Friday, April 26, 2013

Breaking blog silence to remember somethings about this squishable, delightful, challenging boy of mine.

He sings, ALL the time.  Expecially driving in the car.  It makes me so happy I could cry.  The other boys didn't sing for a long time, and I swear Zephan could sing before he could talk.

And he does talk too!   He is learning big long sentences.  I wuh (love) you.  No thank you.  Chokit milk pwease.

He refuses to keep his socks and shoes on in the car.  He is super ticklish.  He loves any kind of meat.  He eats Mini Wheats and apples, by chewing them up and then spitting them out.

He is a total violent bully who throws temper tantrums in public.  I had it coming right?  One outta four ain't bad, I guess.   He is the kid who randomly hits other kids at the playground for absolutely no reason.  He'll walk up to any adult stranger and pound on them with his tiny fists saying, "I beat you!"   Perhaps the play-fighting and rough housing with his dad and bigger brothers is going a bit too far.

It's hard to stay mad at him though, when he is so snuggly and sunny and charming and delightful.  He bestows us all with plenty of hugs and kisses.   He loves to lay in my arms and say, "buckababy mom?" (Rockabye baby), in the sweetest voice in hopes that I'll sing to him.

He loves to tromp around the house in everyone's boots and shoes, and loves to wear his older brother's superhero capes and pirate costumes.

He loves to have a bath, and then be wrapped up like a burrito in his towel afterwards.  I love it too, those springy curls all fragrant and delicious.

I adore toddlerhood.  I can't help but be extra smitten with the kid who happens to be passing through this phase.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The last First Birthday.

Today was a sort of sad day for me.  

My baby turned one.   That's it for us.  Our youngest child has moved on to his second year, and the first just went by in such a blur, that I can hardly believe it's over.

I wish there were some words to explain what a delight this kid is to me.  He's sweet and gooey and soft and scrumptious.  Kind of like one of my Auntie Pauline's legendary homemade fresh-glazed doughnuts.

He is at that perfect stage where his head full of soft little curls comes right up under my chin when we are snuggling.  And lucky for me, snuggling happens to be one of his favorite ways to spend a minute or two.  He is hilarious, like most of them at this age, and sharp as a tack.

He has six teeth, with an additional two halfway in.  We are still nursing.  (I'll let you draw your own conclusions here.)

He sings most of the words to "twinkle twinkle", in his barely decipherable baby babble.  "Uppabubba" for "Up above the".   I think he leans towards the chatterbox side of the family.  His vocabulary consists mainly of hi, bye-bye, mum, dada, puppup, quack quack and his new favorite, "teeeeeeeethhhh" (with a lot of spitting).

Today in true one year old fashion, he crawled all over the house pushing a toy car making vrooom

He is not quite walking, but oh so close and pretty steady on his feet.

He is hilarious, full of antics and giggles.  He is also starting to figure out what it means when mummy says, "no", in that special tone of voice usually reserved for his brothers.

Zephan is honestly the light of my life.  I adore him, like I do his siblings, but with that special feeling reserved for whichever child is exiting this fleeting stage of babyhood.

Don't grow up too fast my sweetheart.... mummy isn't quite ready to give up her baby just yet.

Happy 1st Birthday Zephan.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Matthew 7:10

The boys are trying to participate in the children's bible study at church.  Sometimes I wonder how much they are retaining and actually learning from our little study sessions.  Question answered today, when Kashton said to me, quite out of the blue, "Mummy, if I ask Daddy for a fish, he won't give me a snake."

So cute, I had to come out of blogging retirement just to record that somewhere.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Introducing Zephan

Zephan Atlas Brown
June 19th, 2011 @ 8pm
8lbs,1oz and 20.5 inches

Zephan finally made his arrival on Father's Day.  He looks like his dad and both of his brothers.  We adore him, and surprisingly enough, so do all of his siblings.  I was prepared for some resistance or hesitation about having a new baby in the house from Kashton, but Kashton really loves him most of all. 

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

A Mother of Convenience

I am a mother because it is easy.  Truly.

