We spent the day celebrating our baby’s first birthday.  A year ago our beautiful baby girl was born, making a big brother out of our son and completing our family.  I can’t believe the year has gone by already.  

I’m so happy to see her change and grow, but there is a tiny part of me that wants to hold her and say “not yet!”  I was so happy to have another baby in the house…it was busier and more tiring because I was dividing my energy between two kids, but in some ways sweeter because I knew so much more.  I was so much calmer the second time around, less shaken when things didn’t go perfectly.  I felt like I was getting a chance to relive all those sweet baby moments and really enjoy them.

Here we are, back when she was too teeny to know how to smile at a camera when there was no one to smile at!

Maybe you read about my sweet girl in an earlier post.  You can find it here.  She has continued to be such a happy baby, even the appearance of her first two teeth hardly slowed her down.  (Had our first wakeful nights in months, but through the days she still smiled.)

Today was a day spent loving our girl, tickling her, making her laugh, listening to our son sing “Happy Birthday” to her.  We all helped her open her presents, then giggled when she ripped the tissue paper excitedly only to crawl full speed out of the room after each gift.  Apparently stolen freedom is as tempting as any gift at this age.  We opened gifts, had dinner and then brought out the cupcake cake.  And yes, the baby had her first taste of chocolate cake and icing…I held out a cupcake and peeked through the camera to catch her reaction.  Of course I misjudged the distance by an inch or so and she got a good handful of icing!  Boy, instinct takes over at that point, she was happily covered in icing and chocolate crumbs in mere moments.

A wonderful day.  I was so happy to see her this morning, as she laughed and threw blankets out of her crib in excitement just to greet me.  And I was so in love with her as I tucked her in, already asleep from all the day’s celebrations.  Sweet dreams, baby girl.  Tomorrow’s a whole new world.

After a particularly fretful morning last week, I put my son on the school bus, waved goodbye and thanked my lucky stars we had survived the morning.  One argument after another, feet dragging, you name it, we had it going on that morning and I was sure we would be too late.  Or that he would wake the baby in his attempts to put brakes on the morning’s progress.  One way or another, the wheels fell off the wagon, and we were both so frustrated we could barely speak.

What is it about mornings that make me want to jab sharp sticks in my eyes?  I love my son. He loves me.  I have no doubt about either one of these facts, but trying to get him going in the morning is enough to make me lose my mind.  I have tried to set up a schedule that works; I get up early so that I am ready ahead of time, he wakes early enough to get everything done.  I also know that he enjoys his school, and is always happy when I collect him from the steps of the school bus at lunch.

And such was the case when I went out to meet him that day.  He got off the bus, hat on crooked with one eye half covered and the other squinting in the sun.  He had a big smile, a story to tell and a full backpack.  I remembered our mildly traumatic morning and decided to shake it loose.  I took a deep breath, gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear “Hi honey, I love you.”  He beamed back at me and I continued.  “I’m so happy to see you, sweetie.”  We waved to the driver, and made our way up the driveway.

He stopped and looked up at me, and smiled.  It was as though the morning had never happened.  He took my hand to pull me down closer and whispered back, “I like that.  When you call me honey, and sweetie, it makes me happy.  It makes me feel all good in my feelings.  It’s sweet and good like…like candy.”  And he skipped toward the door.

What were we fighting about?  Nothing.  I couldn’t remember.  Sometimes this is how we get through the days.

Does anyone remember when I looked like this on Twitter?  Way back when I was first trying to figure out what Twitter was all about, thinking, hmm…what could the appeal be?  (9 months and way too many tweets later, I’m hooked.)

Well, anyway, then I got ribbed about being a “cup with legs” so I sucked it up and posted a real picture as my avatar.  But some days I miss my little cup photo…it’s such a friendly way to start my day in real life.

I see him standing by his teacher and watch him jump and wave as he recognizes me.  She cautions him to wait until I’m closer, then as she sees me wave, she tells him to go.  He comes at a run, then slows to skipping as he gets closer.

“Mommy!  We were outside!  And I was standing there!  And I saw you!  Did you see me?  Guess what we did today?  Do you know what I have in my backpack?  I love my new school…I want to stay until DINNERTIME every day!”

And so ended our first full week at school. 

People asked me if I would be sad to have my son starting kindergarten.  If I would cry the first day, or feel weepy the whole time he is gone.  I answered honestly – that in the moment I may feel a little choked up, or that of course I was amazed, and a little sad that he was no longer a baby.  But truth be told, it couldn’t have come soon enough. 

