Remember back in March we found out that Julia is closing up for the summer again?

After weeks of thinking and hmm-ing, we decided to stick with her. As one of the commenters, my friend Angie, said, there is always going to be something with any childcare provider you have. And because I have a flexible schedule, work from home and we’re surrounded by great and generous family, we knew we could deal with her closures. It’ll be annoying, but it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make. On top of that, we just like and trust Julia too much, and want the Parasite2 to go there, too.

Plus, Julia said she’d be very upset to lose Lucy, who she described as a “delight” and a “perfect fit” into her life and roster of kids. Keep in mind the woman has a lengthy waiting list, so it’s not like she couldn’t easily find a replacement…

With that decision made, we turned to the resulting problem of finding someone to look after Lucy for my three work days a week, for the eight weeks of the summer.

I knew I could stretch my 20 hours over three full days, instead of 2.5 like I have been the past months. With this in mind, I figured I could make do with a teenager looking after Lucy from 8 a.m.-noon — meaning be out of the house at the park or down in the basement with the door closed — then work through her nap. If necessary, I could make up any hours on Thursdays, when my Lucy has her day with my Mom.

One lead — a friend of the family of one of Lucy’s daycare buddies — fell through after a promising start. But everything in life happens for a reason, and losing Rebecca had to happen or we wouldn’t have found Shelby.

Shelby’s 13 and lives across the road. She’s a beautiful, friendly girl with olive skin and brown hair who loves soccer. I approached her dad during on of his daily runs, and a few phone calls later, we secured ourselves not only a summer caregiver, but an eager babysitter for any evening out — who still has five years of school left, and lots of time to be wanting to pick up extra cash.

Jackpot.

We didn’t realize just how lucky we were — and great Shelby is — until this Tuesday, when she came over to meet us a bit more and spend some time with Lucy. My daughter took to this girl like no other stranger or even family member. Lucy chatted her ear off right away, played toys, was totally fine when we left them alone, and even gave her a hug when she left.

Good luck? Karma? Older — but not too older — girl idolhood?

I’m not going to question the caregiver gods who have sprinkled their magic dust on us once again. I’m just making silent prayers, blowing kisses in the wind, and am really damn thankful.

p.s. — thanks to all of you who left comments with suggestions and encouragement on that last post. It really means a lot!

Lucy came home from daycare yesterday with an ouchie: A blister on the inside of her pointer finger.

She burst in the door after Eric picked her up, and immediately shoved her hand in my face. “Lucy has ouchie Mummy kiss it better,” she demanded.

(Do you do a lot of ouchie kissing? It’s the most powerful tool in my arsenal of Mom Skilz, I think. It can stop a tantrum and tears and full-on meltdown.)

Our first thought was that Julia was running some sort of child labour camp guised as a home daycare, because how does a toddler come home with a blister unless she was swinging a pick axe or shoveling dirt all day? It wasn’t until we dropped Lucy off today (where in a deja vu scene, Lucy burst in my parents’ door, shoved her finger in her Nana’s face, said “Lucy has an ouchie Mummy kiss it better?” before swinging her fist around to my mouth) and my Mom’s face went pale.

Turns out Lucy’d gotten too close to the stove last week and burned her finger when she and Nana were baking Grandpa a cake (with sprinkles). It happened quick, was fixed with cold water and kisses, and my Mom thought nothing more of it.

In any case, The Ouchie is a very big deal at Chez McDougall-Foster. The reason we didn’t know about it for a week is because it wasn’t bothering Lucy until yesterday when it popped at Julia’s. So now it’s sore and stings.

So Lucy whined about it during her after-daycare movie. Before dinner. During dinner when she tried to hold her fork. We promised we’d make it feel better with “special cream” (polysporin) and a band-aid.

Now she proudly shows the band-aid (”Cee-Cee’s ban-ay”) to everyone. This morning I heard her talking to a towel we have laid out in her big girl room (we’re painting), showing it to the fabric doggies and asking them to kiss “Cee-Cee’s ouchie gots at Ju-Ju’s house” better. Spencer’s seen the band-aid. Shelby, the girl across the road, has seen the ouchie AND the band-aid. When she came home this evening we immediately saw it was a NEW band-aid that Nana put on.

