Gurgles and Giggles

This afternoon I played a silly game of "airplane" with Baby Girl in front of our bedroom mirror. She smiled, cooed, and then giggled for me for the first time!

(I do concede, however, that the honour of eliciting Baby Girl's very first giggle belongs to her Grandpa Neil.)

This evening our little girl blessed us with a repeat performance. She giggled for both her daddy and me as we made goofy faces in the mirror. It was sweet music to our ears.

Wish List

For anyone who may be interested ...

I would love to receive a copy of The Sound of Music: 40th Anniversary Edition DVD for Christmas. :-)

Happy Birfday

My toddler is obsessed with playing "birfday" right now. His toys become pretend presents. He constructs cakes, complete with candles, using Mega Blocks. Little People figures are his party guests. He even uses toy construction cones as party hats.

My little guy is at his cutest when he sings "Happy Birfday". He joyfully sings this song a dozen times a day. The final refrain is usually "happy birfday to Gampa!". He sings it with gusto.

Who wouldn't enjoy such a great birfday party?

Mommy's Girl

My two little boys are wonderful, but I've discovered that having a baby girl to love is something extra-special. I can hardly believe Baby Girl celebrated her two-month birthday yesterday. She's growing up so quickly!

I feel a special bond with my young daughter. We share several things in common (beyond genetics, that is). Our middle names are the same. We were both born on a Tuesday, on the thirteenth day of the month. We were even born at approximately the same time (a quarter to five in the morning).

You might also say that we share the same love interest. My daughter and I are each madly in love with the same man --- her daddy, Ben.

Mystery Solved

My husband is a handy guy to have around. I think he's identified my mystery bug.

It is called a Banded Horntail, and can grow to be more than 4cm long. The female insect's huge "stinger" is actually an ovipositor that is used only for laying eggs. (Not for stinging hapless victims).

Phew. Now I'll be able to sleep tonight without my dreams being haunted by menacing insects sporting gigantic stingers.

A Bug's Life

This evening we enjoyed supper with Ben's family. After the meal, we retreated to the patio to savour a cool breeze and conversation.

Baby Girl snuggled on her grandma's lap. My father-in-law and I lounged in sturdy adirondack chairs. The boys ran around the back yard, chasing a ball. Ben and his sister remained in the house, engaged in a fierce game of Dance Dance Revolution (but that's a whole other story).

Suddenly, an enormous bug swooped down on the patio. It had a fat, yellow and black striped body, huge wings and crescent-shaped eyes. It flew slowly, buzzing around our heads and coming too close to the baby. The insect briefly landed on my knee. I caught a good look at its disturbingly large stinger.

The bug looked like a wasp, but it was twice the size of any wasp I've ever seen. My father-in-law hurried inside to fetch the fly swatter. The bug must have sensed its impending demise, and it buzzed off just as Ben's dad returned to the patio.

On our way home at the end of the evening, I described the encounter to my husband. "I'll bet it was a hornet," he suggested. A hornet? I've never heard of hornets living in Calgary.

So tonight I have spent (more time than I care to admit) online trying to identify the mysterious bug. I've found Alberta Insects to be a helpful resource. Unfortunately, I am frustrated with the results of my search.

I cannot identify my ferocious insect! I've learned that the only hornets found in Alberta are called Baldfaced Hornets, and they are actually members of the yellow-jacket family. I've searched through dozens of pictures of wasps, bees and yellow-jackets. I've also read several descriptions of flying insects native to Alberta.

My best guess is that the huge bug I saw tonight was a queen wasp or yellow-jacket. It was likely not a Baldfaced Hornet. It might have been an insect called an Ichneumon Wasp (otherwise known as a Stump Stabber).

Aaaarg. I concede defeat.

Join the Conversation

I've taken a step of faith, so to speak. This evening I enabled the "comments" feature on my blog.

To tell the truth, I had intentionally disabled comments because I was scared to open myself up to conversation. However, I understand that interaction is an integral aspect of blogging. Without comments, a blog is nothing more than an pretty diary left unlocked and open for anyone to read.

So with a trembling hand, I now hand you the pen. I'm looking forward to connecting with new online friends.

