Panda Plans

I have been having this conversation with my daughter a lot lately.

P: Mama, I want a sister. We don't have enough kids in our family. A's family [our dear friends] has three!

me: I'm not having another baby, honey.

P: Well, can't you just get a kid? Isn't there, like a place you can go to for one? Lots of kids don't have families you know. We could adopt!

me: ...ermm...it's not so simple....It's not like it's Target, sweetheart.

P: But--

me: I'll talk to Papa, okay?

She's had the same discussion with her father. I know, because one night S came rushing into the bedroom, adamantly wishing to know if I had promised Panda that we were going to get her a sister. (I hadn't.)

 The thing is, we've never mentioned adoption to our kids. I suppose they may overheard one of our late-night chats, but I think that Panda just has a heart as big as Ontario. She needs to help. She's fascinated with the idea of rescuing people/pets/random spiders. Also, she may or may not have watched 'Oliver and Company' on repeat once too many times on a long road trip. She is convinced that she needs a new sister exactly her age who loves Frozen as much as she does, who could be the Anna to her Elsa. Each time she brings it up I am treated to a righteous little lecture on how there are kids who need families because their mommies and daddies are mean, and like, pull their hair and stuff. And each time I try to explain that yes, there are kids whose mommies and daddies - for whatever reason- can't take care of them properly and keep them safe, it is true, but it is a loooong process to adopt a child, and anyway, does she realize she'd have to share her toys? And her brother?

But it doesn't put her off. She's determined. I'm worried that when we do finally tell them -we are holding off  in hopes of avoiding as long as possible the adoption version of the question "are we there yet?", incessantly repeated at regular intervals - anyway, I am worried that when we do finally tell them, she will think that we are doing it because she talked us into it. And if the transition is rough with the placement, or the kids fight a lot, I am worried that she will blame herself. 

Of course, she might just be mad at us, because are hoping to adopt someone a year or so younger than Pickle. Our daughter has never held the opinion that her executive powers should be less than that of adult, and  I can just hear her sighing deeply and patiently explaining to us that we were SUPPOSED to get a girl. Her age. Who likes Frozen. And then giving us that eyebrows-slightly-raised 'are we clear now?' look, and expecting that we'll obediently toddle off back to the placement worker and put in a request for a proper sister.

And if we ever decide on place to move to, and get through the application process in that new province... who knows? Maybe she'll get one. Is four that much more work than three?

Yay for Science!

There isn't much that gets Panda's brain-wheels turning faster than a scientific problem! That kid loves to know exactly how everything works and why, an attitude that will serve her well in her quest to be the first person to travel to the end of the universe and find out what's on the other side, and what the rocks there look like. (Pickle maintains that he is going to be race-car rocket driver, so maybe they can team up.)

So, a few weeks ago we headed out to the science centre to get their brains moving and give Netflix a rest (don't judge, it's been a long cold winter, and there is only so much McDonald's Playland that any one human being can tolerate. Even if they do have palatable coffee nowadays.)

Checking out the displays, and asking a million questions

 There were a thousand things to do there, even though the temporary exhibits were closed (probably a good thing, since we could see that one of the ones coming was a rather racy one about sex and sexuality. Complete with toys. I am not yet ready for that talk with the kids!) They had a blast running from station to station and learning about sound waves,  vacuums, wind tunnels, and hydro electric power. They made roller coasters and steered robots, and learned about density and magnetic force. There was a circular platform which they could stand in the centre of and pull a rope to raise a soapy ring, thus creating a giant bubble around their bodies. Pickle would invariably stick his bum out too far and pop it.

Pickle testing out the rollercoaster building blocks                                    Can you see a Panda hand?                 

There was a computer program which we could use to build a face by choosing from hundreds of different features. It didn't ;end itself well to building children though, so we tried to make ones that would show what Panda and Pickle might look like as adolescents.

They had a marvelous time. Places like this are one of the things I will definitely miss when we move to a small city!

Thursday Thoughts

A day of worry is more exhausting than a week of work.

-John Lubbock

And it's been a one of those weeks. One of those weeks when I would have sold off Panda to the travelling high-wire act just to avoid the homework drama, except Cirque Du Soleil is no longer returning my calls. Then the child came home with a note in her agenda that 'she said she was too tired to do her classwork.' Which is complete nonsense, since she got her regular amount of sleep, and even if she were feeling tired, is still not a valid excuse for slacking in class. Also, SO not my problem, lady, you are the one with 'classroom management' in your job description. I'd have been surprised, but it lines up completely with the intrusive and passive-aggressive notes to replace her headband because the school feels it is too large for her or that short sleeves and a cardigan are not appropriate winter attire. They're helicoptering the living daylights out of that girl and I do not appreciate it.

