i Blog... i Mom

Today I am blogging from the warm glow of my i Pad. I decided that I want to try it. And since I'm not sure where the lap top is (all I know is that I can't reach it/ see it from my comfortable spot, right here on the couch) I've decided that today is the day to give 'er a try.

For those of you who:
a) aren't parents
b) aren't related to me
c) have a black black heart

You may not be interested in this post. I'll understand (actually I won't even know!) if you don't want to read this... but but there are just some things that need to be said. And those things are in regards to my son. Roland Marlow Wight.

I'm sorry. But I just have to gush.

Roly is so cute. He is the sweetest little boy. A cuddle from him fills my love tank to the brim. I just love him so much.

Today (and most days) was full of moments that made me feel so fully and sentimentally in love with this child.

To begin with, Dave brought him in to our room early this morning. We have some students here for a couple weeks, and we were hoping to keep Roly asleep while the girls got ready, which meant I got some sweet sleepy snuggles from the man child. When Dave put him down Roly nuzzled into me, looked up, smooched me on the lips, then went to sleep for an hour. It was adorable.

We had a little play date with my friend Meagan, and her little guy Henry, which has become one of those things in my week that I look forward to most. All we do is sit and talk while the boys play (and fight over toys) but I just really enjoy it. At one point Henry and Roland both wanted a ball. Meagan had them sit down. They sat across from each other and threw the ball back and forth a bit. It was so stinking cute. They are around the same age, and they just look like a couple of old men together. It felt like a glimpse into the future. I got that heart achy "my baby is growing up" feeling. I really have high hopes for this kid. I'm pretty sure every parent feels this, but I really think that Roland will do great things. I think he's amazing... and I'm not biased at all.

There was a second heart achey moment today, caused by my own foolishness. For weeks Roland was fine going down the stairs. He FINALLY agreed to be taught how to go down backwards, on his knees. But for the past week he has stopped doing that. He's also stopped the less safe alternative of sliding down on his bum. He either wants to walk down, one stair at a time, on his own 2 feet, or be carried. Well in my own stubbornness I got him started going down backwards today, then went ahead of him to grab shoes and jackets. I glanced up to see him standing up, still near the top. I scolded him for being silly, then reached for my shoes. I had one shoe half on when I heard the clunk. Several clunks (and I'm sure less than 2 seconds) later I caught him as he bounced onto the bottom step. He cried. I cried. I felt stupid and guilty and mostly my heart ached that he had just rolled down the stairs, and I could have prevented it. Poor child. It's too bad that he has to be the one to teach me lessons sometimes. He got a goose egg over his left eye, which I'm sure will be blue tomorrow. Just a reminder to me to be more patient with my darling boy, I guess.

We had a recovery cuddle, then eventually got out the door - to Thrifty Foods, where he got his free cookie and continued to wrap me around his outrageously chubby finger. He's starting to talk, and will imitate words and phrases I say when he's in some moods, or like today, he will repeat the only words he knows over and over. In the hour we spent at the store Roland barked at almost everyone he saw (woof is his 3rd favorite word), called every food he saw a "cracker" (one of two foods he can say) and said the word "ball" (his favorite word by far) 30 million times. He giggled the cutest little giggles that I ever did hear, as I tickled him under the chin through the chip and soap aisles. When we finally made it through the checkout and into the parking lot his eyes went wide, he pointed at the sky and yelled "Ball!" I looked up and saw the moon. "Not ball, moon." I said. "Moooooooo" he said, with lips that stuck out an inch. Over and over for the ride home he repeated, "Mooooooo."

Well, a few minutes ago he woke up crying. I'm not sure what woke him up. It could have been the movie we were watching (funny side note- I-robot is the only movie we have that has Chinese subtitles, thus the only movie we could watch with our students tonight!) but I didn't mind. Once Roly is in bed I miss him. There are some nights that I just need my peace and quiet, but mostly I love an excuse to go into his room. Once I'm in bed that's a whole other story. Once I'm asleep I'm like a hibernating bear that no one should try to awaken, but BEFORE I go to bed, I'm happy to get a pre-sleep snuggle from the little guy. And snuggle I did get. He put his head down on my chest as soon as I picked him up. He whined out a little "Mama," then was asleep before I made my way over to the rocking chair. Those snuggles are the best.

