Monday, 29 November 2010

And Also, Ailsa

Not to be outdone by her more vocal and mobile older brother, Ailsa fights back with the only weapon she's got so far: cuteness.

This was a fallback Halloween costume, but in reality, was going to be too small by the time Halloween rolled around. Don't worry, we got good use out of it.

The cat's meow in cat's pyjamas.

Thanks to last-minute effort by Grandma and Daddy, and a cute onesie from Great-Grandma, Spider Girl was ready just in time for tricker-treating.

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She's been sitting up at the table with us at dinnertime, getting used to the idea of this whole food thing.
She looks a wee bit traumatized. She must be watching either her brother or her father eat.


At 5 1/2 months, Ailsa was graciously allowed her first taste of rice cereal. It took one bite, and she was hooked. Much like her brother, she finally started to gain weight the second she started on solids and formula (as per doctor's orders - no criticisms, please). She's rounding out nicely, and our skinny, tiny little girl is becoming delightfully cuddly!

What? Now I look like my mom? What?


Ailsa's favourite hangout is her jumperoo, which she can spend 45 minutes in, at a stretch, bouncing constantly. I call her the Baby Kangaroo.

That's right! I'm bouncy to the bone!





YEAH!






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The problem with all of this delightfulness and cuteness was that it was fairly consistent during the day (after the Gaia drops, that is!), but the sleep at night still wasn't happening. But, from "easing" onto formula over a period of a week, and upping her calories, she's now slept through the night THREE WHOLE TIMES this week! At almost 6 months old. Woo, indeed.
She's an incredibly social baby. Case in point: we were at Swiss Chalet the other night (Festive Special, anyone?), and she was getting antsy and fussing. But, since she was wearing a tutu, a table of 12 old people (see also: Swiss Chalet, five o'clock seating), kept glancing over and cooing, so finally, I obligingly turned her around so they could see her miserable little face. Well. It was like a ray of sunshine hit her upside the head; she started beaming the second she noticed she had an audience. Humph. She's ridiculously happy almost all the time, as long as she's being adulated.
She now lights up when she sees Vaughn, and of course plays Daddy like a little fiddle. Men of the world, look out!

Thursday, 18 November 2010

Hey! A Meatball!

The Ongoing Adventures of a Boy Named Vaughn

Before leaving the Hat, V checks out the empty cupboards.



So, the V-man is growing and changing before our eyes. On the first morning in the hotel (leaving the Hat, October 15th-ish?), Vaughn said his first sentence. Chris had gotten up to get some fruit from the breakfast buffet, and Vaughn said, "Daddy take oranges Vaughn". Hey, there's a subject, and object, a verb... since then, he hasn't stopped.



It blows our minds to listen to the changes in just a month, but now he differentiates between wanting something ("Vaughn see dumptruck?" "Vaughn have more broccoli please."* "Vaughn ask Daddy for chips.") and actually doing it ("Vaughn holding Ailsa's hand." "Mommy eating chocolate with wine."). The kid is using verb tenses, often correctly! And possessives! And prepositions! He has a bunch of favourite words that are somewhat oddly pronounced, but I love listening to him say them... speakers on!







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The downside, of course, is that he can now tattle on you really well.




The Meatball Incident



Since we didn't have Thanksgiving before the move, Mom and Dad offered to host it at their place, for everyone, on the Saturday night after we arrived. The whole fam damily was there: Tracey and Jason, Logan and Jodie, Uncle Ryan... and things went well till just after the delicious dinner (including pumpkin pie and birthday cake** for Grandpa), when Uncle Ryan said, "I think he's stinky."


Well, I am ashamed to admit that I didn't act on this information as quickly as I should have; I think I was distracted, or feeding Ailsa, or something. But about five minutes later, Logan shouted, "What is that?" And Chris thought, "Hey! A meatball!"


So, now we can look back and remember, fondly, The Thanksgiving that Vaughn Pooped on the Floor.






Nobody move! We seem to be missing a six...



Son of Halloweenie


Halloween was a hit again. He woke up that morning covered in vomit (boooo), and was a bit mopey all day, not wanting to wear his costume (skunk costume number two! Thanks, cousin Logan!).


Until the first kid, a little girl dressed as a witch, knocked on our door.

