Tag Archives: Ian

Haik-ouped Up Friday

Haiku FridayAll it really took
Was some thought and a website
Hours of fun ensued

Despite being artsy-fartsy and a graphic designer, I’ve never really been that crafty. I also don’t really share anything unless I am über excited about it. And just so you know, I’m also not one to forward e-mails just for the sake of it, so if you get one from me, you’ll know it has to be good.

Last week when it was still really cold, I had been looking for an activity to do with Ian. I had a wave of inspiration and tried hunting down a cookbook my MIL had given me eight years ago (Bryan brought it with him to CA when we first ‘met’). It’s full of recipes from her and a bunch of her neighbours and friends. One of the recipes in there is for homemade playdough. I searched forever and couldn’t find it, and was now kicking myself for mentioning it to Ian beforehand and getting his hopes up.

I resigned myself to coming up with another less inventive idea, but then remembered a vital fact: Life comes with the Internet! Not only did I find a brilliant playdough recipe, it smells awesome too!

Kool-Aid Playdough

  • 2 1/2 cups flour
  • 1/2 cup salt
  • 2 packages Kool-Aid (you decide the flavour!)
  • 4 teaspoons cream of tartar
  • 2 cups boiling water
  • 3 tablespoons oil

    1. Mix dry ingredients, add wet.

    2. Knead until smooth (careful — it’s hot! may take a minute or two before you can really ditch the spoon and get your hands in there!) You may need to add extra flour for desired consistency. (Though I never have had to!)

    3. Now grab your cutters and rollers and other playdough toys you like and have FUN!

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    Photo Diary

    I decided to take photos of me and the boys tonight. Okay, so I didn’t look my best, but I didn’t care (too much).

    I grabbed Cameron and snapped a pic. First try. Looks great. Next!

    Now it’s Ian’s turn. Cute, but I think we can do better.

    Trying to chase him down for another photo proved harder than first anticipated. You see, it was the first real snowfall of the year and Ian was uber excited.

    Rather than risk getting his trousers wet, he ripped them off and took off outside in the snow, wearing only his Transformers underpants. Sicko.

    Now bored, I take one of myself.

    Undeterred, I try again. Eyes closed. Nice.

    Now he takes one of me. We’re off task here PEOPLE.

    He starts “gawping”.

    Then tries to do some kind of face fart. Charming child.

    May as well join him.

    He attempts a sly face lick.

    Great, a good shot of me. He suuuuuuuuuuucks!

    Now I look drunk.

    I give up.

    Rule #1: If you think you can do better–you can’t.

    Another Moment

    Many of you may be wondering why I have suddenly rematerialised after a three-month sabbatical (that’s what I’m calling it) and am blogging incessantly.  Wouldn’t you know, I didn’t just go and join NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) for a laugh.  I decided to take the challenge of posting every day for the month of November, and I’m well on my way to becoming a fully fledged NaBloPoMo-Fo.  Will it redeem me?  Probably.  Not.

    Ian has this innate way of just making me laugh out loud (excluding the times of wanting to hoist him on to a wall-mounted coat hanger and just leave him there, indefinitely).  Yesterday as we were exiting Costco, Ian, as always, was clutching his receipt for the lady to check everything off and score it.  The second she was done, he thrust out his little hand and she grabbed it, sighing a little as she said “alright”, and pulled him and the trolley with her.  She and bent down and retrieved her smiley face stamp, and asked:

    “What’s the magic word?”

    Now.  You must know.  Everyone – including strangers – comment on what a polite little boy Ian is, and what great manners he has.  I’ve hammered really made a point to instill this value into him.  But still, there’s that moment, millisecond if you will, where as a parent you hope, just hope they say the right thing, even though you really know they will.

    He spoke really low in her ear and I couldn’t make it out.  She threw her head back and laughed and exclaimed, “That’s my kinda boy!  Ha-ha-ha!  Hocus Pocus!  There you go sweetie.”  And she stamped a smiley face on his left hand.

    As we headed back out into the cool night air, I bent down and whispered, “Ian”, not really trying to hold back the laugh in my voice, “the magic word is ‘please’!  But you know what?  Hocus Pocus is really funny!”

    Out of the Mouth of Babes…

    Last night for our weekly family night, we decided to finally crack down and pen some “House Rules” to pin on the fridge.  With us all sitting down around the coffee table we were ready to begin.

    Bryan said, “Okay, we’re all going to make a rule, how does that sound?”
    “Great”, said Ian.
    “Okay, I’ll go first”, ventured Daddy, and I saw him paused for a few seconds longer than anticipated.
    “No shouting”, I offered, through gritted teeth.
    “How about…no shouting, Ian?!”
    “Okay, Mummy’s next.  What’s your rule Mummy?”
    “Share toys and tidy up”, I ventured – ever the optimist.
    “That’s a good one too.  What’s your rule for the house, Ian?”
    He bowed his head a little and rested his finger on his mouth, obviously deep in though.  After a moment, he lifted his head and had a twinkle in his eyes.
    “I know!” he blurted out, “no more naughty place!”

    Clever.  Sadly, it didn’t make the list.

    Cocoa Loco

    I realised the other day how long it’s been since I last reported on an Ian exploit, and believe me, it’s not because they suddenly stopped.

