet cloth to clean you up, your right hand tells me, "Mama! I need to be cleaned!" and your left hand pipes up, "I need to be cleaned, too!"
Recently we went to visit your Grannie Maureen and Grandpa Ron in Powell River for a weekend, just you and I. We had a great time: it was a very relaxing and low-key trip, with no schedules, no big family gatherings, no obligatory commitments. You really enjoyed hanging out with your grandparents, and showing off all your skills to them. The high point of the trip, I think, was when Great Grandpa came to visit and we all had dinner together. He got such a kick out of you! At dinner, someone made Grandpa Ron laugh and he slapped the table with his hand. You were fascinated by the noise this made and tried to duplicate it yourself - but since your hand is a lot smaller than Grandpa's, it didn't quite work, so you asked Grandpa to do it again. He told you he would do it again if you made him laugh, so you decided to tell a knock-knock joke. Weirdly enough, you used to tell this joke pretty effectively, but it has morphed into something else in recent months.

Gwen: Knock-knock!
Grandpa: Who's there?
Gwen: Banana!
Grandpa: Banana who?
Gwen: I didn't say CAKE!

The last word is always something different, usually some random item that your eyes fall on as you tell the joke, and the phrase is delivered in the same coy, sing-song voice every time. You obviously find it hilarious, and that makes your audience find it hilarious, just not for the reason you think.One of your current fascinations is with space, and planets. Your Grandpa Keith recently built you a rocketship out of a dishwasher box, and Grandma Karen decorated it with her usual flair. I've got to admit, I wish I was small enough to fit inside - it's a really cool rocketship! They even bought you a space suit to wear, though you're not too interested in that yet. You love to "blast off" into space, and talk a lot about the planets and their names and features. (You learned them from a song on Blue's Clues.) On the rare moments when you are out at night - for example, when we come home from a dinner at your grandparents' house - you are so excited to see the moon and stars. Your dad is pretty happy that you're interested in something so scientific - he calls you a junior astronomer.I can't believe that you're almost three years old. You seem really big to me these days - so competent, and independent, and such a full person. Contrary to the stereotype, I never found your babyhood all that intoxicating - I think I love you so much more, now, than I did then (and I loved you a LOT back then, too!). It's just so cool to get to know you as yourself, a person I can relate to and interact with and build a relationship with. I really do feel so incredibly lucky to be your Mama. And in the past few weeks, you've started telling me you love me too - the feeling I get when I hear you say that, well, it never gets old.

Love,
Mama

Wordless Wednesday: Swimming Lessons