Have you been within 10 kms of our house? THEN YOU’VE SEEN THE OUCHIE AND THE BAND-AID.

It’s actually heart-melting adorable how concerned and interested and fixated Lucy is. It’s sure to…

Uh-oh. Gotta run. Lucy, over the monitor, has declared a state of emergency because “THE BAN-AY FELLED OFF.”

The saga continues…

This morning Eric and I had a Google chat about poop. Specifically around, how I, um, had to go, and his assertion that girls don’t poop, or if they do, that it smells like rainbows.

We are easing quite fluidly into a new routine at Chez McDougall-Foster, the Eric is Around the House All the Time new way of life.

He’s set up in his “office” in the basement (he picked his stuff up from work yesterday, and even brought his family photos downstairs), where we communicate via the aforementioned chat and various foot-stomping codes. We meet for a lunch date around 11:30 — the latest I can go without food — and watch Cold Case Files and American Justice together on the couch, our crossed feet touching on the padded ottoman.

For Lucy’s (and ours, too, but more for her) sake, we are trying to keep things as normal as possible. That means Eric’s alarm still goes off at 7 a.m., he still gets Lucy up while I eek out as many extra minutes of sleep as possible, he heads to the shower, and I stay in bed with my arm slung around Lucy’s tiny waist as she watches Rolly Pollie Ollie until the shower water stops and I haul myself out of bed.

I still do breakfast, and he still does morning drop-off. So far, Lucy hasn’t batted an eye. When she says her usual “Daddy go to work,” we smile and nod, because Daddy is going to work trying to find a new job. I’ve started telling her that Daddy’s working from home for a while now, trying to justify his presence when we arrive from daycare.

I think she’s too young to really know what’s up, but bet she’ll find it hard when he does find work and he’s back to his usual hours. Will wait and see, I guess.

For now, I’m loving the extra company and time with him. I do have some adjusting to do, however: Eric walked into our bedroom mid-morning to find me making smelly rainbows in the en suite bathroom with the door wide open.

Whoops.

In true Murphy’s Law fashion, Julia called last night to say she had come down with the plague Lucy (and Eric and most of the other kids) has, and would not be open today.

(Note to those considering home vs. centre daycare: Provider sickness is a major con when there is only one person looking after your child(ren))

In true Mom-Saves-The-Day Fashion, Lucy’s Nana took the morning off so I could work and continue to do so during Lucy’s nap. Lucy’s currently asleep upstairs.

Last night we dropped Lucy off, scored some free dessert, then headed home for a child-free evening. Let me stress again to those that think parents get all naughty when their kids aren’t home: We don’t. We sleep. Seriously. Eric and I went a little wild by watching the baseball game in our bedroom with the door open. Par-tay.

This morning I was enjoying my Honey Nut Cheerios and blueberries n’ yogurt while Eric made his lunch. The birds were chirping through the open back door. Spencer was lying on the floor with his head on my foot. It was peaceful and serene.

“Wow. Sure is quiet without the Goose here, eh?” Eric says from behind me.

I suddenly realize he’s right. It’s not really peaceful and serene. It’s sorta eerily quiet. It’s the quietest our house has been in more than two years — even more so than other times Lucy has spent the night at my parents’.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, sighing. Spencer rolled his eyes at us from under the table.

Isn’t it funny how the grass is always greener on the other side? That for almost every other weekday morning I am praying for 8 a.m., but the one morning without Lucy we are wishing she was there?

Go figure.

As he’s hugging me goodbye, Eric says in my ear, “You bring our Lucy home again, OK?”

Mission accomplished. Now are you going to come home to change her post-nap poop?

Just after 4 this afternoon, Julia called: Lucy had suddenly spiked a 102 degree fever and was sitting on the couch like a zombie.

I can’t say a call like that is every parent’s nightmare, ’cause that would involve ambulances and hospitals and godknows what else. But it’s up there enough to cause you to slightly freak out.

Know what makes matters worse? When you rush out to the car and discover the battery is dead.

Oh, the joy.

Luckily Julia’s is just a 10 minute walk (I think I did it in six), and the saint of a woman let me borrow her van to take Lucy make it to the walk-in clinic before it closed (seriously, how amazing is that? Show of hands whose daycare provider would offer up their vehicle without a moment’s hesitation?). Lucy was a furnace; her skin felt like it’d been sunburned, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed. The simple question of whether to put on her hat caused big fat baby tears to well in her puffy green-blue eyes. The poor thing.

