Santa's come and gone

As this was our first Christmas in Vancouver, we thought it appropriate to start new traditions. I have a feeling this will be a work in progress.

Christmas Eve day, David decided to make tortiere in honour of his French-Canadian roots. So he buys the ingredients he remembers being in it, and at 4pm calls up his mother to ask for her recipe. Nothing like planning ahead. Two hours later, we had a tortiere and I have to say, it was pretty darned good. Now, he tweaked the recipe considerably from his mother's, but it definitely passed the taste test.

Christmas dinner was another thing though. We started the day opening presents... well, really, Nate opened them all as 85% were for him. Come to think of it, he also opened Jake's and helped us with ours, so really, Nate opened all the gifts. He was suitably impressed with all his new toys and has played with them all since.

Then I followed with the next family tradition... my famous buttermilk pancakes. I say "famous", but really, no one has eaten them but us, and well, I say "my", but really anyone with a Joy of Cooking has access to the same recipe. Still, we love them.

Later that afternoon, David began the next tradition, cooking a duck dinner. I knew it wasn't going to go well when I heard, "Sh*t! I did it again." Cauliflower puree became cauliflower soup when David accidentally put all the poaching cream in the blender. Not such a bad last minute change though.

But then it all fell apart. The roasted chestnuts that were left to cool for a while ended up having their shells glue to the nut. The brussel sprouts cooked too early and became mushy. Very mushy. Let's just say that the English would've approved of these greens. And they soaked up too much of the maple syrup. So they were really sweet and mushy. *Shudder*

And then there was the duck itself. This recipe said to cook the duck in an hour at a higher heat, to get a crispy skin. Most other recipes said cook for two hours at a lower heat. Turns out our duck had a crispy skin, but while the breasts were cooked, the rest of the duck was raw.

As we sat down to dinner, David wiped not a few tears from the corners of his eyes. I have to admit, it wasn't a great dinner. The good news is, it can only improve from here.

Which one do I open first?



Concentrated effort





More mighty machines





A boy can never have too many trucks!



Jake looks thoroughly bored. I think the lethargy is from his cold. He's too young to be disenchanted with Christmas yet!



Still bored...



Someone save me!






The best gift ever... his own digital camera.



Jake's standing... with help.



As a side note, I forgot to mention that I got the best present ever... a TomTom GPS system for my car. Actually, I think this was a present for David, so I'll stop calling him and whining, "I don't know how to get there."

You know you're a bad parent when...

you coax your sick child who might be running a low-grade fever (nothing Tylenol Kids can't cure) to attend brunch with his parents' friends in a busy, bustling restaurant and he falls asleep, standing up at the table, while leaning his chin on his father's hand.

If there is a Parenting 101 course out there, I think we just failed it.

Three is the New Two

Even as a teenager I was familiar with the phrase, "The Terrible Twos". I would walk by purple-faced children screaming, face down on the floor in the mall and think knowingly, "Ah yes, she must be two. It's that phase. Poor mom."

Now I know better. Nate sailed through most of his first two years, well, really, almost three years, without throwing one tantrum. Okay, maybe one. But probably not two. Every person I know remarks on his easy-going and quiet demeanor. And he is like that at home too.

Was like that at home.

For the past month, Nate has given us a taste of what it means to be a Terrible Two. Whining has increased 100 fold. Tantrums have started over small reasons (we moved his motorcycle 10 centimeters to the left; we asked him to eat with a fork, not a spoon; he was told for the 4th time to get back in bed) or no reason at all. These are the most frustrating tantrums of all since my initial reaction to sudden tears and screaming is, "What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?" (I'm still not used to a toddler who throws fits.)

Last night we witnessed five calamaties:

1. Motorcycle wasn't in bed with him.
2. Motorcycle lost its wheel.
3. Mom wouldn't fix motorcycle.
4. Dad found Nate out of bed (for the third time) playing on the floor of his bedroom, in the dark.
5. Mom got up in the morning without telling Nate she was going to the living room.