There's a little baby in my belly. I know that this baby is special. I know I will love this baby. I know it... but there are moments where I wonder. Where I wonder how people do it- how moms make room in their hearts to love all their babies. I wonder not IF, but HOW I will love this baby as much as I love Roland. But then I have moments- like today, when Roland lifted up my shirt, peeked under and said "baba" (his version of baby) with a smile. It's those moments where I realized that we are a family. It's not Roland vs. Baby. It`s me and Dave and our children. Roland, fetus, and whoever else the Lord wants to bless our lives with. We will fit together. There will be room in my heart for new baby, not because there's an empty space waiting, but because my days are spent stretching out this heart of mine, feeling more and more love than I ever knew I could. And I know that this baby will stretch it further- teach me lessons about patience and sacrifice, and ultimately, as my own family did, as Dave has done, and as Roland does every day, this baby will teach me lessons in Love.

i Love

Bloggers Guilt

Once upon a time I wrote a blog with this title. I sat up late writing it. It took a while. When I was done I pressed "publish post," after which the computer froze, and the blog entry was lost forever in cyber space. It's moments like those that make me hate technology.
I've been meaning to get back on the blogger train for a few weeks now; I have several topics in my brain, pictures on my camera, and a desire to in my heart of hearts...but let me share my excuses with you, most of which I won't get (and deserve no) sympathy for:

1.  I got an iPad for Christmas. A shiny, white, lovely iPad. I love her. I think she's swell. She makes wasting time so much more fashionable than it used to be. I can play this one game with all my brother in laws, called "Disk Drivin" like a true tech-geek. I no longer need to "check" my facebook, as my iPad beeps at me when something happens there. I can text Dave random thoughts that cross my mind whenever I feel like it... AND my son becomes an insane monster who will bite or smack anyone who comes between him and her, every time he sees this said iPad. It's win win all round.
There are however a few drawbacks. Although the pinterest app is nice for stalking out other people's pins and "repinning" I can't for the life of me figure out how to "pin" something. I've gone through the instructions multiple times, and even got my hubby to try. He was so confused by the concept of pinterest that we really didn't get very far. Also, and more to the point of this post: typing on on my iPad - more than a witty facebook comment, or text message, is kind of annoying- I'm just not very quick with it. The auto correct feature, again while handy during texts, isn't so much, when I'm really trying to express myself.
So, while there are pros & cons to the iPad, the point is, I haven't yet tried to blog with it.

2.  The other day Dave and I had someone coming by the house for a homestay program we'd applied for. She had rescheduled since the snow had made her (along with every other citizen of Greater Victoria) a prisoner in her own home. Dave had neglected to tell me when she had rescheduled for, until an hour before she was coming. In my frantic attempt to get the house looking presentable I turned on a movie for Roly to watch, on the laptop. This never works, so I should have been concerned about how quiet and content he was, in front of the computer. It wasn't until he proudly held up a little black square to me that I realized he had used those fine motor skills and that pincer grasp that he honed during all that Christmas present unwrapping, to pluck several keys off of the laptop keyboard. Although I found most of them and stuck them back on- they've been a real pain in the butt all week. The "N" key has fallen off at least 16 times today (it's sitting next to me on the couch). The comma key is a little bit lopsided, and I have to push really hard every time I use it. The square bracket key is precariously perched on top of whatever it should be connected to, and the "V" key is just missing all together. This has made me curse every time I try to write something. Thus, blogging has not been my first priority.

3.  Dave and I started watching Prison Break. I'm an addict. Any free moment Dave and I have in common throughout the day is spent watching it. We are almost done season 2, so just 2 more to go! Maybe once I'm through my addiction I will have other thoughts that occupy my mind, beside Micheal Scofield & Lincoln Burrows. When that happens I'll be sure to fill you in.

So, though I feel guilty about it... I just can't blog these days. I'm sure I'll get over it. Something will push me to the edge, of needing to express myself to whoever reads this thing. 

Stay tuned... or don't... but I swear I'll come back one of these days.

Shirley Temple

Dave is really good at winning things. He wins games. He wins at jeopardy when we watch it. He wins whenever we play 21... in fact one time he told me that he hasn't lost that game since like 1995 or something like that. He's also good at winning things on the radio. He won tickets for Bedouin Soundclash a few weeks ago, and we got to go to their show on Friday night.

I had a great time. It was weird to be in a club... has never been, and will never be my scene. I found people to be so crude and just nasty in there. At one point I went to the washroom, and as I was washing my hands a girl came in, dropped her pants with the stall door open and continued her (very loud and crude) conversation with her friends. They told her to close the door, to which she responded, "Why? You can't see my vagina, can you?" Eew. Just close the door. And your mouth. 

