The Routine

Hi Jack,

I just wanted to let you know how much I am enjoying life with you right now. You're the best alarm clock ever, where I wake up to a wonderful whirlwind of:

Songs - "Tinkle, tinkle," "hmmhmmmhmmm," and ABCs with a lot of lalalala
Attempts at counting "two, two, two, two, three, two"
Randomly jumping and bodyslamming yourself
Most recently, "dark, dark, dark, lights, lights, lights, lights, lights,"
And my favourite, "GGGGOOAAAAAAALLLLLL, hockey, hockey, hockey."

Once up, you run from your room at Mach speed to make sure all your car, truck, and train books are still in the house and begin strategically moving them throughout the living room so you are never more than three feet from a vehicle book at any given moment.

Then we're on to breakfast - usually pancakes, waffle, or toast and a pile of fruit. Once consumed, we're back to the books sprinkled with a healthy does of Theo taunting, hugging, and poking. A new routine we've started is giving Theo treats, where we place a small biscuit on his nose. The last few mornings you've run from your chair and froze in a wide-legged stance yelling "nose" (pointing dramatically at your nose in case I'm not understanding your uber-happy rants). We proceed to give Theo five treats, which is never enough, and then head back to the living room to read and play. I can't wait until you learn to throw the ball this summer as I think you and Theo are going to love the backyard.

As for the nightly routine, I usually get home around 5:30 and am greeted at the door by a super happy kid yelling "lights, lights, lights two, two, two". Since we've put the Christmas tree up, Mom has given me the honours of turning on the lights with you which we begin with a 1-2-3 count (hence the "two, two, two" sequence).

After dinner, it's usually downstairs for some hockey, wrestling, and random toy throwing. As soon as I ask if you want to head downstairs, it's like you've been hit with an adrenaline dart. You take a dramatic pause, yell "HOCKEY" and run to the stairs. It's truly awesome. I've tried filming it several times but as soon as the camera comes out you're somehow able to control this outburst. Once downstairs, we usually only get a few hockey shots and passes in before you start running around from play station to play station (that you mother has so wonderfully maintained and regularly updates based on your boredom levels). We usually get 30-45 minutes before it's bedtime but I cherish this time and love the random body slams, hockey shots, and things you find amusing (you've got the best laugh ever).

As for bedtime, you get some milk as we read more books about cars, trucks, or trains. Then it's into bed for some singing of "Twinkle Twinkle" and ABCs. You haven't started following along yet but if I stop you usually jump in with your best attempt at each song and have got the melody figured out quite nicely. Then I leave the room and am entertained by another 15 to 30 minutes of random singing and recollections of the day. I love it and look forward to doing it again tomorrow.

Love,
Dad

Twenty-One Months

I just got used to saying you were just about 21-months old, and now look. I have to say you are 21-months old. And then I try not to cry when I think about how two-years-old is hot on our heels. This month, we've had a hard time convincing people just how hockey crazy you are. You seem normal and somewhat mild mannered. But when dinnertime is over, you know the next thing on the agenda is to head downstairs and play hockey with dad. At the very moment that word crosses our lips, you go into hysterics, running from the table screaming, "Hockey, hockey, hoooocckkeeeyy." And then will often follow with a list of the words you associate with hockey, "Puck, puck, puck. Scooooore. Gooooal." I often hear you in your crib in the morning preparing yourself for the day by repeating, "Hockey. Scoooore."


Your other favorite "passing the time in my crib in the morning until mom drinks half a cup of tea and feels capable of coping with a rambunctious 21-month old" past-time is trying to master songs. Dad has worked really hard with you on Twinkle Twinkle. Regardless, your rendition is usually closer to "Twinkle twinkle...star...wonder...are." Short, sweet, and to the point. Just what your momma likes in an orator. The best part of your morning gabber fest comes when you start to mash together all the words you know. "Mommy, daddy, scoooore, star, Theo, light, hockey, hockey, hockey, digger, beep beep, mommy, gooooal, daddy, daddy, daddy." And then somewhere in the middle of it all you sneeze, laugh to yourself, and my heart melts another little bit.


One of our newest challenges has been trying to explain to you that you are going to be a big brother next year. Whenever I try telling you momma has a baby in her belly, you look at me like I am a) crazy and b) completely unaware of what I am saying to you. Sometimes, you lift up my shirt and poke my belly button. Sometimes you gaze back into my eyes and say baby and it makes me want to cry. Like all moms, it is sometimes tough to imagine having another in our family we could love just as much as you. Those little feelings of guilt find their way in sometimes as I realize you won't get to be the center of the family universe for a whole lot longer. But, I also see how fondly you gaze a little babies and love to see them wiggle and move. You have so much love in your heart, little one, that I can't wait for you to share it with your brother or sister. You will be an amazing big brother, and who better to teach the next one in our family about the wonders of diggers, hockey and stickers.