I'm sure he's down a pint of water and a few teaspoons of salt.

In talking with friends and family I've realized that my toddler, who is on the verge of three, is simply part of the new trend. Age two isn't hard. It's year three that is the bear.

Setting an Example

David and I decided that this would be a low key Christmas. Nathan is still young... young enough that he's just as happy with one present as with twenty. We decided on the two or three gifts we were going to get him and I was in charge of buying them. Now, I've pretty much stuck to the deal, although I did buy a set of Bob the Builder DVDs which added a little to the count.

Unfortunately, we didn't really foresee the arrival of friends' and relatives' gifts for Nate. Now there's quite a haul in the den... waiting to go under the tree. (Which is at least out of storage, but still undecorated!)

I guess David and I will be setting the example as we've decided not to buy gifts for each other.

I wonder if Nate will notice that?

Progress

Jake's smiling now... on purpose. It's moved him from "blob" stage to cute "blob" stage.

Other milestones:

1. He's off the charts for length. (He's a 2 month old in 9 to 12 month old clothing.)
2. He's almost off the charts for weight.
3. He's learned how to suck his thumb to put himself to sleep. (I guess second children have to be more resourceful than first ones.)


Okay. That's all I have to say for now. I have some pork chops to learn how to cook.

Santa Tortures Young Children

Okay, after avoiding it last year, I decided to do another Santa shot. I figured Nate was old enough to understand that going to Santa was going to net him a Christmas haul. And we'd already read one Christmas book about Santa (albeit in French), so I figured he was prepped.

It started okay. Nate was psyched to go to the mall. He got in and out of the car without any problems. He ran down the mall corridor to Santa's house. (This is an upscale Santa... when I was a kid, Santa was plunked on a chair between K-Mart and a candle store.) He even rehearsed what he wanted: new binoculars and an airplane.

Given that it was the 6th of December and 11 am, there was no line up; one benefit of being on mat leave is the freedom to hit the mall at less crowded hours. When we got to the entrance, there was no one there. Only one family was in Santa's house while we stood in line purchasing our photo options. Nate watched the brother and sister, each on Santa's knee while I debated buying one photo for a half my paycheck or one photo plus CD for the entire paycheque. Okay, it wasn't that bad, but seriously, $7 for a 4x6?

Then we waited. And waited. And waited. Nate started to lose interest and began to scale the outside of the house. The mom with Santa wasn't happy with any of the photos, and so the shoot took at least 10 minutes. And they had been at it long before we arrived. At least the photographer cares about getting a good shot for the $7. Nice to see people taking pride in their work nowadays.

Finally it was our turn. Which cued Jake, who never cries, to start screaming bloody murder. He might have been too hot in his little bear outer wear, but I hadn't the time anymore to strip him down.

We walked into Santa's house where Nate became instantly shy and wrapped himself around my leg. I hobbled over to Santa, who was a good looking Santa for sure, with a nice Santa voice and no trace of last night's rum on his breath. Nate refused to get on his knee. We quickly compromised and had him stand next to Santa, and I dumped the somewhat calmer Jake into Santa's arms.

But then we couldn't get Nate to smile. He had a finger in his mouth, looked at the ceiling, at the floor, and was definitely not his normal cherubic-looking self screaming, "Cheese!" at the camera. Not to worry I thought, this photographer is obviously concerned about getting a nice shot.

I figure the previous mom must've slipped her a $20 or something, because the photographer took two photos (both obviously making Nate look like little elves were jabbing him with hot fireplace pokers) and said, "Look, we have to move along here." We'd been in Santa's house for all of 3 minutes and there was just one family waiting in line. No way was I leaving with a $7 photo of misery!

We tried a few more shots, and she did manage to get one fleeting smile from Nate. Unfortunately, Jake was scrunch-faced in that one. We decided on one where Nate looked... um... okay, and Jake was gazing off into the distance with a "Someone save me from this" expression.