Also, I may not have completely outgrown my dislike of authority. (It's hereditary.)

It's been one of those weeks where our whole future feels like a high-wire act. We have vacillated between S retraining, working away, looking for a job-job here, or staying with freelance work so any times now I'm beginning to feel dizzy. There are just so many damn variables! If and when we finally nail that one down, we need to decide if we will move apartments, neighbourhoods, or not at all. Not at all means we can't move forward with fostering for another year at least. That's very much not okay with me, since we have been working toward this first step for a year already. Sometimes it sucks being a fence-sitter. Life would be a whole lot ...faster...? ... if S and weren't the type of people that will put off procrastinating until tomorrow. 

But there were some fun,  funny bright spots too!

overheard conversation....

Panda: Papa, I need another hooker.

S: A hooker?

Panda: yeah, I want another hooker. I don't have enough.

S: (totally nonplussed)

Panda: Hookers, Papa, HOOKERS! You know, for my closet? For my dresses?

S: ah... You need more hangers, honey?

Panda: Hookers, hangers, whatever. 

S: Actually, this is a pretty important one. It's 'hangers', alright?

And Pickle on the crowded bus...

(Points at lady beside us on bus) 'She has a baby in her belly, Mama. How did it get there? Did she eat it? When will it come out? But she didn't eat it, because then it would be poop. Panda says babies come out a mama's vagina. Does that Mama have a vagina? How did the baby get in there? Did she stuff it up there?" 

Et cetera. For five minutes or more, because that child's mouth-motor has one speed and it ain't neutral. He didn't pause for breath long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, much less answer a question. And he is LOUD, good heavens is he loud. A word of warning - this is what happens when you give honest scientific explanations to your children. I should have just busted out the stork story and let them sort it out at puberty.

How is your week so far? Are you a procrastinator too, and if you are, how do you talk yourself into making life's big decisions?

Thursday Thoughts

Is it just me, or is the first week back to school after holidays always a complete mess? Meal planning has totally gone out the window, laundry is piling up, even with the fancy new large capacity washer. This is partly because I don't have enough whites to make a full load, unless every piece of white clothing in the house needs washing. The house is a total tip, but on the plus side, I think the fleas are gone. It dropped to -36 C last night so it's possible that they all died of cold.

Ah, homework, that dastardly scourge of modern education. Nothing puts parents and kids more at loggerheads than studying for spelling tests, except possibly the science fair. (S was the one who signed Panda up for that, so I am just going to hide in the bedroom with a book and box of chocolates until it's over.)  I am not sure how we are going to make it through the next 10 or so years, if spelling 'play' is so traumatic. I have never heard a child wail so desolately over remembering the order of four little letters.

Turning four has somehow reset my sweet Pickle's factory default from 'amiable' to 'auto-argue'. Nothing in the world will convince him that yes, orcas are indeed whales, and no, there is no such sport as skate car, where the object of the game is to kick a soccer ball through the window of a car (apparently no skates are actually involved.) He insists on being signed up for a weekend league. Yeah, I'll get right on that.

Speaking of misconceptions, there is clearly still some confusion regarding how the whole God thing works. We may have to take a trip back to Church to let the authorities weigh in, since she is  convinced that kids can increase their chances of getting awesome gifts from Santa by praying to him. She's already working on next year's list.

My thumb is finally healed from my mishap with the wineglass! Technically, at least. Yesterday the surgeon removed the 'button' stitched onto the top of my thumb that he. Oh, how I hated that button! The tendon is  reattached but still stiff  enough that it is frozen in position. It is still all swollen and weird. It looks like a fake thumb. Next time, I will drink the wine first. Then my reflexes will be dulled and I won't be able to catch the falling the glass.

Why hasn't anyone invented snow tires that have little retractable stud crampons that pop out and stick in the ice when you push a button? Like cat-claw tires?

I guess my heads not that full this week, because I've run out of things to say. I have no real way to end this post though so I'll do it with punctuation.

the end.

Thursday Thoughts

Christmas is nearly upon us, and I'm busier than a elf on a shelf. (A wagon which I will never ever throw myself under the wheels of, because a) those little critters weird me out with their shifty-eyed smirks and  b) I'm just too lazy for their shenanigans. Also, it's one more lie to the kids that I have to eventually own up to. The others I can justify - Santa embodies the spirit of love, gifts being but a symbol of our regard for one another and having nothing at all to do with the history of Coca-Cola Marketing campaigns; the Tooth Fairy eases the transition from little to big and lessens the trauma of having your body parts fall out by making it an event to look forward to, assuaging the fear with the promise of cash, blah blah blah and so on and so forth. The Easter Bunny needs no justification because he brings chocolate. But what can we say about the elf? It prepares them for an NSA police state? We're Canadian. CSIS can't be bothered to spy on us, and anyway it wouldn't be polite. I can just give them Orwell's 1984 if I want to turn them into paranoid conspiracy theorists.)