Love,
Your Momma

Twenty Months

Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack. Our personal mynah bird. This is the time in your life when that infamous language explosion is occurring. Everyday, you are regaling us with the new words you've learned. Or mistakingly overheard. Unfortunately, you refused to demonstrate any of this extensive word knowledge during our last visit with the Community Health Nurse. Whereupon she asked us a few times whether you were "using actual words" on a "consistent" basis instead of just "grunting a lot." Dude, this was no way to fast track your application into the Mensa society.


Outside of that 20 painful minutes of your mommy's life, you have given us many laughs as you attempt to place words with the things you love. Obviously, food words top your agenda because you are a kid with a one-track mind for culinary delights. Nary a moment passes that you aren't asking me for grapes, apple, pear, orange, milk, crackers, water, juice, raisins, cheese, or meat. Following a very close second are all things automotive or mechanical in nature. We've looked at more diggers, airplanes, helicopters, dump trucks, cars, trucks, fire trucks, police cars, ambulances and cranes than any two people should. The fact I now know the difference between an excavator and bulldozer should be an indicator that MOMMY HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE TRUCKS.


The highlight of your foray into 20-monthdom occurred just recently when you got the chance to stand next to an honest-to-goodness garbage truck. The garbage administrator or disposal advisor or waste management coordinator - or whatever they call themselves nowadays - invited you to come up to the truck as they picked up their weekly cache of trash from the neighbourhood. You would have thought the skies had opened up and it was raining gold nuggets. You watched in awe as the garbage administra... - guy - threw the trash in and then smushed it up with the compactor. You screeched in glee as the truck backed up and beeped, beeped, beeped away. For the rest of the day, you just kept reenacting the throwing of garbage, a movement not unlike you were trying to swat a fly from in front of you. In fact, I can still ask you about garbage trucks and you'll start pretending like you are tossing the stuff yourself.


You are never-ending joy, Jack. Well, almost never-ending. Except those times you scream and run away from us in shopping centres. And the grocery store. And the library. But that aside, you are becoming such a little boy. No longer a baby, you are showing all the signs of growing up. Sometimes, I just want to make time stop so I can smell your head just a little longer without you saying "Moooom, stop it. Gross." I want to never lose that feeling of your tiny little hand in mine. I want to etch in my brain the way you sing songs in your crib every morning. It's going to happen, Jack, I know. But right now, I just want it to stop.

Love,
Your Momma

Eighteen, Nineteen...Whoa Hold On Here

It's not that I forgot to post a monthly update, Jack. It just looks that way. Fortunately, you are a very forgiving person with a kind soul, so you're going to let your momma slide just this one...uh, two...times.

Let's just say over these two months you kept growing, kept getting cuter, kept getting smarter.

And don't they say a picture is worth a thousand words? So, let's just say I've written a solid 4,000 words on your development and we'll call it day, alright?

Thanks baby. Momma needs to get back to her stories and bon bons.

Seventeen Months

In hindsight, we should have made one of your middle names, "Genius." Because, really Jack, that is what you clearly are. We cannot pass a park this past month without you resolutely whooping "weeeeeeee" at the sight of a slide. There we are, minding our own business trying to safely navigate you from point A to B in a car speeding a very legal 80 km/h when out of nowhere you holler "weeeeeee" from the backseat. We try to call you on it and inform you there is no park anywhere around, but 99% of the time you are right. About 120 feet away hidden behind a grove of dead pine trees and abandoned baseball diamond will be a park you've spied with those eagle eyes of yours.


This month, we finally decided it was time to cut your hair. The constant barrage of "darling girl" comments drove us to it, Jack. Your dad was worried that like a biblical Samson we may risk removing all of your powers by cutting off your lengthy locks. He had nothing to fear, as it happens. You continued to be the crazy, rambunctious kid we know, maybe even with new and improved super powers. Since then, we have not received one single girl-like comment about you. You may thank me later for having saved your masculinity at such a tender age.


Your adoration for our dog, Theo, has skyrockted this month as well. Nary a moment will pass that you aren't calling out "Eeeeeeooooo" and searching out your new favorite buddy. Little did we know Theo would come to serve so many purposes in your life: best friend, entertainer, tag team partner, punching bag, step stool. Luckily, he is quite possibly the most patient dog on the face of the Earth. He has also quickly learned that you rapidly approaching with your toy truck is a signal for DANGER DANGER MOVE IT DOG OR PREPARE TO BE RAMMED IN THE RIBS WITH THE BIG RIG OF DOOM.


Your constant curiousity and desire for the outdoors has not faltered one bit. Each morning, you look forlornly out to the patio, eyeing that water table sitting all by itself NOT BEING PLAYED WITH and the sand box SCREAMING YOUR NAME and the flower boxes NOT BEING UPROOTED REGARDLESS OF MOM'S DESIRES. You burst with utter glee when we tell you to go get your shoes so you can go outside. It's like being released from a prison. Yes, a prison with your own personal chef, chaffeur, and complete health care benefits. It must be torture living like that, Jack. Only because we know we will want to further torture you one day with stories of your ridiculous hair and lively discussions, we have provided this video wrap up for you this month. I love you, my little Banana Devil.