The hardest job on earth, is the easiest it has ever been.

If I lived in any other time, or in any other place, I'm not sure what kind of a mother I would be, because I sure complain now.

I mean we all do right?

About how tired we are, how the kids are driving us crazy, about our bodies, our husbands, our homes.  We moan and groan about our disappearing waistlines, sex-lives and brain cells.  We laugh and cry with each other, joined in sisterhood over the woeful tales of never-ending laundry, peanut-butter smeared walls and droopy boobs.

Except that I have felt so chastened lately when I think of how easy I really have it.

I remember when I was pregnant with Kashton, and I knew I was going to have babies a year apart, and I wondered how I would survive.   I remember talking to my grandmother about her own experience, because she, a typical 1940s Canadian Farm wife, had also had babies a year apart.

Except she also had another toddler already to care for, so would have three under three.  And while there are lots of women who even today have found themselves in a similar situation, it's not even remotely similar in reality.

Because my grandma didn't go to the grocery store for bread and milk.  Every single meal, and most of its components came from scratch or hours of labour.  Milk was well... milked.  Bread was baked weekly, along with pies and cookies. Vegetables grown.  Fruit canned for jam and preserves.  There was no McDonalds drive-thru if she was too tired to cook.  No pizza delivery on Friday night.

Food aside, there were no such thing as disposable diapers or wipes, just cloth ones that my grandmother felt lucky enough to be able to put in an actual washing machine, never mind the fact that she had no dryer for three small children and two adults, and that the clothes, wet and laid out all over the house, took days to dry in the winter.

There were no all-night pharmacies for croupy babies.  No 24-hour health lines for fever symptoms and worried mothers.  No Google.  No coffee playhouses filled with baby-wearing mama's in designer clothes sipping $5 lattes.  No sympathetic Facebook Friends to lend an ear at 2 am when the baby has been up crying from teething pain.  No Gymboree classes or swim lessons.   No girls night out or romantic tropical getaways to reconnect with Dear Husband.

What she did have were endless and isolating Canadian prairie winters and hot dry summers in which to be alone most of the day with her children and an endless amount of work.

She barely remembers the infancy of any of her children.  The days were a blur.  She was bone-tired, never sleeping through the night with young babies, and facing the day's chores, which included tending to farm animals (even while in labour) before the sun had even come up.  She also never complained.

She speaks now with regret and a tinge of jealousy at the way mothers these days seem to enjoy their babies.  But for all her busyness in their youth, it doesn't seem to have impacted the love her children feel for her in any way.  My mom and her two sisters and brother revere their mom, and treasure her very openly.   They must have had some innate sense, that this daily grind was truly done on their behalf.  That their growing up fed and clothed and warm and clean was a true hallmark of self-sacrifice.

I have realized since, that what my Grandmother endured to raise her children, was not simply generational either.  Women all over the world are still rising up to challenges in mothering that I cannot imagine, and will simply, never know.

Women who will never get to choose where or how they give birth.  If it is with or without pain management.  Women who will never even have control over their own reproduction,  if they can have them at all, how many children they have or when they will have them.  Women who will never just turn on a tap to bathe their infant, as many times a day as they wish, or to fill a bottle or pot or washing machine. Women who will never have to decide between breast or bottle, vaccinations or not, pre-school or playgroups, organic or jarred, because those choices are not even available to them.

And so, I realize that while I like to equate motherhood with sainthood that I am very far indeed from that pedestal.  Of course I absolutely give credence to the real struggles mothers of even our time and clime come head to head with, but if I am honest, I am a mother because it's actually pretty easy.  The scales are far more heavily tipped towards reward than they are to effort, and when I shut-up long enough to remember that, I am deeply, deeply grateful.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Home again, home again...

There were two little boys that were very happy to have their sister home today from "Potatoes". 
 (AKA Barbados.)  

I think the feeling was reciprocal. 

Friday, April 8, 2011

Weird little things I want to remember:

that my boys like chocolate milk....
with a side of spoon. 

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