Any ways, once I was back out in the club with my homies... ie: Dave, and he had his arm around me, and we were surrounded by people who were actually watching the band, I felt more comfortable, and less disgusted. The band was great. Jay Malinowski's voice is just so scratchy and smooth and delightful.

I've never had a sip of alcohol. It's not even a temptation for me, and never has been. I'm grateful for that, because I feel like it would be hard to resist if I did want it. On Friday night I was, however, thirsty. 

I turned to Dave and asked, "Can you get me a Shirley Temple?" 

He replied "No." 

"Why not?" I asked, surprised by his response.

"I'll give you money if you want to get one yourself," he said. And that's when I realized he was too embarrassed to order a Shirley Temple in a bar. Then he asked "I don't even know what's in a Shirley Temple."

I told him, "Sprite, grenadine & a maraschino cherry."

His eyes went really wide and he replied "I love Shirley Temples!"

But he still wouldn't get one for me. Brat. I guess he didn't want to wreck winner rap. 

Movin on up.

When I married Dave he was a partial owner of a great big house. He and his sister in law and brother had gone in on it together. We've worked really hard to make our basement suite into a home over the past couple of years. It's a cozy little place with big windows, lots of light, warm floors, and bursts of colour. 

There are certain details that I will readily admit I am not a fan of:

• The garage door in my living room for example! It's been a sore spot in our marriage since... well... before we were married. It's funny to see people's reactions to it. Some sympathize with me about what a strange little situation we have going on, while others thinks it's a swell idea to have a garage door in your living room. I have insisted to Dave on several occasions that people just say that to his face... but I'm starting to think that some people might actually like it. 
• The lack of a dishwasher
• How impossible it is to hear the door bell or knock at the door when you are anywhere past the kitchen. 
• The funny little cupboard that swings out to reveal the fuse box. It's just a strange little detail. 

 But there are also things that I LOVE about this suite:

• The heated floors in the living room! They make a roll around on the floor with Roly even more delightful than a regular roll. I also love it when Dave turns up the heat without telling me, and my frozen feet get a nice little surprise when I step into the room. 
• The huge windows in the kitchen. I've realized that actually enjoy doing dishes in that kitchen, when I can look out at our beautiful backyard. It's just a lovely experience
• The counter in the bathroom. Dave custom designed/built it for me: added a magnifying mirror and extra lighting. It's just perfect. I love it.

• The fireplace in our bedroom. It really heats things up...?
• The red walls in the kitchen.

Well, we are packing up and moving out this week. Yup. That's right. We are leaving our little love nest behind, and making the trek- all the way... upstairs. We found a renter for the basement. Although we can technically make more mula monthly by renting out the 3 bedrooms upstairs separately, it has proven to be very difficult to fill 3 bedrooms consistently, and so, we must leave our home!

I haven't really thought about the details of it all, until our renter insisted that the only time she could get help with moving was on Sunday, which is November 27th, not at all December 1st. Dave agreed that she could move (atleast her stuff) in then. Now the work of a move is hitting me. I remember now that I HATE MOVING! The packing, the cleaning, the sorting. One of the things we appreciated about this situation was that we recognized we could do things little by little. The problem is that we haven't been doing anything little by little. And then it hit us that she's bringing all her stuff over tomorrow, and the living room needs to be empty. Well I busted my butt this evening, getting 'er done. And I even got the downstairs kitchen mostly cleaned out and Roly's room upstairs kind of half put together as well. It's hard to finish projects when working around/with/in spite of a darling curious little beggar like Roly. He really does get into everything. 

It hit me though, tonight, as I was rearranging furniture that this basement is our first home together. I KNOW we are just moving upstairs- and the basement is still in our possession, but I get a little teary eyed when I look around and I think of all the work we've put into this place. It's our first home together. It's where we started our family. I'm amazed when I think of what it looked like before we were married. I can't help but see this place as a metaphor for our relationship. We've worked hard - sometimes a coat of paint was all it took, and sometimes it took major demolition, but we've worked together, with a common goal, and we've got our marriage to a place that we are happy with. Of course it takes maintenance, but every day we are in a place that we can look around and like what we see. 

I love this place, from the walls to the floors- It's not perfect, and on certain days the imperfections drive me up the wall. But in general, I am so satisfied with it. Likewise, my relationship with Dave isn't perfect. There is always work to be done. But I am so proud of how far we have progressed in the last two and a half years; our ability to communicate, our desire to make eachother happy, our ability to make eachother laugh, our understanding of what respect to the other entails, and our willingness to forgive/overlook imperfections in eachother have all grown by degrees.