    Intertwined with the everyday mundane are sequences of events that generally go un-noticed. Or perhaps they’re so frequent that it’s become so common place. Either way, there are special days where the exploit is so ginormous, it’s impossible to overlook or even justify. It makes life interesting. Or maybe it just makes grey hair.

    [As a foreword, this home is a “new build”. Everything is new. We signed on it just as the inside was being completed. We didn’t have a choice in anything, the paint, carpet and laminate flooring, all the fixtures and doors were already planned. But despite that, I really like the house, even though we have lost some living space moving here.]

    I think I can safely say, Ian has “christened” our new home. We won’t mention how he managed to remove the glass door from the front of my entertainment centre and break off the tiny attachment pieces, or how he spilled a huge blob of purple acrylic paint on my 6-month old carpet. We’ll keep quiet about how when he was playing with his Matchbox areoplane he let it “fly” and it careened into my double-glazed (paned) 8-day old window and spread a hairline crack across the length of it (goodbye $106).

    We’ll ignore how he managed to snap a wheel off one of the fruit and veg drawers in my (4 month old, french door, $1300) fridge because he was leaning in to get some grapes. Or then there’s the time he played with the tubing on my $200 breast pump and snapped a valve on it. Or how he stood in the pullout drawer under Cameron’s $300 Pali cot (crib) and bent the runners. He has expensive taste, like his mother. Then there was the day last week where he decided to clean out his potty with Cameron’s bath sponge.

    Somehow I can deal with all that (well, I can NOW). What’s much more difficult to understand and accept is Cameron’s abuse.  I’ve decided to call it abuse.

    A few days after Ian and Bryan and I got really sick, Cameron had really bad diarrhea, and it never stopped. There was no temperature, no weight loss, no crankiness – nothing. Finally after almost 2½ months of it, I spoke to a nurse at his new doctor’s office. She casually said, “it may be something you’re eating. Some babies are sensitive to spicy food, broccoli, onions and chocolate.”

    I’d thought about that, but the only symptom he’d had with me eating onions – and beans for that matter – was bad gas.
    So I watched what I ate and continued to down a glass of Nesquik every day. (You can see where this is going already, can’t you?)

    The mess up the back continued and the daily changing was getting old. Some days I’d have to change his outfit twice when we were out.

    Then one day I noticed he didn’t have a blow out. Finally! They’re gone. No, not really, just a false sense of security.

    I hadn’t had my chocolate milk that day, and when I realised that, I refused to admit my little one could have a sensitivity to chocolate. Why would he do that to me, his mother?

    Well, he did. And he does.

    So as it stands, I am currently banned from all things chocolate and suddenly wishing he should have just picked broccoli instead. Suddenly, a faint washed-out lilac stain on the beige carpet the size of a small cat doesn’t seem so bad now.

    Help Ma Boab!

    I have this feeling lately that I really am losing it …

    Since my son decided to try cruising between furniture at the ripe old age of seven months and start walking at nine-and-a-half months, my life has never been the same. Lately I can feel the insanity creeping in, and I can’t help but feel like I am under the thumb of a thirteen-month-old.

    Ian thinks it’s great to chew dirt and spread it around his face. He climbs on side tables and propels himself onto the couch. Chews candles and rubs the wax on my windows. Unravels toilet paper, shreds it all over the floor and then eats it. Opens drawers full of folded clothing and tosses it behind him in a cotton and polyester orgy. Empties the dishwasher as I’m loading it, at times stopping to grab a nasty spoon and attempt to suck on it, or grab a steak knife when I’m picking something else out of the sink.

    While I am drying my hair and have both hands occupied, he opens my makeup drawer and chews eyeshadow applicators, sucks powder brushes and chips out blusher and spreads it all over the inside of the drawer, on the floor and on his clothes.

    I think I need professional psychiatric help. Oh mama … is this a stage, and how long will it last? I am constantly checking and isolating grey hair and I don’t think I can spare too many more. The sad thing? He grins at me so sweetly with that beautiful innocence of a child, he giggles heartily as I chase him and watch him fall over his own feet in his haste to escape. I love the little guy and I am beginning to wonder if his behaviour is normal and I am the inconsiderate one for not letting him explore his world and express himself.

    See what I mean? He’s made me delusional. I’ll be strumming my bottom lip like a banjo and whistling “Dixie” before I know it.

    It’s not that I want answers or sympathy, I just need an outlet. I am seriously going to invest in magnetic door and drawer locks. I already have some plastic ones, but I fear that his IQ will increase ten-fold and they will be but splintered fragments discarded on the floor, like the clearance rack at Old Navy.

    I Swear the 9.5 Months Were Longer

    It’s hard to believe just over a year has gone by since my little Ian first made his appearance into the world. And what a year it’s been. I have so much love for my wee man, it’s difficult to put into any kind of words. And he’s just as beautiful to me as the day he was born.

    It’s amazing to sit back and watch him discover his world, and to learn things without me even showing him first. He has grown and developed so much; physically and mentally. As the days go by, I see how things connect in his brain suddenly, and all of a sudden he has ten skills he didn’t have the day before. He sings, he dances, he wrestles, he dribbles a football, he plays the maracas. He even said baby tonight. Oh, and he loves to fake sneeze – he’s strange.

    Bryan and I both had a great time at the little birthday soirée we had for him. Ian doesn’t remember it at all, the ingrate. Seriously though, thanks to everyone who made it really special. It’s hard to see your little one suddenly become an infant and vie for his independence. It’ll only get worse I suppose.