Love,
Your Momma

Sixteen Months

Here we are silently, quickly creeping up on that much-discussed eighteen month-old mark where you are apparently going to turn into a pig-headed, independent, "It's all about me" kind of kid. I thought that happened when you hit one year, Jack. You mean he's going to get MORE STUBBORN? In that case, I am returning you for a full refund. Or at the very least, a store credit so I can get some new capri pants.


It's all joy and pain, sunshine and rain, Jack. For instance, this month you learned a new word. Owww. Or your next favorite variation, owwie. Supposedly, we should be happy you've added a new word to your burgeoning vocabulary. In reality, we are mortified. Why? Because you use it constantly. In every situation. Like that day when we were having such a fun time at the pool. And then I tried to put a life jacket on you. The pool area filled with sounds of you screaming, "Owwww, owwwww, owwwwieeee." I, trying to keep my swim shorts at a height that wouldn't have us removed from the pool due to public indecency, just smiled and tried to pretend we were playing a fun game. You kept screeching, "Owwwwwww," long after the offending jacket had been secured and we were happily playing in the water. Scratch that. Me, happily. You, howlingly. However, the waterslide quickly distracted you from the devil's floatation device and we were able to survive the day.

That was fun. Almost as much fun as when I pulled out your healthy, home-prepared lunch when we were sitting at Starbucks one fine, sunny day. Opening all my little pre-packed plastic containers, I was awfully proud of the beautifully cut vegetables I painstakingly cut into little julienne bits for you. I was even more impressed by the wholesome whole wheat tortilla spread with garden vegetable cream cheese and cut into handy little strips for your eating pleasure. And your response the moment your lips touched the creamy garden vegetable goodness? "Owwwww, owwww, owwwieee." Echoing through the tiny little Starbucks, it sounded as if I had chosen to feed you razor blades for your mid-day lunch. Rusty, dirty razor blades smeared in bug guts.

But for all the ranting and raving and lunacy, you are still the funniest, smartest little boy we have. The last little while, you have been completely obsessed with airplanes. We could be face-to-face with a man-eating lion who is snarling and seconds away from eating us, and you'd hear a plane, look up into the sky and proclaim "pane." Nothing stops you from noticing those flying machines, Jack. You find the slightest things endlessly amusing. For all the toys you have, you'd just as soon play with a whisk and bowl. Your affinity for kitchen implements clearly illustrates you are not my son. I also enjoy watching how as life hands you lemons, you make rocking chairs. Keep up the good battle, my son. I wouldn't have it any other way.



Love,
Your Momma

Fifteen Months

You probably thought you'd end up in college before I'd post this monthly update, didn't you? Me too. I'm traveling, Jack. Traveling on BUSINESS. There was a time, about 12 months ago, I didn't ever think I'd have anything to do with the word BUSINESS again. Except those types involving monkey, risky and 'none of your'.


Your pursuit of the great outdoors has posed a challenge for us this month. You've realized that just beyond that large, white hinged object that your dad and I exit and reappear through lays an entire world of sticks, pinecones and plastic garden toys. "STICKS, people," you seem to scream with your eyes every time you catch the slightest glimpse of the lawn from an open door. "STICKS I can carry in TWO HANDS. At ONE TIME." You love being outside more than anything right now, little Jack. You could wander for hours along the sidewalk, checking out what new weeds have appeared on the lawn, sauntering up the neighbour's driveway to see if you can coerce the teen girls to come out and oogle over you.



Your hair. Your hair. Your hair. There is not a day that passes that we don't hear about your hair. Sometimes we indirectly hear about your hair through comments such as, "She is so adorable." Dude, what can I do? Seriously. Yes, it hangs over your ears. Yes, it is curly. But I dress you in blue - CONSTANTLY - and try to have some sort of male-oriented paraphenalia on your shirt at all times, like a tractor or race car or that silhouette of a naked girl we see on mud flaps. We've got two options here: 1) Cut your hair and risk having short, loopy curls sprout that make you look like a poorly maintained poodle. 2) Leave it and make you wear a "If I had a sibling, I'd be a BROTHER" t-shirt.



This month, Jack, this month you embraced the very rhythm of the earth. You began to dance. Not exactly a free-flowing, give yourself over to the music and let your heart soar kind of dance. More like a bend your knees and sporadically bob up and down like a Whack-a-Mole carnival game kind of dance. Everytime I begin to hum the opening bars of 2 Unlimited's 'Get Ready for This', you instintively start bobbing to the beat. It's like my misspent nights in the mid-90s dance club scene absorbed directly into my bloodstream, lived latent in me for 10 years, and then passed through the placenta to reappear in you. Your dad is somewhat mortified you've taken to my bizarre attachment to techno-dance music of another era, but there ain't no room in our daily gotta get down agenda for Belle & Sebastian blechy blechy barf music, now is there, Jack?


Keep shaking what your momma gave you.

