<monday february 10, 2003 - 10:58 p.m.>

I was sullen and grumpy this morning and yelled and stomped my feet in anger. It was basically me against two, as Mark was mostly incapacitated with strep throat.

It's funny how two pint-sized anklebiters can get the better of you sometimes.

My patience hasn't been the same and sometimes (like this morning) it seems that no one is listening or co-operating. That being said, one can never stay angry at a little girl who says goodbye to her toes before she puts her socks on. That would be Sarah, or ZaZa as she called herself yesterday.

Or Emma, who doesn't says that something is "gross" or "yucky." It's "bisgusting." Another endearing trick - she puts on a show for Sarah by pretending her rump is aflame.

"Ow OW OW!" She yells and jumps up and down grabbing at the seat of her pants. "My bum is on fire!"

What a day.

a

<sunday february 9, 2003 - 10:30 a.m.>

Emma invented her own game while she was sick at home last week. Mark transcribed the rules here:

You have to pick a card with a block. A player cannot pick a card with a monkey on it. Once your card is picked you have to carry the card with two hands trying not to drop the block. You must put the card with the block next to you. If you succeed you get to pick an animal tile. To pick the animal tile you must close your eyes and reach into the bag. If you drop the block off the card you do not get to pick the animal tile.

Although it got this far she never determined how you win the game.

And here's a photo showing how she set it up.

Friday nights around here are about movies and pizza. We get a film (this time it was Lilo & Stitch for the girls and 13 Conversations for us) and we all hunker down with pillows and blankets and chill with the lights off. We're still waiting for Sarah to get the concept of Movie Night. She has a tendency to wander, with Genkie in hand (that be the blankie) and step on my knees.

The Saturday routine has just recently ironed itself out until April. The girls are both taking their first swim lessons.

Their experience with water is confined to the backward inflatable and the neighborhood wading pool. While others were enrolling their children in infant learn-to-swim programs we were busy procrastinating.

Emma's lesson is at 9:30. Hers are the kind where the parents sit in poolside chaise lounges and read the paper. Sarah's lesson is at 10:30, and hers are the kind where the parent actually participates.

I left really early for the lesson, say around 9:50. And I drove. (We live about 3 blocks away from the pool.) I wanted to allow for Time In Case of Unforeseen Circumstances. With Sarah, anything is possible.

Everything went well, too well in fact. I was early and had time to kill. It was an awkward 17 minutes. There I was in a two-piece around a group of adults who were mostly dressed. The bathing suit was also feeling a little snug around the back, also, I was sucking in my midsection the whole time. Remember all the trouble I had buying the thing?

I was also extremely self-conscious of the fact that my toenails haven't been repainted in about 3 months. You know, it wouldn't have been so bad if there was no one around. Au contraire. Hoards of parents (mostly dry) and their offspring (mostly wet) milled around like termites in a match factory.

I busied myself herding Sarah away from the edge of the pool as she ran around clutching some found rubber ducks. This was hard to do and not bend over. I was trying hard not to show unnecessary (a) cleavage (b) tummy folds (c) derriere.

Finally it was time for the lesson. We all went into the water with the kiddies. An interesting observation: children that had been in the water since infancy weren't necessarily more comfortable than children who hadn't. There was one boy who did nothing than cling to his father, and one girl who took splashing to an all new level. But Sarah was great.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but the instructor made a real effort to bring it down to their level.

For example, we started with a song (one of many) to get them used to doing certain actions in the water. We all stood in a circle and sang:

"Old Mc<insert child's name here) had a pool, E-I-E-I-O. And in this pool she liked to <insert swimming-related-activity here> E-I-E-I-O.

When it was Sarah's turn I sang out that she liked to kick, E-I-E-I-O, with a kick kick here and a kick kick there... etc. Then it was someone else's turn to continue the song The guy next to me was obviously self-conscious. I understood his anxiety and embarrassment. After all, it's not often that adults are called upon to sing a nursery rhyme and made a public spectacle of themselves.

He pronounced his son's name as if it was a question. Mateo? Poor guy. Old Mateo likes to... he shrugged. "Splash?" He asks. He looked like the kind of guy whose wife expressly made him go spend quality time with his son.

We did lots of floating around and splashing. Sarah refused to lie on her back with her head in the water. She also could not be convinced of the Great Fun that is to be had blowing bubbles in the water, but that was ok. We have many weeks to go.

The lesson was over at 11:00. As I walked out of the pool I realized how tired I was. This had actually been a bit of a workout for me. Imagine half-squatting in shallow water, hoisting a 35 lb. kid all around the pool. It was all in the upper thigh, and boy could I feel it when I got out. My legs felt like they'd been run down with a streamroller. But now came the part that worried me. How do I get her out of the water and changed into her civies? I prepared myself for the worst i.e. her charging out of the changeroom waving her diaper while I chased her around the rec centre wrapped in a beach towel.

But the real process went like this:

1. Coax kid out of the water.
2. Wrap my shivering body and hers in fluffy towels.
3. Avoid stepping in the wet (certainly germy and sometimes hairy) puddles - dammit why didn't I bring my flip flops.
4. Hold in arms while I try to shower us both. Attempt to soapify.
5. Rinse. Repeat.
6. Discover towels had fallen off the rack and on to the shower-room floor. (UGH)
7. Lie kid down on the bench, attempt to dry her and self off with wet towel, change her into a dry diaper while trying to unpack our clothes that are farther than arms-length away.
8. Change kid into dry clothes while the temperature my bathing suit is starting to fall lower than own body temperature.
9. Place kid in strategically placed playpen while I throw my clothes on.

The most challenging part was putting on our socks and boots without getting our socks wet. That's the worst.

We went upstairs to meet a sleepy Emma and an equally tired-looking Mark. We drove to the bagel shop to pick up fresh bagels and newspapers. Lunch and naps followed. I still haven't recovered. The muscles in my legs are still sore. But I can't wait until next week.

a.