A Quiet Place

Last night we had some friends over for supper. We enjoyed a fun evening, eating and talking and watching our kids play together. At one point our conversation turned to a comparison of introverts vs. extroverts. I am firmly an introvert. My husband tends to be an extrovert. In the couple we entertained, the roles are reversed. In both cases, though, it seems that opposites attract.

How do I know that I am an introvert and my husband is not? At the end of a long, tiring day I crave solitude. I long to crawl into a cozy corner, curled up with a mug of tea and a good book. Ben, on the other hand, would be likely to phone up a friend and head out for coffee. When he's tired, he loves company and conversation.

I find myself requiring more quiet time these days. Our household is busy! If one child isn't crying, then the other needs his/her diaper changed, and the boys are playing sword-fight, while the baby demands her supper, at the same time as the phone is ringing and my head is spinning, and ... you get the picture. By the end of most days I am wiped.

So I've hatched a little idea. Now that Baby Girl is sleeping in her own room, we no longer need to keep her cradle in ours. I would like to move the cradle into our baby's room. Then, I have a small writing desk in storage downstairs. I plan to move the desk into the empty spot in our room and claim it as "my space". In the evenings when I need to retreat, I can go to my cozy nook and read, or work on my Bible study, or finish my Counterpoint homework.

It's a simple plan, but I like the feel of it. My study nook will be the perfect space to set up my laptop and work on my blog. Who knows? I may create my next post seated at a well-loved desk in a quiet corner of my bedroom.

Ahhhh ... introvert bliss.

Discovery of the Day

Here's an interesting tidbit I learned today (through trial and error). When cooking rice, chicken broth is tastier to use than water. However, the rice will take longer to cook if you use broth and the finished product will be slightly mushier.

(Sorry that I can't come up with anything more profound to post. I'm running on my third straight day without a decent nap, and it shows.)

A New Record

Baby Girl really out did herself last night --- she slept 9 1/2 hours straight! Good girl!

Unfortunately, tonight I am still working on getting her to sleep. I thought I finally had her out, and could snatch a few minutes to work on my blog. As soon as I logged on I heard her fussing through the baby monitor.

Duty calls...

A Touch of Fall?

Has anyone else noticed that the leaves on some trees in Calgary are already turning yellow? It's only the beginning of August ... too early for signs of fall! Autumn is a lovely season. However, I'm not ready for the summer to be over yet. The trees have only had leaves for four months so far this year. I love Canada, but sometimes it is difficult to live in a northern climate.

Nap Time

Much to my chagrin, my peaceful afternoon naps appear to be coming to an end. Maintaining a regular nap time for all three children has been a major battle lately.

Baby Girl will often sleep for two or three hours in the afternoon. My toddler still requires at least an hour's sleep as well. However, Mr. Preschooler seems to be outgrowing his daily nap.

For the past week my boys have been making mischief when they should be sleeping. Stern discipline has not been working. I've even resorted to taking away their special blankies when they misbehave ... but to no avail.

I suspect the problem lies with our eldest son. He's simply outgrown his afternoon nap. His younger brother sees that he is awake, and being a gregarious little guy, he wants to be awake too. If we take our preschooler out of their shared bedroom at nap time, I think (hope) our toddler will settle down to sleep.

Tomorrow will be the experiment. For the first time ever, I will allow our preschooler to have "quiet time" instead of a nap. He will spend some one-on-one time with Mommy in the afternoon. We may read or work on a craft. Then, we will wait and see if he melts down before bed time!

I am very sad to say goodbye to my own daily nap. I have come to rely on it. I suppose I must simply get myself to bed earlier in the evening! I do find it interesting that while Baby Girl is starting to sleep through the night, my preschooler is wanting to sleep less. I guess the next few days will be an adjustment period for us all.

A Judgemental Heart

I recently read an article on Boundless Webzine entitled "You Made Me Sin". The article touched me because it talked about an almost universal human weakness: judgementalism. You can find the full text here.