"Caaaandyyyyy!" she yelled, holding out her bag. Her dad, at the foot of the steps hung his head and said, "It's trick or treat."


"Oh, yeah," she said. "Trick or treat". (She was about 3.)


Well, Vaughn took one look at this, put two and two together, and dragged me over to the costume. "Vaughn skunk on."


So, out we went, and at the very first house, I told him, "Say 'Trick or Treat'", he said, "Tricker treat!" and got a handful of tricker treats (naturally), after which, I told him what to say: he bowed his little skunk head and said, "Sankoooo."*** The next house, he needed no coaching. At the third house, the woman gave him the tricker treats and then said, "Bye-bye, Skunkie!"


Well. Skunkie giggled his way to the fourth and final house, repeating "bye-bye Skunkie" the whole way. Daddy was a bit miffed to see us back so soon (hoping for a bigger haul, no doubt), but it was cold out, and I had a spider-girl stuck to me. Etcetera. Besides, too many tricker treats in the house just lead to demands and tantrums.










Grocery Shopping with Mr. Personality


Vaughn and I have this thing: we go grocery shopping every Sunday. Daddy stays home and does laundry, and Vaughn and I (and usually Ailsa, unless she's napping) go and have a good time. We browse the aisles, we talk about food, we put five apples up on top and V charms the pants off the sample ladies so that he gets things like ice cream and cookies while I'm looking at a label of bread crumbs or something.


But I digress.


We were walking through our local Loblaws, and went up to a sample lady who had cheese and crackers. She walked around her stand and told me that another sample lady had told her that I had the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, so she had to see her for herself. (Of COURSE I have the most beautiful baby! Biased, moi?) Ailsa apparently fluttered her lashes and flashed her a million-watt grin, and was appropriately cooed over. Vaughn, meanwhile, was munching away on his snack, happily ignored.


So the sample lady then realizes that she's leaving him out, turns to him and says, "Oh, and you're very handsome too." Vaughn looked at her very seriously, and said in a bored, of-course-I-am voice, "Sankooo. Bye-bye."





* Seriously. The kids loves him some broccolis.


** Vaughn, of course, loves birthdays. Or "Happy Jesus"-es, as he calls them, thanks to The Story of Christmas book that he has, because at the end, you say, "Happy Birthday Jesus!" or whatever you can pronounce at 22 months old, which is "Happy Jesus". The kid cracks me up.


***He's been using the sign-language "thank you" for about a year now, but only recently has even attempted to say the words. But, thanks to Let's Dance, Little Pookie, he now bows and says, "Sankoooo" like a pro. And he's very good at using it, much to my delight: "Sankooo, Mommy." Awww....


Wednesday, 3 November 2010

They Used to Call me "Power", but Now They Just Call Me "Huff"

(Alternate title: Three Years is Too Long Between BodyAttack Classes)

We now have Internet!

Actually, we've had it for about a week, but NOW it's actually hooked up to our computer, which, apparently, is kind of the point.

Rogers and Bell reps have spent waaaay too much time at my house, due to the every-square-inch-drywalled-ness of it, and, despite having people living here (in squalor, I might add -- more on that later) for the last 10 years, had a heck of a time plugging me into the information age.

But first: Welcome back to Ottawa, me!

First order of business, of course, was to go back to GoodLife and demand to be paid for my shenanigans again. There's a process that I have to follow, involving submitting another video, with $100 (yay! I knew I didn't throw out all that extra Mo Money for a reason!)... but I need to decide between Jam (dance, dance, dance! Get down with your funky self, you white girl, you!) and Attack (evil aerobics nightmare-type workout, in which I used to do jump lunges and high kicks with ease, smiling, and barely sweating), since I don't have the mental capacity to do both right now (as evidenced by rambling blog posts, for example).

So far, I've gone to one Attack class. Three years, two babies, and ... well, that's all that needs to be said about that. Let's just say there was more effort expended than I had in reserve. Despite being very sleep-deprived since the progeny arrived, I can't help but wonder how on earth I could sleep at night doing that to innocent class participants for fun and profit. In short, I LOVED IT. I still need to attend a Jam class to make my final decision, but woo! What a rush!

But of course, the masses can sway me with a vote.

Um, go ahead, vote.

I'll be sitting here on this nice ice pack.