Let me explain.  I adore my son…like rainbows and fireflies adore him.  He’s smart, funny, sweet, and full of beans.  He really is a well-behaved kid, but we have our moments.  And when the summer got too long, the routines slipped, everyone got sick of the heat…well, it got a little testy in the Mocha household.  We all felt it.  Too many times we asked him to play quietly or watch a movie while the baby napped or while I worked.  Too often it became just about getting through the days and the to-do lists while trying desperately to keep him entertained.  I felt like we weren’t enjoying each other as much as we could have been.

Two months have passed.  He is happily settled into his routines, attending public French Immersion half days as well as 2-3 half days in a private preschool setting.  He’s busy, but thriving and it’s proven to be a good balance.  He has the challenges of a new language and new school, but also the comfort and familiarity of his former school setting.  He has access to more specialized learning at one, but more gym time and outside play at the other.  He takes the school bus to one, and I drive him to the other.  And for us, it works.

And what I have now is a happy, engaged boy who has all kinds of outlets for his energy, and is actually tired out by the end of the day.  He has made new friends at each school and on the bus.  He gets the benefit of two teaching styles, and two different class sizes.  He is learning a great deal at both schools, but in different ways and I think it will give him a great foundation as he continues on with French Immersion.  He enjoys sharing his adventures with us and showing off what he has learned each day.  And we all are happier. 

Back to school?  Back to sanity!

(Now if I could just find a way to stay on top of the calendars, memos, fundraising, photos and artwork for two schools I’d be totally set.)

A cute holiday decoration that hubs decided to put in our powder room.  I love that he and the boy were taking over the decorating, but can I just say that it cracks me up to read “Do you see what I see?” as I go to…ahem…use the facilities?

Two nights ago I read stories to my five year old son, tucked his blankets around him and began to bid him good night.  He repeated our little good night wishes back to me, then with his face in the pillow, paused a long while and added a muffled, “…but I’m just so sad that I didn’t get a poppy.”  He turned his face towards me and swiped at one eye with the back of a hand. 

Uh oh.  I asked him to repeat himself to see if I’d heard him correctly.  I didn’t know for sure if he knew exactly what was going on with the poppies.  I knew we’d talked briefly about Remembrance Day and that there was some discussion at school, but didn’t realize he would assume he should have a poppy too.  (Not trying to be obtuse, but little kids and pins?  With a baby in the house?  Not my first instinct.)

Apparently someone had come in to his kindergarten class selling poppies at school, but you needed money to buy one, and he didn’t have any.  He was totally dejected about it, feeling left out and worried that it was too late to get one.  And if he didn’t have a poppy by Remembrance Day, he might not be able to remember the people who were in the war.  His eyes were glistening and his voice was uneven.  Oh dear.  I was frantically scanning my memory, wondering if I had missed a note, a memo about bringing money to school for poppies.  I couldn’t believe they actually thought kindergarten students would be walking around with money in their pockets. 

I know Remembrance Day will be a very big deal to him this year.  It is a huge collection of ideas he has rarely, if ever, had to ponder:  war, fighting, soldiers, death, memories, graves, poppies.  He is a sensitive boy, smart and thoughtful, with deep feelings.  We have talked of death before, his own grandfather passed away two years ago and it took him a long time to understand.  He will often tell us he misses his Grandpa, even though he was just three when it happened.   He knows his great grandfather fought in the war.  And he knows that people died.  It’s bound to be an overwhelming and discussion filled day.  It’s the first year he has been old enough to be aware of everything that is going on, and oh boy, is he aware. 

I promise to make sure he has a poppy by Wednesday.  I assure him that he absolutely can remember whatever he likes without it, that the poppy is a way to show respect and honour, but that it doesn’t affect what actually goes on in his heart and mind.  I tell him that I will put money in his backpack with a note and if he has the chance again he can buy one.  I promise that if they don’t come back to his class I will take him out and find him one.

After a few minutes of desolate conversation and sniffles, the issue is resolved enough for him to sleep. He’ll trust me, and we will fix it.  He so desperately wants everything to be right for Remembrance Day. 

The next day dawns and we get him ready.  He has money tucked in his backpack just in case, but I don’t even mention the poppy.  I hope he will get one at school, that we won’t have to go out looking for one.  I hope that we won’t have any more tears or sad feelings before he gets one.  He gets on the bus and heads to school.

The morning ticks by.  I consider taking the baby out to go find him one, then stop and decide to wait.  I write an email to my husband to bring one home from the airport when he flies home…then delete it.  Wait.  Finally it is lunchtime.

The school bus pulls up.  I cross my fingers and hope.  The doors open, and my son bursts to the top of the steps.  He bounces down towards me and then as he hits the grass he turns, and beams at me.  He looked taller, like he’d grown an extra inch since I’d seen him that morning.  I finally realized why.  He was standing tall, chest puffed out.