I'm grateful for my cozy little suite! And my cozy little marriage. I don't know what the move upstairs symbolizes... especially since I'm moving there with Dave, but we'll just overlook that part of the metaphor. I guess it's just a new challenge; a new direction in life, with the same man by my side!

Spelling Test

One time, and only one time, I cheated on a test. It was a spelling test in grade 2. I had the words cut out and lined up in my desk. I don't remember if I passed or aced the test - I just remember sweating and shaking a lot throughout it. I was in french immersion until grade 3, and it is upon that fact that I blame my inability to spell. I really didn't know how bad I was at spelling until I got married... to someone who isn't afraid to let me know when I've done something wrong.
Along with my french background (which I think from now on I will just refer to as my "learning disability," considering I don't actually remember ANY french, but I still can't spell English words) I am a creative person; I love to write, cut, glue, paint, sew, crochet. I just love to make things. I especially love it when I have a good idea, and I can carry it out. I'm not very good at following directions sometimes, which is why I'm not a great sewer - you have to do things the right way, in the right order if you want it to look right. There are rules. There are also rules in spelling, and I'm not very good at following those either. 
There are a few words that I memorized:

• there, their & they're
• your, you're 
• our, are
• then, than

Finally, along with the french disability, and the creativity - I am a proud Canadian, and I appreciate that we spell things differently from our American counterparts. That being said- sometimes I get a little overzealous with with my patriotism by adding 'u' to words where they don't actually belong. 

You get the point. There are a few words though, that regardless of all the red pen and spell check I've come across I can NEVER spell them properly.

• favourite. I know, I know- favorite
• truley - Truly
• deap - Deep
• wierd - Weird
• speghetti - spaghetti
• vaccum - vacuum

The point of all this? None really. I'm just glad for the little red line that pops up (way to often every time I plunk myself in front of this screen) and allows me to correct myself before I post embarassing blunders...embarrassing. Dangit.

Friends.

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Friendship is one of those things in life; one of those don't-know-what-we've-got-'till-it's-gone things. Within my social circle there is a strange phenomenon that occurs when someone gets married - they lose all their friends. That is unless they were one of the last of the friends to get married, in which case they gain the friends back which they lost before. I assumed it was a common thing, but I've realized that it's not; this is a characteristic of the flakey female mormon social circle. It's sad really. 
When I got married I really felt isolated. I loved being married. I loved Dave. I loved spending time with him - and we had a lot of fun together. BUT, I still needed friends. I needed girls to talk to, and be with. I found that no matter what effort I put forward to be with the friends that I had before I got married, they just weren't interested in being there for me. I hadn't been in Victoria long, before I met Dave, and we got serious pretty quickly, so I discovered that none of the friendships that I valued, and that I thought ran deep meant much to them. They had their own lives to deal with, the pursuit of their own educations, careers, adventures... and men. Friendships with guys became different as well... they just didn't work anymore, unless they were one of Dave's friends too. And Dave's friends didn't change. In fact- after we got married I saw way more of Dave's friends. One of his friends was over for dinner at least once / week. Nothing changed for him. He had the best of both worlds, and really didn't understand my sorrow in missing my friends.  
I've heard people say that finding "couple" friends after you get married is like dating all over again. You make your attempts to find compatible friends that you both get along with. Where the husbands can talk about similar things, the wives get along, and no one annoys anyone too badly. It works best if the friendships work out within and without the couple situation. You put out feelers, send out invites, hang out a few times, and see what kind of friends you can be. Are they "game" friends, "dinner" friends, "favor" friends, "movie" friends? Does the wife come over too when the husband gets an invite to watch sports with Dave? When I invite the wife to something does Dave have to invite the husband to hang out?
At one point one of Dave's closest friends married one of my closest friends... which was a match made in heaven (although I'm sure their marriage is fantastic, I'm referring here to the match of Dave and I to them. Truly heavenly). Unfortunately they moved away, and after months of having the perfect couple friends we were left again to fend for ourselves. 
And that's what got me thinking about this whole friendship business. When we got married we were called right away to teach the sunbeams. This meant that although we were moving into Dave's home ward, where everyone had known him, since he was born, no one knew me, and no one (except the lovely 3 year olds) got to know me. We also happened to move into a ward that contained 3 other Sister Wights. This made things difficult for the members of the ward that didn't bother to get to know us, and confused us all the time. 2 of those Sister Wights were named Shannon. My name is not Shannon, but I think people just thought it was a safe bet to call any Wight a Shannon. That happened too many times to count. I really struggled when we first moved in, with finding a place in the ward. I felt isolated and useless. I finally felt like I found a place within the ward when I let go of the hurt and pride that I felt and really made an effort. I did my visiting teaching. I attended Relief Society activities when ever I could, and I really tried to serve the people around me. In doing so I felt like I found a place, and I made connections. 
Recently I've sunk back into my slump of feeling lonely again within the ward. I guess it's been since Laura and Chris moved away. We went to Nanaimo last month and saw them, and Laura and I just sat and talked for so long. I forgot that feeling - it had been so long since I'd been able to sit and talk to someone without effort... without guarding my words, or filtering my thoughts.
I've loved living in Victoria since the moment I stepped foot on this beautiful little island, but there are moments - like these- where I wish I could be back in Alberta. Close to family. Close to old friends. It's so hard to be far away sometimes. And it's so hard to feel isolated when surrounded by people that I know. There are so many members of our ward that I knew in YSA. So many people that I thought I was friends with then, and yet now I struggle to carry on a conversation with them. There are moments where I feel like a little girl that's being shunned on the playground... and all I want to do is run home to my mom. 
I hate feeling like this. I know there are things that I can do to break out of this- and I know the biggest thing is about my own choices: inviting the spirit in greater measure into my heart and home, making an effort to call, invite, talk to, etc. It's just difficult when every conversation takes effort. I don't want to be the one that complains. I don't want to have a pitty party every time I see pictures on facebook of  "friends" parties we weren't invited to. I know that takes a friend to be a friend... or whatever the saying is. I just never pictured myself having to work so hard at it, at this stage in my life. 
I guess the pursuit never ends. I witnessed my mom find her dearest friends when we moved to Taber, and that was when she was in her mid40's. So there is time. I do have great friends. My dear friend Kathryn has been there for me since I met her the summer before grade 4. She sends me birthday cards and facebook messages like no one else I know. She is a good friends. Stefanie is a dedicated caller. No matter how many times she gets my voicemail she always calls back. She is a good friend. Laura is so easy to talk to, and is always checking in and filling me in. She is a good friend. Amie is an entertaining phone call no matter what time of the day or night. It usually ends with one of her children screaming, and having to hang up, but we talk often enough that we can fill in the blanks in between. She is a good friend. 