Love,
Your Momma

Fourteen Months

Fourteen is my favorite number. Did you know that, Jack? Probably not. Since advanced language still eludes you and you haven't asked me, how could you know?

For starters, let's review all the words you've picked up in this past month or so. By far, our favorite word is "cracker". To which you add your own unique pronounciation flare to make it sound something like craaacc-oore. There is a definitive pause between the 'craaacc' and 'oore' part. Sort of like that pause between shifting from first to second gear. And everything with a crunchy texture is cracker to you. Cheerios? Craaacc-kkaahh. Toast? Craaacc-kkaahh. But I always tell you what the food really is, Jack. Because when I was little, my parents lied to me about food. Yes, you read correctly. LIED. Your grandparents, Jack. You're right - they should be ashamed.

For many years and countless numbers of dinners, I was told we were eating steak. Once in a while, I found the steak to taste a little odder than usual. A little denser. A little more yuck. Then one day, I learned to read. One night, during "special steak" night, I caught a glimpse of the "special steak" package. I said, "Mom, what does L-I-V-E-R spell?" And that is when I learned the awful, painful truth, Jack. I vowed at that very moment to never blatantly and callously lie to you about food the way some parents did to cover up a sickening, horrible reality. Your grandparents will have to live with that guilt for the rest of their life. Can you imagine the shame they must feel, Jack?

Now, back to you. And how I take the moral high ground by refusing to tell an innocent child a lie about organ meats. You also picked up the word "water" this month. And nothing compares to how when I ask if you want water, you smile this gigantic smile and say "ot-ter". Yes, like the sea-faring mammal. It is so beyond adorable, I just want to squeeze your cheeks as I type this. You've also been saying "apple" for quite a while now which in your world is "ap-poh". You also know that a duck says "quack quack" and you're pronounciation in this arena is improving quite a bit, thankfully. Originally, you would proclaim, "cock cock" which made it socially awkward for us when you saw a duck in public.

Perhaps the best and worst word you've also learned this month is "book". Everything is about the book, Jack. Mom's sitting down? Book. Dad entered the room? Book. Mom's pulling her hair out trying to avoid walking over top of you as she frantically prepares dinner? Book. Sometimes you'll sit forever just looking back and forth through the book and listening to us make up stories. Sometimes you barely last five seconds before you're off our lap looking for another one. I'm thrilled to see you enjoying the world of Spot and Dr. Seuss. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

With the good has come the less than good. This month you also started temper tantrums. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. If something's not going the way you intended, we - and our neighbours within a two-block radius - hear about it. It starts off as your standard protest cry but then escalates like one of those emergency evacuation alarms. It's deafening, really. Impressively, I believe you've also managed to activate a chain reaction of car alarms with that howl.

But you are still my most favorite, huggable, laughable, tiny hockey-haired boy. I love how I put you down for a nap with pretty reasonable hair and you awake with this Ludwig van Beethoven-inspired set of crazy curls. I love how you play so coy by tucking your head against your shoulder and smiling so hard I think your face is going to permanently stretch. I love how when I come home, you come lumbering around the corner with your new toddler walk all smiles and teeth ready to drool on my new pants. I'll take the drool over the fancy pants any day, Ludwig.


Love,
Your Momma

Awim-away-awim-away

It's hard to understand you sometimes, Jack. Like, this video for instance. It was from two months ago and yet I look at it now and can remember no possible reason why you decided to suddenly morph into a lion-like weirdo. And yet, that's the magic of being a baby. You just get to.

Thirteen Months

Lucky number thirteen snook up on us, didn't it? We've been so busy feeding your walking fetish we haven't had a chance to sit down to recount all that happened this past month. Let's review, shall we?


The weekend after your birthday we had your first official birthday party. Booze, poker, dancing girls. Jack, it was amazing. Well, okay. Maybe more like mimosas, coloring, dancing girls. You were the life of the party as you happily dug into your homemade cake decorated by none other than your artistically-inclined dad. Not too many kids can say their first cake was lovingly covered in overprocessed, high concentration glucose-fructose, non-organic chocolate and vanilla frosting by their dear old dad. Aunts, cousins, grandmas, great grandmas, and friends were all on hand to celebrate the milestone with you. You were mostly just happy to be the center of all attention, somewhat like another male who lives in our household who shall remain unnamed.


Since then, you've pretty much been on a mission to get this walking thing taken care of. You progressed from the occassional wobbly step to about a 50/50 crawling and walking split. As I write this, you are now pretty much walking full time. Your little elbows bent at 90 degrees, your fists clenched, and ambling from side to side as you go. Kind of like a tensed-up miniature cowboy who has ridden one too many bulls in his time. You seem to relish the new opportunities this mobility brings. Better access to countertops! Able to reach more drawers! Finally able to get into the cereal cupboard on your own! You are a living, breathing brochure for the benefits of toddler walking. I expect to see you on a late-night infomercial one day soon, schlocking some "Secrets of Two-Footedness Revealed" DVD and companion book set for two easy payments of $39.99. You'll be demonstrating to the kids how to finally beat mom's system for getting to the nice books on the high book shelf.