“LOOK!  Mommy!  I have a poppy!”  I feel the weight lift off me and tell him how happy I am that he has one.  He shows it to me – the colours, the pin and explains how it is attached to his shirt.  Then I get a glimpse of what was going on the night before when he was suddenly so upset. 

He takes a deep breath, looks at me in a heartfelt way and explains as we walk back to the house.

“Mommy, I needed this poppy.  You have to have a poppy for Remembrance Day because it’s for remembering.  It helps me remember.  I can remember them so much better now that I have a poppy.  You know, the people that were in the war.  And some of them died in the war so we could be safe.  When I didn’t have my poppy, I couldn’t remember as much.  And I was so sad that I couldn’t remember them.” 

“But I have to be careful when I’m remembering, because I feel really sad.  And do you want to know what I look like when I’m really sad?  Like this.” And he hangs his head and shakes it sorrowfully at the ground, mouth turned down in a sad clown face.  “And then I kind of have to scrunch up my eyes like this when I’m really sad too.  But I’m still glad to have my poppy because it’s important even if it is sad.” 

He is standing beside me as we talk, and while I can see why I thought he looked taller, I still see such a small boy in front of me.  I tell him that I am proud of him, that feeling sad about it just means that he is caring and loving, and how those are two of the things I love about him.  I tell him that having thoughts of sad and serious things is important sometimes if it helps you understand them better.

“Mommy, I want to talk about wars, can you and me and Daddy talk about wars tomorrow?”

I take a deep breath of my own.  Yes.  Yes, we can.  A sad and serious boy deserves sad and serious answers.  If he’s ready to ask the questions, I’ll try to be ready to answer them.

I remember wondering what it would be like when my son learned to talk.  He was our first, and I couldn’t imagine this tiny baby suddenly being grown up enough to talk and carry on a conversation.  I would look at his cute little Gerber face at five months and think…never.  Of course, it didn’t take long before he spoke his first word, then more and now I can barely get a word in edgewise.  He’s five.  Some days all I can think is “if I could just get him to stop talking!”  (Apples, trees, yes, I know the expression…)

The second time around, I am impatient.  My baby girl is eleven months old, and I can’t stand the suspense.  I know she is learning all the time, and I want to know what is going on inside that sweet little peach fuzz head.  She’s so animated, so interested and I wish I could hear her thoughts.  I wish she could talk away at us like he does.

She will call me “Ma ma MA!” or happily greet my husband with “Da da!”  She also will help me if I am trying to talk to him when he is upstairs, as I call or yell up she will look up and let out a high pitched “DadadadadaDA!” and then wait expectantly, as though it will help him hear better.  She is starting to make a G sound that will eventually be our son’s name. 

The other day, though, I stopped being so impatient.  I went in to greet her when she woke up, and there she was, standing up and waiting for me to come into her room.  Blinking in the light, she kept on babbling, and then smiled widely and said “Ma!”  I picked her up, greeted her cheerfully and she leaned on me and made her little waving motion with her hand.  I said “How did you sleep, baby?  I’m so happy to see you!” and my baby lifted her head, smiled and clapped her hands.  Then I said, “Oh, that’s so cute, are you happy too?  I love you.”  And I kissed her.  She looked right at me, puckered up and made kissy noises, one after another, at me.

I suddenly realized…I need to stop waiting for her to talk and realize that she already is communicating so much.  I don’t need to wait for the words to come before I can enjoy a back and forth exchange, a give and take conversation.

We made our way through the day.  Bade farewell to her older brother at school in the afternoon, kisses all around.  The teachers at the door smiled at her and greeted her warmly.  She gave them her best wet grin, wiggled and made happy noises.  We left, saying goodbye and one of them said “Bye bye!” right to her.  She looked the woman in the eye and said “Buh!”  I could have sworn she winked.

At the end of our day, we popped out to the store, just the two of us.  Now too big for her carry along car seat, I popped her in the front seat of the shopping cart.  I wrapped a blanket around and underneath her to protect her from the cold and hopefully from most of the germs.  Away we went, shopping, baby smiling at me and most anyone who would watch.  Suddenly she leaned forward and with a mischievous grin, put her mouth close to a bare part of the handle of the shopping cart, about to suck on it.  I grabbed her up quickly, propped her back up and said “No!  Not in your mouth!  Yuck!” and shook my head.  And with an angelic smile, she shook her head emphatically back at me and said “Uck!”

We went home.  I tucked her into bed that night and decided I could wait after all.  Hearing her voice is and will be the sweetest thing since my son learned to speak.  And absolutely, I will be delighted with every new word and sentence.  But for now, I am content.  All day long, she was talking to me.  In her own little ways, some of them recognizable, and I’m sure many that I never even noticed.  So I’m going to slow down and not be so impatient for the words.  She’s already telling me so much. 

I’m listening, baby girl.