On Little Boys and Puppydog Tails.

Went out to a friend's housewarming party this afternoon, which was also her son's 2nd birthday. Tristin had so much fun, but it was a reminder that most of our playdates have been with a) babies too much younger than him to be interesting or b) little girls. Not that there's anything wrong with having playdates with little girls, but today, Tristin got to go around the yard in a wagon full of other boys, chase a dog, crawl around in the grass/leaves/dirt, play on the slide (again with a bunch of other rough-and-tumble little boys), and just be 100% rambunctious little boy. It was pretty epic.

A little about the dog: if you know me in person, you know that I don't like dogs. I actually dislike dogs. In fact, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to say that I hate dogs. I think they're smelly, stupid, hairy, loud, obnoxious, and most of all, dangerous. Even dogs who aren't trained to be dangerous still are, because they can't retract their claws and they jump all over people or knock them down. I don't know a single dog that doesn't do this. Unfortunately, like most babies, my son loves dogs - and cats, and birds, and anything else he can chase/grab/growl at. So I grin, bear it, and poise always ready to kill any dog that actually hurts him. Some would say I should just never let him play with dogs, but the problem with that theory is that it can lead to phobias, and while I'd prefer if my son didn't like dogs I don't want him to develop a complex just because it would make my life easier. So I let him play with dogs. I also let him get dirty, fall down, and figure out for himself how to get where he wants to go. I'm that kind of mum.

On Baptisms and Birthdays.

So, the baptism has come and gone, and it was fabulous. Well, except for my forgetting to put batteries in the camera, so I am waiting oh-so-patiently for somebody, anybody, else to post some on facebook so that I can steal them.

I stayed up until two o'clock the night before, finishing up those little last-minute things like scrubbing the floors by hand (stupid cheap laminate flooring) and putting away toys. But the house was actually clean when I left for Mass, so I was satisfied. (Wess then proceeded to leave doors open that should have been closed, since the closets were quite beyond my powers of redemption, but that's another matter.) We went to Mass; we had a little break between Mass and the Baptism; everybody who needed to be there showed up; the ceremony was lovely; my son was anointed with chrism and welcomed into the Holy Catholic Church. My goal for the day was accomplished.

Then we had a party at my house! My stepmum catered it for me, which was amazing since basically all I had the energy to do after a marathon of cleaning and moving furniture (note: kitchen tables, even cheaply made kitchen tables, require a minimum of two people to move upstairs) was sit and eat! She made some fabulous little sandwichy things, brownies, poppyseed cake, cookies, and all kinds of great finger food. I had a wonderful time, and so did Wess (or at least, he was being a darned good sport about the whole thing). All in all, the day was awesome.

Next up: Birthday party, T-minus 12 days and counting (since his birthday is on a Thursday this year, we're having the party a bit early because weekends just work better all around). Wish me luck!

On Lactivism.

I support breastfeeding. I ensdorse nursing into toddlerhood, and even young childhood, if the child and mum are both game. I vehemently defend my son's right to eat whenever, wherever he chooses. I do NOT think a date or milestone (first birthday, teeth, walking) should be arbitrarily made the weaning mark. I love the idea of child-led weaning, although my son DOES need to start drinking water and pumped milk from a cup before I go to work. If you ask me about nursing, I will tell you any of these things. If you confront me about nursing in public, I will invite you to read the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. If you give me a hard time about nursing my almost-1-year-old son, I will invite you to discuss the health benefits of breastmilk over cow's milk until the age of 2. If you suggest that he should be on formula, well, I probably won't be diplomatic anymore and will just walk away from you, most likely preceded by a comment about how rude and ignorant people can be.

Now, having said all of that, there are a couple of groups on facebook that are giving lactivists a bad name. I'm a member of two of these groups, and the tactics used by some of these women (and men!) to increase awareness and acceptability of breastfeeding are vile. Being deliberately and obnoxiously confrontational is a reprehensible and juvenile behaviour pattern. Furthermore, all it does is give credence to the idea that women who breastfeed in public are all exhibitionists who just want to shove their breasts in your face. These people are actually a detriment to the fight to make breastfeeding not just acceptable, but invisible. The end goal of any true lactivist is to make it so that breastfeeding is no longer something we have to get all up in arms over. It should be about as remarkable as tying your shoe.