While you've mastered your father's panache for physical exertion, you've also continued your drive towards matching your mom's keen mastery for the English language. You've done the easy ones - mama, dadda, ball, apple. You even call out for your stuffed sheep by crying "Baaaa baaaa" when you see it. But now - now! - you are tearing up the linguistic roadways with two syllable words. I smell Harvard, Jack. Technically, you started with the two syllable words as you entered your fourteenth month, so really, I can't say much in this update or it'll ruin the next one for you. Suffice to say, you are a genius. I'm already working on your Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech.


I can't tell you how much I mean it when I say how much more I love each passing month with you. Everything is just more full, more fun. You are so curious and determined. And easily frustrated. But you come by that last trait honestly since you are half made up of your dad's chromosomes. Your smile is absolutely infectious. It doesn't matter how down I am or how mad I am because you've eaten the paper off yet another one of my tampons, the second you turn on that smile everything is forgiven and forgotten. I wait for that smile every morning and it's what I remember about you every night. Whatever you are feeling, you feel it with your whole being. Whether happy, sad, mad or frustrated - you put your entire self into that emotion of the moment. I feel it, Jack. I feel your joy and your sorrow and I'm in it all the way with you, baby boy.

Love,
Your Momma

Twelve Months

One year and countless memories later.


This time last year, we met face-to-face for the first time. You, an impish, wrinkled and somewhat orangish baby, and me, a tired, bedraggled new mom hopped up on lidocaine. It was love at first sight. I remember seeing your face as your dad held you up to mine and I never imagined I could be so happy to see someone I never knew before. At that moment, I thought you were just perfect. I look at the pictures now and realize you were puffy and misshapen at the time, but love blinds us, c'est non?


As I looked in on you sleeping last night, I remembered our first night together in the hospital. I don't think I slept more than 15 minutes at a time because I kept wanting to make sure you were okay. That and I needed another hit of codeine to get me through the EXCRUTIATING PAIN of having my stomach sliced open. Sorry. I don't mean to scream, Jack. The memories of 34 hours in labour are long forgotten. Well, not really. That will come with many more nights of cabarnet sauvignon and electroshock therapy. But, as I watched you sleep that night I cried and cried because I felt so thankful to have you beside me. I cried because you reminded me of all that can be perfect in the world, and I cried because I knew how blessed your dad and I were to be able to bring your little life into the world. And really, I just cry a lot, too.


We didn't have the easiest start together. You weren't always content with life and were often unsatisfied with what we had to offer. I was overwhelmed and scared. I was convinced you were unhappy because I was doing something wrong. I was sure you were going to turn out to be an illiterate, angry, shoplifting head of an environmentally unresponsible company with questionable accounting practices. And it was going to be all my fault. But then two and half months passed and you calmed down a bit. And then six months passed and you were smiling to everyone and happily babbling to all who would listen. And then ten months came and you were crawling and playing contentedly on your own. And now you are one-year old and you are a different boy than you were those many months ago. You smile and talk and make faces at us just to make us laugh. I no longer feel uncertain or frightened of the next day. Instead, you've renewed my spirit, my life. I think we had to go through the dark parts together, Jack, just so we could appreciate the beauty and brightness of these times more fully.


In this last month you've, pardon the pun, taken great strides towards walking. You are becoming increasingly intent on making it happen. You've managed a few shaky steps each day and we're now just waiting for when we pull you out of your crib, set you down, and you walk right over to the dining room for breakfast like you've been doing it all along. You have also become our favorite party trick. Dad makes a face and you mimic it. We say a word and you try to repeat it. We ask "Where's Barney?" and you make a dash for your new favorite brown bear. Like I've said all along, it seems we would go weeks at a time where nothing new would happen and then, WHAMMO. You pull out the word "apple", start pointing at things, waving bye-bye to everyone, and the world changes daily. It's absolutely fascinating to watch, Jack. You are so smart and so perceptive. I knew my genes would come in handy for something. That and the ridiculously curly blond hair that is starting to tangle itself behind your head like the snakes of Medusa.


It's been one heck of a year, kiddo. I am honestly so excited about this next year and all the stuff we'll get to do together. You are my best excuse for going to the zoo, visiting water parks and talking maniacally about produce at the grocery store. You give me reason to make the decisions I do in my life and oddly enough, having you as a baby in our family this year has actually shown me a freedom I never thought I'd find in life. Happy Birthday, baby boy!

Love,
Your Momma

Eleven Months

Can you feel the countdown in the air, Jack? Can you feel the electricity, the excitement, the sheer pulsing of the universe as we approach 12 months? It's like the moments before the ball drops in Times Square on New Year's Eve, but minus the drunks and alleyways that smell like urine.

But man, this 11 months thing has been cool. You're becoming a little boy right before our eyes. We talk, you respond. We laugh, you giggle. We swig whiskey on the couch in our underwear, you drink water from a straw. These are the magical moments of being almost one.