Turns out our wee girl has herself a nasty chest infection. We have that yucky glowing pink antibiotic liquid to give her every three hours. Thankfully Lucy has always been good at taking medicine, and just slurped it back before bed. Normally Lucy farts around and plays for a while before falling asleep, but tonight she quite literally passed out without a peep.

Eric’s taking tomorrow morning off, and I’ll take over in the afternoon. Wish our tiny tot a speedy recovery!

p.s. — I got a great idea off Parent Hacks the other day, and got a chance to use it today: Know how for as long as you spend waiting in the doctor’s reception area, you wait in the exam room? To help pass the time (and lessen exposure to more than likely germ-infested office toys), let your child draw on the crinkly paper covering the exam table. I carry a plastic baggie of crayons in my purse, and Lucy and I busted them out today. It certainly helped a good three minutes go by, and was a great novelty.

Both Lucy and Eric have been battling this wicked cold-with-flu-like-symptoms the past 10 days.

Last Monday Eric took the day off work, which means he is essentially dead. While he’s been back since, he hasn’t been able to taste food the past few days, my No. 1 pet peeve about blocked sinuses. To make matters worse, we were out last night at Stage West with Mark and Jenn (our Christmas gift from Eric’s Dad) — which is a buffet — and the poor guy couldn’t taste any of his food. How evil is that?

Lucy yesterday had a fever along with a never-ending runny nose, and overnight was up for hours coughing away. The poor thing. We aren’t allowed to give cough syrup anymore, so instead we had to listen to our baby girl hack away almost to the point of vomiting. This morning she woke up flushed and hot as a furnace, so she’s home with me today. And currently sleeping thankthelord.

If there’s one thing worse than a sick infant, it’s a sick 2-year-old with nary a tolerance level. Lucy started wailing like she was dying seven times today for the most ridiculous reasons: Getting Carrots the stuffed rabbit stuck between her crib bars. Intentionally throwing a mini Dora figurine under the fridge. A grape was too squishy. Thankfully these meltdowns are much, much easier to tolerate when you know that feeling miserable is the root cause.

The fever has stayed away so far after a dose of Motrin this morning, so we’ll see how she does the rest of the day. We might be hitting up the walk-in clinic tomorrow.

Luckily I have managed to duck this horribleness so far, which is very unusual. I can only guess it’s a strain of something I’ve had before, ’cause the odds are so stacked against me with both family members down. Or maybe the Sick Gods are just waiting for Eric to get better so he can adequately take care of my super whiny ass.

Care to share your best tips for taking care of a sick baby/toddler? ‘Cause it’s only 1:30, and haha, there are many more hours left today…

UPDATE: Thanks for your comments all you wise mommas, and please keep them coming. My Mom also mentioned honey (mixing it with warm water or milk) as an alternative. I went to the pharmacy today, to ask about alternates to cough medicine, and they stressed no cough syrup for kids under 6 now. There aren’t even products available to purchase for kids under this age. Colleen, I hadn’t heard about those Sniffles by Hylands, but they sound interesting — will check them out. I’m happy to report Lucy is still sleeping, and has had only two mini coughing spells since she went down at 12:45 — so hopefully that means she’s on the mend!

This afternoon I got an email from Lucy’s former childcare provider, Debbie. She’d made Lucy a little butterfly gif with her name! Debbie was also sweet enough to email a happy birthday card a few weeks ago, too.

I tell you, we have been so lucky with childcare, especially when I hear of some of your horror stories.

My two favourites from my own searches the past year include the lady who took seven babies at once, but had no baby gates (the older kids would make sure the tots didn’t fall down the stairs, you see), and the woman who was excited her two charges were waking up, so she could finish her vacuuming.

We love Julia. She is so in to the kids, yet laid back and gentle and kind and smart and thoughtful. Lucy came home from her birthday there loaded down with a new picture book, four cupcakes, balloons and a banner. The day before, Julia was sick and closed for the day (I’m sure she was near death to be closed), and she tried to give me my money back.

She takes the kids public skating every Monday, she bakes with them, she plays with them, she reads with them. Every day they are outside getting fresh air and exercise.

But.

