Hello, big boy

My darling boy is officially two and a half.

He’s not my little baby anymore.  He wouldn’t let me call him one even if I tried – he’s a self-acclaimed “big boy” now – and yet in some ways he’ll always be my baby.

My first, the one who made me a Mother, the one who taught me so much about love.  He’s still teaching me and I imagine he always will.  So many of his lessons these days are about pure and simple joy, the kind he approaches each day full of.

I am ashamed by the number of times a day he sees me getting annoyed, impatient, angry, and stops to ask me, are you happy, Mommy?  No, darling, but thank you – again – for the reminder.  Our lives are so full, our Souls so deeply loved, and yet here you notice me sighing because you tell me you need to use the bathroom again.  (As though I go any less infrequently, with your little brother or sister bouncing on top of my bladder!)  What foolishness I get impatient over, what little things I allow to steal my joy.  But there’s always you, bringing me back to reality – are you happy, Mommy?

I am continually amazed by his hunger and thirst for knowledge.  Always asking questions, always seeking more, always wanting to know about this world around him.  Every time I start to worry – should he know this by now? how do I go about teaching him this? – he surprises me by beginning to show a natural interest in it.  And yet I keep forgetting.  Just leave him be.  He will learn when he is ready, as evidenced by the constant stream of what letter is this? that I am now responding to countless times a day.  He will have me convinced in no time that unschooling truly is the best choice for us.

I am so humbled, too, as I watch his understanding of God grow.  I envy his eagerness to read “Jesus stories” – where did my thirst, my hunger, for the Word of God go?  I love how naturally he talks about Jesus and the innocent way he incorporates his enthusiasm into his daily life and play.  I can’t help but laugh at some of the deductions he arrives at, like the way his boat must have come from Jesus because it is made from a tree (“Jesus bought it for me!”).  Oh, that I could remember so easily that every good and perfect gift does indeed come from our Father in Heaven, and praise Him so readily for every blessing.

As eager as I am to meet our second child, I am almost as eager to see him meet his little brother or sister.  I love how excited he is about it, and I pray that excitement continues when a little baby is actually here, occupying his mother’s lap, time, and attention.  It’s fun to watch him make his own connections – to realize that he was once in my womb as well, to learn about the reason for his bellybutton, to arrive at his own conclusions as to how things must work.  His sweet and compassionate spirit is encouraging as well, as I know that the kisses he gives me to make my owies better will be lavished just as freely on another little child.  His impatience for this little one to arrive is catching – I find myself wishing the weeks would go faster, even while feeling a sense of mourning that this incredible boy will no longer be my only.  It is so hard to imagine right now that I could ever love another child the same way – and yet I know it will be true.

Until then, I will make the most of these last eight weeks together.  Our days are so full and so enjoyable – stacks of books that must be read through, puddles that must be jumped in, muffins that must be baked, cars that must be driven along the “roads” on the bedspread, and an incredible blossoming imagination that must be explored.  How I love each new phrase and idea that pours from him in a steady stream of chatter all day long.

I’ve said it every step of the way so far – this is my favourite age yet.

Happy half birthday, my sweet and silly boy.

On returning to small-town living

It’s funny how fast you forget what it’s like, this small-town living stuff. You’d think I’d remember after 21 years of living here and only 3 years away.

What a three years those were. I got married, had a baby, learned how to do for myself all those things that I’d never had the self-confidence to do before then. I missed my family back home, but the growth that happened in me during those years was worth it all.

Now I’m back – temporarily, but back nonetheless.

And remembering just what it was like.

I miss my farmer’s market. I miss our toy lending library. I miss all the programs, all day, every day, including weekends. Even though I’m not a big shopper, I miss all the stores. To sum it up, really, I miss having options. The option to buy food locally. The option to attend a magnificent variety of programs – shows, playgroups, workshops, all of it. The option to go out and buy a new shirt when I need one. Heck, I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I even almost miss Walmart.

And the people – wow. The gossip, the backstabbing, the viciousness, the small town politics. I remember how nervous I was when I first moved to the city, convinced that people there would be cold and hard and, well, mean. That ended up being the most surprising part of city life – the people were nice. There was very little gossip, none of the viciousness I’d grown accustomed to here, and a shocking lack of judgment towards others. It didn’t matter how you dressed or who you hung out with – people just accepted you as is, no questions asked.

I had to face the consequences of such small-town gossip just last week. Someone I don’t even particularly know was telling my co-workers that I was pregnant, despite me having not told anyone here, and despite me having not even told my supervisor yet. Because of the spreading rumour and my belief that it is unprofessional for your boss to hear such information second-hand or to be the last to know, I made the decision to tell my supervisor about the pregnancy much earlier than I had planned to, and only a day after one of his other employees had told him she was pregnant as well. What a marked difference to my experience in the same situation in the city, where a co-worker learned I was pregnant and kept the information to himself until I was ready to tell my boss and my other co-workers myself. It just boggles my mind that someone I don’t even know was discussing such personal information with my co-workers. Small-town living – where personal boundaries are all but non-existent.

Still, it’s not all bad here. The lack of options and boundaries aside, I do appreciate the quietness, the slower pace, and the neighbourliness. Just last week we were looking to borrow a roto-tiller for our freshly-dug garden. In the city we probably could have rented it from the hardware store, but here all I had to do was ask a friend if he had one. He was out of town at the time, so he had his brother come over on his tractor and till our garden for us – a job that would have been huge for us to do manually, but took him less than 10 minutes to do far better than we could have ever hoped. The little guy was thrilled to watch the tractor, and I was thrilled to spend the next evening filling the freshly tilled soil with all sorts of vegetable seeds and plants. Here was a man I’d never met before, taking the time to till our garden and refusing anything in return. I can’t say how grateful I am for his kindness.

So, I might not be able to buy the new pair of work sandals I so badly need, I might not be able to take my son to a playgroup or spend an evening with my husband at a concert, and I might have to learn how to deal with having everyone know my personal business for a few months, but it’s the people that make this town so homelike at the same time. There’s the lady at church who remembers when I first moved here at two years old, and now I’ve returned with a two year old of my own. There are the smiles and waves from everyone who walks by. There’s the peacefulness of a quiet walk to the park and the likelihood of stopping to chat with someone you know along the way. There’s the stranger who will drive over on his tractor to till my garden for me.

All in all, it’s really not so bad after all.

Delightful boy

It’s been amazing, this whole motherhood thing, watching my baby boy grow from a scrunched up newborn to a rambunctious toddler. Every day now brings something new – a new skill, a new word, a new way to make us laugh, a new challenge to tackle, a new joy to discover.

His favourite family activity right now? Hiding under the blankets – all of us, at the same time. I can’t think of anything that makes him happier than having all three of us giggling away with a blanket over our heads. Our own private family fort.

His favourite words remain “fall” and “crash” – he is a boy, through and through. A delightful, squealing, rough-and-tumble boy. Having grown up with four younger sisters, I have to say, I love having a boy.

(And wow, would I ever love having a girl too.)

Likewise, his favourite toys are still cars. His Oma made him a wonderful quilted car mat for Christmas, which he has been loving.

He’s starting to count along with us now. He’s been “counting” things for a while (pointing while we count), but now he’s starting to say the words too. I’ve been asking him to say his name lately, which sometimes results in a whispered “Ja!” but always results in a fit of giggles. Apparently, it is very funny to ask him to say his name. Who knew?

Pretty much, I just love this little guy.