You've started using words with some context applied to them. Sure, you are still the king of muttering random syllables at inappropriate times of night and day, but you've also figured out what certain things are called. Like "dada". When he leaves in the morning as you eat breakfast, we make a big production out of saying "bye bye" to "dada". Of course, you don't respond to any of that. You just like me to look like a boob as I sit with my matted hair and frog pyjamas waving moronically at your dad. But, as soon as he walks out of the house and locks the door, you usually then make a quizzical face and say "dada?" Kind of like "Oh, you mean that big bald guy was leaving. That's what your hysterics were all about?"


You also manage to sneak out a "bye bye" and a "momma" on rare occasion. "Momma" is typically reserved for when you are particularly frustrated or angry. That's really nice. Having your name associated with moments of sheer madness. Really. I'm touched. I have tried in vain to get you to say "paella" if not for the simple fact I really just wanted to tell people your first word was "paella". I mean, really, how many kids can claim that? That totally would have got us on Oprah.

We celebrated our first Christmas as a new family a few weeks ago. We spent Christmas Eve walking the neighbourhood to look at Christmas lights and opening some of your 324 gifts. We were so excited about all your presents that we made you stay up late to open them with us. Please make note of five words in that sentence that we learned a little lesson from: made you stay up late. One of our family members wasn't too happy about being kept out of bed an hour too long. But, no rest for the wicked, little man, as we hauled off to Grandma's and Grandpa's house for Christmas morning. Normally, we'd have celebrated the day sitting with a nice cup of coffee, eaten a nice, warm breakfast and casually chatted as we slowly opened gifts. Now take the inverse of each of those statements and you have what we ended up with. It was crazy and chaotic and an absolute hornet's nest of activity. But you loved every nutty second of it. You were most excited about flailing wrapping paper about and trying to eat bows. I was most excited we didn't have to end up visiting the ER that morning to remove gold curly ribbon from your trachea.


For my birthday, you spent two entire nights away from your dad and I. You managed the transition really well and charmed them - mostly - with your usual Jackness. Minus the part where you lost your ever-loving mind because dinner wasn't served when you requested it. The nerve of those hosts. Pish tosh. You've also done so well with our new nanny who I believe you think is your designated play giver from heaven. Never mind anything else, just PLAY with me WOMAN. I suspect she spoils you by simply focusing every morsel of her being on your play time. It is woefully disappointing for you the next day when you are stuck with me and you're all "WHOA WOMAN!? Why are you not crawling on the floor with me making chicken noises and tickling me?"


How much have I loved this past month? More than I could ever say, Jack. That sense of recognition and joy that sweeps over you when you see me or your dad is just overwhelming. The times when we laugh and then you laugh to imitate us is the sweetest sound to me. And how you point up at the light EVERY SINGLE NIGHT at dinner to show us that you know that if you point at it, we'll tell you what it is. Again. And again. And again. And I would do it a hundred times over if it let me see that pride and joy in your face, my sweet bubby.

Love,
Your Momma

Happy New Year

Hey little man, you just celebrated your first New Year's Eve bash by staying up super late and setting a new Jack-O-Maniac bedtime record - 8:30PM! We went to a friend's house and you partied with their daughter like it was 1999. I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year and thank you for the last year with all the joy, laughter and smiles you've brought into our lives (we'll forget about all the moaning, pooping and crying). So, here's hoping you have a wonderful year.

Love,
Pops

Ten Months

Ten months, five teeth, three days without whining, one happy boy. You've temporarily let go of your momma's apron strings and are now becoming a bit more independent each day. Which means much less whining and trying to crawl up me and much more playing with the large green dinosaur now inhabiting the living room. Along with the "Learn n' Play" lawn mower. I'm not sure why Fisher Price thinks you need to learn to play with a large, blade-equipped piece of machinery, but whatever. You've got ten fingers and technically only really need two to eat with anyway.


I still get nothing but comments on how charming and sweet and smiley and pinchable you are whenever we go out. It's a little nauseating, really. One woman even stopped us the other day at the grocery store to say how much you were like a baby Paul Newman. Ummmm. Sure. I think she'd been spending a little too much time in the pharmaceutical aisle. Either way, you've become an attention hound, seeking out the limelight wherever we go. I'm convinced you have a future in entertainment or politics. Oh, please, let it be entertainment. I soooo want to meet the cast of Lost.


This being December, you've also had your first experience with Jolly Ol' Saint Nick. You've had this issue with men for a while where if they approach you too quickly in a new situation, you lose your ever-loving baby mind. Women, no problem. Men, be gone. I was very worried we'd be having a merry meltdown, but you were just very, very curious about this guy. What's with the ridiculously overgrown beard you neo-hippy freak, I could see you wondering. I'm proud of how inquisitive you were and how stable you remained. That's my boy. Stable.


Your new favorite activity this month has been standing. You like to do it anywhere and everywhere. Car seat? Check. Stroller? Check. Crib in the middle of the night? Check. You are so highly proud of yourself and like to smile and screech to announce to anyone within a ten-mile radius that you, the living younger twin to Paul Newman, are upright. With this new skill comes the requisite tipping over and banging your head on every household surface. Still Paul Newman's twin, but just with more tears and a poutier lip.