Of course, I could be blowing this all out of proportion. It probably doesn't help that I detest, nay, despise the word titty.

On Creating a Home.

So, as previously mentioned, Tristin's baptism is imminent. Like, 6 days imminent. I have a LOT of work to do between now and then to get ready for it... including making my house look, well, NOT like it's been decorated by a man!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Wess has bad taste. But there's a pretty obvious lack of feminine touch throughout the entire house. The couch is HUGE, the T.V. is HUGE, the monstrosity of a computer desk that has overtaken my entire dining room is HUGE... are we sensing a theme here? Good.

So the time has come to (at least temporarily) downsize some aspects of my house. We are having possibly up to 25 people over on Sunday, and with things the way they are right now, there's not room for 5. Seriously. So I bought a new (smaller!) kitchen table and chairs, and have arranged child care for Tristin for Saturday so that I can clean this place to within an inch of its life. Hopefully, I'll be able finish everything that needs to be done in time...

On Easter, and Being Lazy.

+Clearly, I haven't been updating this as often as I intended when I started out. I plead an enormous backup of laundry resulting from the trip, and the stress of trying to plan Tristin's Baptism and Birthday parties while trying to find work and a daycare. More on all of those things in their own time. First, Easter!

Tristin's first Easter was fantastic. I joined about 25 of my closest family members in our traditional dinner on Good Friday. Every year, since my dad and his sibs were kids, our family has gone to the Old Spaghetti factory downtown for Good Friday dinner. This tradition began when my grandfather won a family dinner gift certificate from some raffle or something. (Joke was on the restaurant; my grandparents had ten kids!) Anyways, every year thereafter, Grandpa Bus took his family out for dinner. And, despite his having passed away a few years ago, many of us continue the tradition - in fact, any of us who are in town will generally come. We make the reservations shortly after Christmas. I'm pretty sure that the manager of the restaurant actually has us in the training manual. And this year was awesome, as usual - Tristin was passed from table to table, meaning that I got to eat, and he got to meet some of his out-of-town cousins, aunts and uncles, great-aunts and great-uncles, inlaws and outlaws! What fun!

Then, on Sunday, we went to Easter Mass (which, I might add, I was highly impressed with, considering the logistics of having some 350 people attend a Mass in a chapel that doesn't usually see more than 100 and can only seat about 60 on a regular Sunday; Mass didn't even last longer than usual!), followed by a much-needed nap and then off to dinner at my parents' house, where Wess joined us for the first time in recorded history for Easter dinner. Again, about 30 of my closest family members joined us - and we kicked things off with the annual 30-and-under Easter Egg hunt. I lost, miserably, but felt good about it since I shelled out some of my findings to cousins whose shoes had been stolen! Man, we're a cutthroat bunch when it comes to chocolate! Dinner was fantastic - a potluck which yielded fantastical results (though not NEARLY enough potatoes for an Irish family get-together; the taters were gone before half the people had served themselves dinner!), and hanging out with the fam afterwards is always wonderful. It's funny, Easter is actually more of a family thing in my family than Christmas, even; I think it's because at Christmas we tend to divide into our sub-families of parents and sibs, while Easter is kind of a free-for-all with all the cousins, grandparents, and everyone in between.

At any rate, all in all it was a fantastic day, and I'm so glad that Wess (who is notoriously shy about coming to family gatherings larger than 6) came and enjoyed himself!

On Coming Home.

So we're home and mostly settled in post-Mexico. Laundry's al done, and I'm getting back into the routine - including applying for work, but more on that as it progresses.

I'm finding it hard to get motivated again now that we're back. Nurse, breakfast, dishes, garbage, nurse, laundry, vacuum, lunch, nurse, nap... more of the same. I love being a stay-at-home mum, but increasingly it feels like I've been trapped. I think a change of significant magnitude is necessary. Something bigger than rearranging the furniture or cleaning out the closets. Work will be a big change, although I wish it wasn't necessary - but maybe it will be what I need. Otherwise, I'm not sure what it's going to take for me to feel comfortable in my skin again!