I left with both kids, expecting to get my photo in a few minutes. Oh no. Had to pick them up the next day from a camera shop in another part of the mall. Yipee. Two mall trips with a toddler and a baby in two days. Now Santa was torturing me.

Ho Ho Ho everyone.

I think it's a ploy to sell clothes...

Today I'm heading out to Gymboree with Nate. Jake comes too, but he just snoozes in the car seat right now. Every week I think, should I continue to pay, or should I cancel it.

First of all, the morning of the event, Nate never seems to want to get into the car to go. I have to wheedle him out the door, chase him around the tree in the front yard, and basically stuff him into his car seat. By this time, I swear that I am not going to go anymore as I listen to Nate repeat his mantra, "Me no wanna go to Gymboree, mom." Oddly enough, every other car ride of the week begins with the eager and expectant phrase, "We going to Gymboree, mom?" to which my negative reply brings a, "But I wanna go see Jimbo."

Jimbo is reason number two I think we might cancel the subscription. My husband holds dear to the idea that clowns are freaky things. Period. (I think he's watched one too many horror movies, but I can see his point.) Nate however, LOVES Jimbo. I think the instructor jumping around with a clown strapped to her shoes is a little ridiculous and the parents mimicking her moves minus the clown look even weirder. Thank god no one brings a video camera to these things.

At the end, everyone gets a Jimbo stamp. Nate runs to be the first in line and he gets one on his hand and his beebo (belly button for those of you uninitiated to Sandra Boynton). He spends the next three days pulling up his shirt to show everyone his Jimbo stamp. This means that I can't give him a bath for three days because heaven forbid that stamp wear off. And it also makes David and I thankful he's not a girl running around and pulling up her shirt for everyone.

Finally, I have been inundated by email entreating me to use my coupons for the Gymboree sales. I receive roughly three emails a week advertising their sales. Makes me wonder why anyone ever pays full price at the store.

So I'm off to fight for parking in the Church parking lot. For some reason the lot is perpetually full. What kind of church parking lot is always full on a Wednesday morning? Anyway, in twenty minutes or so I join the caravan of mommy cars circling the lot, cursing under my breath and debating whether or not I really would get towed from the Meals on Wheels parking spot.

Cookie Exchanges

My book club is celebrating our 6th Christmas cookie exchange. Normally, I look forward to book club as an escape from the house, a chance to drink some wine, catch up on gossip and my friends' lives, eat great food and occasionally discuss the book. (Is it any wonder our club's online moniker is "Mostly We Eat A Lot"?)

Anyway, I generally look forward to the Christmas one with a mixture of pleasure and dread.

Pleasure:

1. Everyone makes it to this meeting so there is always tons of buzz.

2. It marks the kick off of the holiday season for me.

3. It's too early in the Christmas season to feel guilty about over-indulging in food and sweets.

4. The book is usually one which doesn't merit a huge amount of discussion, so I don't regret the fact that it comes fifth on our agenda (following eating, wine, gossip, and the cookie exchange).

Dread:

1. Making enough cookies usually ensures that I am up 'til midnight the night before, finger deep in cookie dough.

2. Finding a cookie recipe that is simultaneously easy, I have all the ingredients for, and looks somewhat appealing. (I still have horrible memories of the chocolate cookies I was once served with crispy Chinese noodles in them... thanks Leah!)

3. Bringing home the cookie spoils sparks my husband's annual multi-day rant about the fact that no one makes gingersnaps like his grandmother used to make them... and why did the recipe die with her... and I need to make sure I learn how to make all of his mom's (phenomenal) baking recipes so the same thing doesn't happen... and am I sure his mom doesn't have Grandma Anne's recipe somewhere... and maybe we should phone Aunt Kathy to see if she has it... and no one makes gingersnaps like his grandmother used to make them.

This year I made lemon squares. I've never made them before. I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to be so oozy in the middle. I've stuck them temporarily in the freezer so that they'll hopefully avoid disintegrating until after everyone gets home and forgets who made what.

Let the season of excess calories begin!