As we came upon your tenth month, your personality again changed and we got to see more of that brighter, smilier boy we knew was in there. You seemed to have lightened up a bit and learned to relax in the world. It now seems a little less intimidating and a lot more exciting to you. It's such a treat to watch you try out a new skill or just smile your toothy little grin when you've triumphantly pulled yourself up beside the couch to grab the remote. I love this time, Jack. I can't wait to explore more of the nooks and crannies of our lives and home together. You are a crazy, busy, squeezable ball of energy that vibrates the best of what life has to offer all of us. I just wish you didn't need to tell us how wonderful it all is to you as you dance in your crib at five in the morning.

Love,
Your Momma

Just Chilling with the World's Largest Teepee

Jack is on the road again. We left Calgary on Friday and you were an awesome little roadie. You slept for an hour and a half, ate a bottle and then only moaned for ten minutes before settling down for some serious thumb sucking and blue bear time. Before you knew it we were in the Hat where you ferociously attacked the unbaby-proofed house of Grandma Beresh. I think you love it here because there is shiny stuff everywhere. However, your greatest find is a maraca from some Caribbean destination that Grandma bought for $0.50. It tastes great and is as big as your head. Good times. little man.

Anway, you've been close to an angel here filling the house with sounds of laughter and constant cabinet door bashing. You're going to be choked when we get home to those large, inaccessible pot drawers. I can't figure out why you are in such a good mood here but at home you follow your mother around moaning at her. Is this part of a long-term plan to get her to buy you your first car? I strongly recommend changing your tactics as I don't think she'll buy you an air filter at the rate your going. Just back off her a bit and put a smile on your face while you wait for your morning bananas rolled in brown rice cereal. Yummmmmmmm.

As for things you did this weekend - we hit the mall for some Christmas shopping where you stopped everyone with your smile and fruit puffs crunching face. We went to church this morning where you were bombarded by people just wanting to stop and smile and you blessed them with your beautiful smile. There was a children's pagent and you sat for half an hour with just a little bit of monkey wrestling and baboon moaning. I thought we'd only make it five minutes in and I'd have to take you out of the gym.

Overall, it's been a nice weekend and I thank you for being you, smelly diaper and all - smelly maybe because you've been eating at a chicken breast a day since we arrived.

Love ya,
Pops

Nine Months

Last week you turned nine months. Your time on earth is now equivalent to the time you spent swimming and somersaulting and lounging lazily about in the limpid lagoon of liquid from which you emerged. Kind of like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but less amphibious and more babyious.

This month you finally got that monkey off your back and started crawling. Grandma Brenda always says I'm trying to make you grow up too fast by wanting you to hit all these milestones. But let me tell you something. Grandma Brenda isn't the one who has to interrupt her celebrity gossip web site surfing...errr, ummm...I mean studies of the human genome...to hand you your plastic cubes every fifteen seconds every single day of every single week. Now, you can reach your own plastic cubes. And dog hairballs under the sofa. And remnants of dog treats. And dog toys. You've pooped more long black dog hair in your short life than most non-pet owners have in their entire lives. Another milestone of which you can be mighty proud.


To say we've been having a power struggle this past month would be like saying the Arctic Ocean is a little chilly come November. Since you started crawling, you have this perception that perhaps you rule the roost. That you are king of the hill. That you are the George Bush to our little independent nation. Well, tiny man, let me tell you something. YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. No siree. That role has already been taken by Grandma Brenda. Ha, ha. Just kidding Grandma Brenda. No, really. Perhaps this tenacious streak you have - this persistance to have things your way - perhaps this will all pay off some day for you. It may inspire you to lead a multi-national company that discovers the cure for cancer. It may drive you to devise a global plan for world peace. It may catapult you to power as a dictator of a small foreign land.


But, take away the daily battles for world domination and we've got ourselves a pretty hilarious kid. Your top two outside teeth have come in this month making you look a lot like a miniature Count Dracula. We started going to a little play class once a week and you absolutely love it. You love seeing the other kids there and taking their toys away (see earlier dictator comments for clarification). But most of all you love the parachute game. We toss it in the air and you crawl underneath and it's like you found the end of a rainbow. You laugh and laugh and smile that glorious vampire smile. Those are the times when I remember how sweet and special you are. You are completely lost in the moment. Thoroughly enraptured by some colored nylon and the certainty of gravity. I love that you are just there and, for a few magical moments, as happy as your little heart will allow you to be.

I love you, Bubby.

Love,
Your Momma

Jack-o'-Lantern

Happy first Halloween!