I have amazing friends in my life. I just need to remember that... and figure out how to be one in return. 

socks.

Sometimes I feel like my life revolves around inanimate objects. Recently, it's been socks. 

When we first got married I would often come home to Dave relaxing on the couch with one sock off and one sock on.  I think it started with rockband. He would take his one sock off because his foot would slip on the drum pedal if he was wearing it. Somehow it became a habit, and it seemed no matter what, on a warm day, at least ONE of his socks would find it's way onto the floor, or into the couch as he sat there. Throughout the past 2 years of our blissful married existence finding those socks on the floor, under the couch, in the couch, on chairs, and on the window ledge has really been a bone of contention. It drives me crazy. I am married to a wonderful man... but his dirty socks sitting next to me on the couch make me want to yell crude words and burn things. 

Last month we went out of town, and a few members of Dave's family stayed here while we were gone. When we got home there was a dirty pair of socks on the mantle of the fireplace. I swear - only a Wight man.

Sometimes at night, when I crawl into bed, and I cuddle up to Dave I'm disgusted to feel that his woolly little socks have joined us in bed. He may be stripped down to his underwear, but his socks remain on his feet. It creeps me out every time. I think at this point he just does it because he knows how weird I think it is, but I hate feeling his sock feet in bed. I can't even explain why. 

Another frequent occurrence when I cuddle up to dear Dave in bed, is that I try to warm up my frozen little toes. I always have cold feet, especially at the end of the day. Sometimes, when he's feeling extra generous he'll let me warm up my feet on his legs, but the other night he'd had enough. My feet were particularly icicle-like that evening, and he insisted I put socks on. I refused, but when he denied the warmth of his own body to warm up my poor little toesies I had to comply. And the truth is- I've worn socks to bed every night since. I couldn't believe the change it made in my own body temperature and comfort throughout the night. 

Ok, so it's safe to say we have issues with socks. I'm saying we, but it might just be me... but then again? 

Last week I kept catching Roly taking one of his socks off. Yup. ONE. Today I witnessed my son insist his father put socks on his feet before anything else. That's right- socks. Before the diaper. Before the shirt. Socks. We hope our children don't inherit our idiosyncrasies... but I think we are too late on this one. Poor kid.