I know I am a mother (Part 4)

I know I am a mother because of what I buy when I am away from home. So far, I have hit the shops (I admit I haven't done any street/stall-based purchasing) and bought:

- one children's magazine for French African children (Like Chickadee for young Africans; does East & Southern Africa have one of these yet? I know the French start early - try mags for 9 month olds - I kid you not)
- 3 children's books, plus 2 more for friends
- one pair of orange, green and yellow argyle socks for a 7 year old (kids grow, you know)
- [and one graphic novel about young, sassy, urban West African women for the grown-ups]

And I haven't even hit Woodin - the well-known clothing store - yet!

I know I am a mother (Part 3)

I know I am a mother because here I am in Abidjan, away on a work trip and I see so many things to point out the children:

- the fruit bats in the trees opposite my room (remember we found the fossil of the oldest bat known to humans)
- the Zambian and Ghanaian (?) football teams that are staying in the hotel as part of a peace-promoting football tournament; they get a police escort when their coaches pull away
- the swimming pool that I see from window where happy (and affluent) African children paddle about
- the dik dik and monkeys that live at the restaurant where I had lunch
- the train yard that my room overlooks, where a few locomotives (and one commuter train) quietly (!) slip in and out

To balance the sweet

Last night was not at all like the night before. Trying to get the kids down to bed 30 minutes early (because they had an 8 am flight to New Brunswick today) failed miserably. There was much fussing to get pjs on, bouncing on the bed, tearing around the house with drippy toothbrushes hanging from the their mouths, etc. When I kissed them goodnight and left the bedroom, Sophie burst into tears. I returned after 5 minutes and she claimed that her big brother had hurt her. Something he of course instantly denied and who knows, at this point. Sophie agreed to be moved into her own bed and proceeded to wail because she can't get apple juice after teeth-brushing.

After a further 5 minutes of high volume crying, Sebastian starts to bellow that he needs Sophie to go to another room. I scoop a very sad Sophie up in my arms and proceed to cuddle her down to sleep in our room in under 10 minutes.

Sebastian meanwhile is tossing and turning and starts to cry because he is so frustrated that he can't fall asleep. I go in again and lie with him for 2 minutes and then suggest that perhaps he can try to think of all the things that I will be doing in Toronto while he is gone for 3 1/2 days and I will dream up all the things he might do in NB, and we tell each other the next day. That seems to have done the trick.

So no, not all days end up with two tykes cuddled up while they slumber. Nor do they always start at the luxurious hour of 7.20 am. This morning, Seb hopped into our bed at 5 because he was so excited to head to New Brunswick... (For the record, he pictures me working the whole time he is gone. I have some other more fun things planned).

You will always have me.

Taken tonight at 9:35 pm and yes, they are holding hands in their sleep.

We are back in the photo game!

Another warm and sunny winter weekend and so another ski trip. We tried a different park this time and had a slightly icy time.

For some reason, the grown male in our group chose not to ask park staff for advice on which trail he should tackle with a novice skier aged 5. Off they set before lunch, straight into 2 uphill climbs... almost 2 hours later they returned with mixed stories of success/fun/tantrums/etc.

But my go out with Sebastian in the afternoon was great. Mind you, I had asked for advice and made chips the back to base incentive (always works). Seb smiled every time he fell, chattered away to himself, independently decided which hills were too hard to do on skis and promptly took them off, and engaged almost every other skier in conversation.

We are even planning a March trip to do a night ski!

Some like it hot

It seems like Sebastian is a chip off the old maternal block when it comes to the temperature at which he chooses to undertake ablution. When he hops into the shower with me - a rare occurence; in fact, getting him to a bath or shower is rarely his idea - he pipes up with "Boil me like a lobster".

Tuesday night at the YMCA, he is the last child to leave the shower room post-swimming class, as he waits for the water to heat up and up and up.

This morning, he went to join his sister after she had been splashing about for 10+ minutes on her own. He put in a toe daintily (he is taking ballet afterall) and rapidly withdrew it. "It's too cold" he bellowed, and then huddled in front of the electric heater that we added to our unheated bathroom (what Canadian would fail to install heating in their bathroom?) just to stress how chilly the experience was.

Now, he is happily exploring the depths of the bathtub with a submarine named Sophie and has declared that he wants to take a bath every day.

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We hope to pick up the camera today for people missing the visual snapshots of life with our two poppets.

Oh to be famous

Sebastian would like to be interviewed on CBC radio. In fact a few weeks ago, he asked me how to get on to the CBC. Sadly, he just wants the fame/attention and not the hard work of inventing something or tackling a social problem or writing a fantastic collection of poetry.

Today, he was listening to the radio when an interviewee gave out the website for his cause. Seb pipes up asking "what should he say when he is interviewed? How can people reach him and learn more about him?"

So for the record, it's: www.wedgley.blogspot.com Oh, you already have it.

Bliss is

A warm, mid-winter day full of sun and new snow. A 5 year old excited to be on skis for the first time. A dad who is excited to be on skis for the first time in ages. And some poutine.

It's supposed to be warm again on Saturday, so we hope to hit the trails en famille this time.

For those of you living through a once-in-20-years snowfall, I hope that you are toasty, playing in the stuff, and delighting in the visual and auditory beauty of a pristine blanket of new snow.