Sleepless in New York

Jack, I'm about to head off to New York for six days and Mom is a little nervous. This weekend wasn't a great display of your award winning personality and we're trying to blame it on your flaming butt of fire (Johnny Cash would be proud). I hope you are fairly sane and are more enteraining than annoying and bring smiles to your mom's face. I haven't left you or your mother for this long before and I'm not looking forward to it. As much as I want to experience new things, I'm worried about what your moaning will do to your mother for six days. So, please play nice and I can't wait to see you again. As much as I complain about your constant wookie impersonations (sans back hair) I think you're the best alarm clock in the world when I enter your room and you've got the biggest smile on your face ready to embrace another day.

See you soon.
Love pops

Eight Months

Nine days ago you turned eight months old. I forget how quickly nine days turns into 30 and then here I need to be back again writing another monthly update. Slow down the time, child. How does it happen that these months fly by, yet on the days when you are so frustrated with life because I've again served you broccoli when you clearly wanted blueberry applesauce and only blueberry applesauce served to you on a spoon at a pace of approximately one mouthful every seven seconds seems to last FOREVER and EVER. Those moments drag like all eternity and yet, voila, you are eight months old and here I sit mouth agape wondering when this all happened.


You've become a real little sitting machine this past month. When you started sitting you looked like one of those punching clowns that just rocks around and around without falling but all the while looking very unstable. Occasionally, it's like you completely forget you are sitting and you just fall straight backwards. No fear, Jack, no fear. Like those trust-building exercises people do where they fall backwards into the arms of others, but you don't bother with the part where there are others there to catch you. No siree. You just fall because your no panty-waisted scaredy cat. You usually end up crying like a baby, but we forgive you for now since you are still technically a baby.


You took your first trip alone with your dad this month to Medicine Hat to visit Grandma Bev. I was more sad to see you go than I ever expected. And then I went shopping. And I was much less sad and a lot more poor. But I did it for you, little Jackie. I did it because I know it is important to you that you have a stylish mom with perfectly fitting jeans and jaunty little sweaters with this season's longer camisoles that are the ideal blend of sexy and Gymboree appropriate. You two boys had a great time and by the time you got home, I was a sobbing wreck. I missed you with an ache and emptiness I can't even begin to describe. And then you started on that whole blueberry applesauce freak out thing again and I think I was ready to miss you some more.


You continue to dazzle men and women alike whenever I take you out. Whenever someone doesn't take the time to notice your blue sweater that perfectly matches your blue toque, you like to scream UUUUHHHHHHH until they look. They may be standing beside us in a cashier line or they may be 40 feet down at the end of an aisle. Either way, it is important to you that they acknowledge your charm and cuteness at some point. Your toes have been squeezed more times than I've had any appendage squeezed in my lifetime. And this month you did not freak out on anyone and just pleasantly smiled as they grabbed your legs, pinched your chin, tousled your hair, kissed your hands, and poked your cheeks. One of the unfortunate outcomes of this is that I think you've come to expect this level of attention at all times. So if we're just spending a casual afternoon at home eating, I can sense your disappointment when I don't act amazed while you are eating your puffed wheat.

You've continued to challenge me and help me grow this month, Jack. There are times when your fairly constant moaning and groaning have gotten the better of me and I've contemplated checking into a nice quiet facility somewhere in Vermont. There are other times when you are so angry you start to put together all your sounds and you occassionally sputter out "mamamamamama". These are moments where you obviously wish to be taken very seriously, but I can only smile at the fact you've given me a name. You've given me so much more than just that, my little boy. For every moment I've doubted I can manage another second, you've given me hundreds more moments where I've doubted I could be anywhere else and be as happy as you make me. I love you baby.

Love,
Your Momma

Does Whatever a Spider Can

Holy gravitational pull, little Jack. You did it! You crawled your first steps yesterday while staring adoringly at your aunt Candace. Granted, they were shaky, wobbly little moves, but you have made it onto the scale of crawlingness with a rough score of about four for your first attempt. I'd have given you a five if you would have recited the alphabet at the same time.

This morning you were eager to practice it all again. Today you made much more deliberate strides towards your chosen destination. You still look a lot like a rickety old bicycle someone abandoned in an alleyway in some small village in France that is missing several key bolts and perhaps the steering bar. But, you are officially mobile my little Potato Bug. Sure, Potato Bug. Why not? It's better than the usual Monkey Butt you get.

You already seem a little happier with life now that you can get from Point A to Point B on your own. I think it must feel like the same freedom I felt when I got my first car and took my girlfriend to a mall on the other side of the city. I was all, "Ohhh, look at me. Driving. Miss Driving McDriverson. Hello, can I drive you somewhere because I'm now officially a driving driver." Yeah, it was all freedom and good times, Jack. Freedom and good times until some dip nut hit my car when I was in the mall and drove off. Then it was all payment slavery and shame. And my point? Well, my point Jack is don't be parking your little behind somewhere while you go checking out your shiny new Weebles farm set. You'll come back and it'll be all dinged up and you'll be all "Whoa, hey, I HAD a buttery smooth behind when I left here."

"That was her point?" you are now asking yourself. Really, I don't know. But I do know we are proud of your chubby little arms and legs for propelling you into the wonderful world of forward movement. Welcome aboard, matey.

Love,
Your Momma