I think a judgemental attitude is hard to overcome because it is rooted in the heart. Jesus said, "Good people bring good things out of the good stored up in their heart, and evil people bring evil things out of the evil stored up in their heart. For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." (Luke 6:45)

When I judge someone in my heart, my mouth can't help but speak words of criticism. If I want my words to be full of life and light, I need to work on guarding my heart. I must be careful about the kinds of things I feed myself. Do I listen to gossip about other people? Do I entertain harsh or critical thoughts? Do I base my opinions on the world's point of view, or on God's unchanging truth?

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul exhorts believers with the following words: "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." (Philippians 4:8)

Yes, I am a sinner through and through. But I live with the hope that my sins are forgiven because of Jesus. By His grace, my sins are no longer held against me. What right do I have to hold the failings of others against them? C.H. Spurgeon eloquently supports this point with his wise words:

"He who grows in grace remembers that he is but dust, and he therefore does not expect his fellow Christians to be anything more. He overlooks ten thousand of their faults, because he knows his God overlooks twenty thousand in his own case. He does not expect perfection in the creature, and, therefore, he is not disappointed when he does not find it. When our virtues become more mature, we shall not be more tolerant of evil; but we shall be more tolerant of infirmity, more hopeful for the people of God, and certainly less arrogant in our criticisms."

A Yummy Thumb

Our beautiful little girl is learning to suck her thumb. What a sweetie-pie.

Surprise!

Last night Ben and I stayed up late. About 11:30pm we finally trudged up the stairs to bed. For some reason my "mommy radar" was triggered, and I suggested that we check on the boys.

My husband and I flicked on the bathroom light down the hall and quietly opened the boys' door. We slowly tip-toed inside, allowing our eyes to adjust to the darkness. I peered over the rail of our toddler's crib.

I expected to see my tow-headed boy sprawled across his blanket, warmly clothed in his blue pajamas. To my astonishment, all I saw was his naked little backside. What had happened to his pajamas? And where in the world was his diaper?!

My toddler stirred and sleepily stood up in his crib. I spotted a suspicious blue lump on my preschooler's bed. As I slowly pulled the covers aside, my eldest son quickly sat up. Still half-asleep, he sprang from his bed ...

... wearing his younger brother's diaper.

Preschooler-isms

Three-year-olds say the funniest things. Today our family enjoyed a trip to the zoo. As we sat on the grass eating our lunch, my son exclaimed:

"Mommy, this pop is really poppy!"

A few minutes later I groaned as I tried to stand up. I complained that my left foot had fallen completely asleep. With an impish grin on his face, my preschooler asked:

"Is your foot snoring?"

My Pint-Sized Hero

Here's a video of my preschooler showing off his swashbuckling moves as he pretends to be Reepicheep the Mouse from The Chronicles of Narnia.

Flexibility

Ever have one of those days? A day that doesn't turn out anything like you had planned when you woke up in the morning? A day where everything changes and you have no choice but to roll with the punches?

That would describe my day today.

It was not necessarily a bad day, mind you. Definitely tiring. Disappointing at times. But strangely productive too. A bizarre day.

At supper time we unexpectedly found ourselves at the cafeteria in Ikea. As our family ate, the sky outside the windows grew dark and menacing. A ferocious storm broke loose and pummeled the city. Hail stones roared on the store's metal roof, loud enough to make conversation awkward. Our family joined dozens of strangers huddled around the cafeteria's large windows, watching the parking lot fill with slush.

A surreal scene.

I suppose it was just another unexpected event to mark a weird sort of a day.

In the Blink of an Eye

My baby girl is growing up too quickly. Yesterday marked seven weeks since her birthday. Appropriately enough, she also slept seven consecutive hours last night. I think that counts as the first time she officially slept through the night.

She smiles and coos, and is getting quite good at bringing her fist to her mouth. I suspect Baby Girl will become a thumb-sucker like her eldest brother. She is bright-eyed and alert most of the time, and is extremely chubby.

I love her to pieces. I think that the baby stage between "newborn" and "crawler" is my favourite time of all. I wish the next few months would last and last.

Times seems to fly in fast-forward when one has a house filled with small children.

Shock and Horror

I suppose I should have seen it coming.