Where was I? Oh, yes, busy. Busy and scattered. What to get for my gamer sister who loves cats, yet does not need yet another WoW or cat-related object? Ditto for brother-in-law - same description? Or my father, who is the very definition of curmudgeon with a heart of gold - since he claims to have ten of everything and be halfway to the grave in any case, is it okay to just pay his Costco membership, or is that just too lame a gift? Here's an open secret- I suck at gift giving. I always have too many ideas, or none at all, and nothing ever gets to the recipient on time. This year, as always, I catch myself browsing through stores, thinking "mom would love that" before I remember that she has been gone nearly four years now, and I still feel curiously unmoored by it.
Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, I'm just not very good at it. I still can't wait for it to come. 

Panda still believes in Santa, even though kids in her class have told her he's not real. I think she has made a conscious choice to keep the magic. I love that about her. 

I'll have this brace on my hand for almost three more weeks, that's 5 weeks post tendon-nerve repair surgery. By that time, I'll have been effectively one-handed for two months. That whole opposable thumb thing? Totally the reason that humans colonized every habitat and pushed aside all other species. Without it, we would never have sharpened a stick to bring down the mighty mammoth. I can't even open a damn jar. Hopefully I get the all clear to move it at the next occupational therapy appointment, because to the surprise of no person ever with health insurance, mine declined to cover them. So this next OT appointment will also be my last OT appointment. (Also, I should have gone into that field. Seventy bucks a pop for a half hour at best, and my therapist looks like he might be ready to start shaving soon. At his age I slurping back Mr. Noodles and fishing out couch change for the electricity bill.)

S and I are considering moving. Packing up and getting out of Dodge. Deserting our post. We can't decide where though, or if this is grass-is-greener kind of knee-jerk reaction to a recent disappointment (more on that tomorrow.) We can't decide where though; should we hightail it back to his hometown (a large city with a good economy) and just settle in for the inevitable family drama? Should we stay closer, and go smaller, trading the Best City Ever for The Biggest Yard Ever and hopefully a decent balance in the chequing account? What would your top concerns be, if you were moving? Or your non-negotiable needs?

Advent-ure in the house of God

Let's just get this out there: I am a life-long confirmed heathen. Never baptized, never catechized, and never gave it a second thought. Barring the odd wedding or funeral, church has always been one of those things with which other people ruin their lazy Sunday mornings. Not so for S, who has been so bludgeoned with eternal damnation that he runs the other way whenever someone so much as says grace. He's gradually coming around now, and will even say 'bless you' when someone sneezes (I argue that this is a cultural nicety so removed from it's (possibly) original religious connotation that it doesn't signify anything more than good manners.)

So it was quite a surprise to find all four of us, scrubbed, shining, and stuffed in a pew on Advent Sunday. It was completely accidental that it was Advent Sunday, S having apparently repressed all memory of the religious calendar and me being entirely ignorant of it. So why were we there to begin with?  Well, Panda wanted to go. She has a lot of questions. A lot of her school-friends attend on the regular, and they tell her aaaaaaaall about God and Jesus. (The nice parts. They totally gloss over all the plagues and floods and firstborn sons. But I don't know, maybe that stuff isn't approved for Sunday school, or it could be a recruitment plot. In any case, she believes God is all rainbows, unicorns, and sweet little babies in mangers.)

You know those promises you make to yourself as a new parent, the ones about how you will offer your precious squalling bundle every possible advantage, allow every reasonable risk, and support every initiative to learn? Those kind of promises are a lot easier to get excited about when lil' Boo wants to, say, join soccer, or sing in choir, or take up gardening. It's a bit harder to get behind when she decides she can't live another minute without skydiving lessons, or motocross. And it really takes a lot of parental nagging convincing when it involves giving up an hour and half of Sunday morning snuggles.  But after a thousand questions and much hinting and sighing, we offered to take her to church. We explained at length that they mustn't talk, stand or play during church. We waxed poetic on the rules about sitting quietly for a really, really long time, but no dice - she still wanted to go.

I didn't want to be stuck driving across the city for a three-hour mass somewhere - although I do confess that a large part of me whispered "make it as boring and weird as possible, then she won't want to go back." But I muzzled that voice and chose a United Church near our house, reasoning that if Panda became enamoured with it and insisted on going every week, at least it was close and had a message I could live with. 

We should have been warned by how enthusiastically we were received. The greeter hugged me. The lady sitting in front us welcomed us warmly. The minister announced our presence and complimented the children's choice of shirts...from the pulpit. It was an introverts worst nightmare- not only was I new, but they noticed. Of course, there were only about twenty-five people there, and it's hard to overlook a bi-racial family with two vocal children. I settled in as the service progressed, but then they came and took my children away. To Sunday school. For an entire hour of fun, games, colouring, and presumably all the talking and playing that couldn't do in actual church, but I can't say for sure because we weren't allowed to go with them. Instead,  S and I had to sit quietly for a really, really long time and weren't allowed to talk, stand or play, except those times that we popped up and down like mad whack-a-moles singing hymns we didn't know. Church has a lot more stand up-sit down-lather-rinse-repeat than I expected.

It's also really, really social. Afterwards, everyone wanted to meet us and make certain that we were coming back again. I get that they are trying to keep their church from fading to nothing, but it felt like a lot of expectation and pressure. Like the guy you just met yesterday, who already wants you to meet his mom. And I felt like I was lying to them by even being there,even though I was up front about why we had come. But i also feel like we all took something from the experience. I think it was good for S to see that religion isn't always used to condemn, and that there exists a wide range of interpretations of what it means to Christian. I learned some things about the church, and Panda got answers (or at least the beginnings of them) to some of her questions. Pickle got cookies and juice. Overall, it was surprisingly...okay. Fruitful, even.

Now, I'm not saying we will go every week (last week, Sunday snuggles won out) but we might go every so often. But next time I am sneaking into Sunday school for the cookies and colouring.

Lest We Forget

November 11. Remembrance Day - the day that Canada honours  the soldiers who have served and continue to serve Canada in times of conflict and times of peace.

 I want to be a pacifist. I want to say that killing isn't the answer, that all wars must stop. I want to live in a world where drones don’t massacre wedding parties by accident, where the military –industrial complex is only a sad and shameful memory, where oppressive governments are  are not propped or installed up by foreign intervention for profit and ideology.  I want to be able to assure my children that all soldiers everywhere  always act morally and that they never do anything horrible to people. That innocent men, women and children will never again have to bear the cost of war to their businesses, their homes, their families, and their bodies.

But it is always more complicated than that, isn't it.

Panda recently asked me about war – where it was, why did it happen, would it happen here. I explained to her about foreign aggression – about people who want power, want resources, want land . About  what they are willing to do to get them. She decided that those people are bad people. Then we talked about how the other  people would fight back, to protect their homes, families, food, and freedom. She decided that those people were good people. But, I asked her, what if you were a mommy with no food to feed your children and no home to shelter them, but your neighbour had more than he could use? What if that neighbour refused to share?  Is it okay to let your children starve because that guy over there wants to buy another big screen TV, instead of giving you some food and a house?  Of course that is simplistic, but I needed to introduce some grey into her world view, and she is six. She got it. She said that maybe the people who were defending, too, might hurt someone by accident, someone who was just trying to run away or something. She decided that war is complicated, and hard, and everyone gets hurt.

Smart kid.

I know it is a thorny topic. I know that a lot of people don’t support the troops. I do. I support the troops, but I don’t always support the wars. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, as they say. Sometimes as a nation we are where we have no business being, and sometimes we aren’t where we should be. Sometimes we have no better choices, and sometimes we make the wrong ones. Sometimes, as a nation, we just have to go with what we think is right, based on faulty or incomplete information. And sometimes our leaders lead us astray for monetary or political gain. And I know that I don’t have the requisite knowledge or skill to decide that, so I will mainly reserve judgment, and just recognize that being a soldier is a difficult, painful job. The men and women who choose to take this path do so for a myriad of reasons, but the result is (mostly) the same. They expose their bodies, minds and hearts to some of the worst things imaginable so that maybe someone else, somewhere, won’t have to. Whether that means an eventual end to conflict (as some believe) or that the kid in that hut over there won’t lose his family today to a man with a gun and a fervent conviction in his right to impose his beliefs.

So we try to take part in some small way every year, whether it is to bundle up the kids and head off to Cenotaph  for the ceremony, or simply observe a few minutes of silence at eleven in the morning. This year we made poppies with the kids. We would have bought them from the veterans as we do every year, but we couldn't find anyone selling them. I don’t know if the recent attacks on soldiers in Canada has anything to do with that, but I suspect it might.

I’ll end with this with Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields”, written  May 3, 1915:

In Flanders fields the poppies grow,
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

[image: Clear Inner Vision under CC BY-NC-ND]