I've been quite proud of my productivity over the past few days. I spent most of yesterday cleaning the house, getting it into tip-top shape. Perhaps I should not have taken such pride in my accomplishments ...

This morning I took all three children out to the library. We spent an hour playing at preschool drop-in gym at the YMCA. I packed a sack lunch, and we just happened to meet some good friends when we sat down to eat. The kids all behaved. I chatted with my girl friend. We had a great morning.

I had the kids home and napping by one-thirty in the afternoon. Even Baby Girl slept peacefully in her cradle. I patted myself on the back for being a great mom, read my book for a few minutes, then curled under a blanket and fell blissfully asleep.

An hour later I awoke to the sound of my boys talking and giggling behind the closed door of their room. I rubbed my eyes and quietly hauled myself out of bed, careful not the wake Baby Girl as she snoozed across the room. I stopped for a drink of water and then crossed the hall to the boys' room.

"Hi," I said as I pushed open the door, "Did you guys have a nice..." The question died on my lips as I took in the scene before me. I gasped. I felt sick to my stomach. I briefly considered shutting the door and going back to bed.

My 21-month-old stood in his crib, chewing on the rail. The clothing was missing from the bottom half of his body. His three-year-old brother sat a few feet away on his own bed. He was also missing his clothing. The pages of a Dr. Seuss book were scattered like leaves across the quilt.

But worst of all was the poo --- the brown filth that coated everything. Smeared like finger paint, feces covered the wall, the crib rails, bedding and stuffed animals, my toddler's clothes ... even his face. Poo was ground into the carpet. A toy vacuum sat in the middle of the mess, along with several toy tools.

I stared at the carnage, stunned speechless. I vainly attempted to gather my wits. At that moment I was supremely grateful my husband is a work-at-home dad. Slowly, I backed out of the room. "Don't move," I ordered the boys.

I leaned over the hall railing and called down the stairs, "Ben!! I need you! We have a problem." What an understatement.

Ben came up the stairs, surveyed the scene, and took charge of the situation. I numbly followed orders. I could barely think. I was furious.

We'd had a great day together --- the library, preschool gym, lunch with friends. My house was decently clean, and I had just cleaned the boys' room and tidied their toys. How could my sweet children spoil it by doing something so disgusting?

"Will you tackle the boys or the room?" Ben asked.

"You'd better bath the boys," I replied, "I'm so angry I don't even want to be near them."

Ben ran the tub. I fetched a garbage bag, carpet shampoo, lysol wipes, and a bucket of vinegar solution. I grit my teeth and set to work. Several toys ended up in the trash. I changed all the bedding, scrubbed the walls and crib rails, and shampooed the carpet. All the while I was seething inside.

As Ben bathed our belligerent sons he extracted the full story from the three-year-old. Apparently, the toddler had filled his diaper. He somehow managed to remove his overalls and the offensive diaper, spreading it's stinky contents throughout his crib. He decided to experiment with the forbidden solids, smearing them on the wall and hurling them onto the floor.

His older brother, in an attempt to help, got out of his own bed. (This is a serious offence in our household.) Using preschooler logic, he went into the closet and retrieved his toy vacuum. He tried to vacuum up the feces, but only succeeded in making the mess worse. The three-year-old then tried to scrape the mess out of the carpet with his toy tools.

When that didn't work, my eldest son decided on a different tactic. He pulled a book from the shelf and industriously began tearing out the pages. Why would he do such a thing? He was trying to construct a new diaper for his little brother.

I have to give the kid credit. At least he is a creative problem-solver.

To make a long story short, my boys emerged from their bath with red bums. Ben and I thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment. In the end, we made the boys return the new DVDs we had just borrowed from the library, unwatched. This was an especially upsetting consequence for our young preschooler.

After such an afternoon, bedtime couldn't come soon enough in the Inkster household. At the stroke of eight Ben and I kissed our wayward boys goodnight, softly shut the door to their room, and breathed sighs of relief. I then hugged my husband goodbye and strapped Baby Girl into the bjorn carrier.

I took a loooong walk.

Eventually, I found myself standing at the counter in Starbucks.

Nothing like a grande decaf frappuccino iced coffee (hold the whip cream) to cool a weary mom's anger.