We have a problem.

Read the rest of this entry »

• If you’re up for a night drive this weekend, take a jaunt up Lakeridge Road between Hwy. 21 (Goodwood Rd.) and Concession 5 (Myrtle Rd.). This is the stretch of Uxbridge with the ski resorts, and Lakeridge looks stunning at night with the skiiers and snowboarders illuminated under the giant flood lights. It’s hard to explain the beauty, but it takes my breath away each time I’m lucky enough to see it when the sun goes down
• Speaking of sun going down, this is the suckiest weekend of the year when we lose an hour’s sleep. Good luck to all the parents getting your babies/toddlers back on schedule
• Next week is March Break. Normally I’d hardly blink at it, but our daycare provider shuts down for all the school holidays (a hot topic for another post…), so we had to make arrangements for alternate childcare. Eric’s Mom is here this weekend to look after Lucy Monday, my Mom takes her Tuesday, and Eric’s Dad takes her Wednesday. I’m hoping Thursday to not have to work, and of course do not work Fridays, either
• If you’ve got older kids and are wondering what to do with them, check out Parent Source’s March Break guide for activities across Durham
• Today is Lucy’s BFF Eirinn’s 2nd birthday! Head on over and  give her best wishes
• I’m on some new medication that is making me so drowsy. I spent most of the morning dozing while Lucy watched Elmo, then on the floor while reading books. Heading down for a nap now while Lucy is sleeping (if she ever sleeps — currently she is jumping in her crib moo-ing. *sigh*)
• In the meantime, have you entered the Bribery Photo Contest yet? Do it! Also, check out the entries so far
• Have a great weekend!

Dear Lucy,

From here on in, you will need more than one finger to show how old you are, for this morning at 4:15 you turned 2.

You are at such an exciting stage with your vocabulary right now — so much that your Uncle Marky said this weekend you knew more words than a week ago. This morning you said, “Mum-Mum get doggie please?” Dude, that’s FOUR words strung together! You say “doggie kibbeh” and get Spencer’s food out for him. You ask for help when a toy or puzzle or clothes item is stumping you. You show us where things are, with a “right there” or “Daddy get it?”

Sometimes you mumble in a struggle to tell us something, tripping over words you don’t quite know how to say before blurting out the right one. Yesterday I asked you where you went with Daddy, and you said, “Um, shurbbbb…TOYS! BOX! CAR! BRUMM-BRUMM!” Translation: Daddy took you to a hobby store (in the car) and you saw toys in boxes.

I love being the one that can understand you the most. I love when I pick you up from daycare or Nana’s and they quiz me on words you are quite insistent about. That marks me as your mom, you know, and makes me feel terribly important. Even though you inch further and further towards independence each day, I still speak for you, sweet girl.

If I am sitting at the computer or stealing an extra few moments of sleep, you now come over and pull my hand. “Mum-Mum, up!” or “Mum-Mum, play!” or “Mum-Mum, read Sue-cee?” Oh, how charming this is. I correct you and make you say please, but really, inside, I’m so proud. You are using words! To get what you want! It also grounds me and reminds me to walk away from work or the warmth of the bed, because there will always be time for that. There won’t always be 2-year-old you who wants me to get up and play and read.

You still eat everything except potatoes and carrots, and feed yourself. When you’re full, you’ve taken to looking right at us, slowly picking up food and lighteningquickfastninja throwing it in the air. It’s a good thing we have Spencer Dog. He, of course, loves you for this. We’ve also given up your nightime bottle, and instead you read books.

Your favourite toys include all of them. You love playing kitchen (you call the knife “cut) and saying “num-num-num” while pretending to eat food. You do the same with your stuffed animals or babies when feeding them. You love puzzles and Little People and Weebles and magnets and stickers and crayons and chalk. You love to dictate names of people to us and watch us write them and have us trace your hand. You LOVE Elmo movies and will sit for an entire 45 minutes learning about hands and feet and ears. It’s fascinating to watch you watch and remember what happens next, and go pick up your other movies when they appear in the previews — that one blows us away.

Do you know you have a food sticker obsession? One time in the grocery store I peeled a banana sticker (”nana stick-hear”) off a peel and stuck it on your coat. Now you ask to go to the grocery store so we can play fruit and veggie stickers. You leave the store looking like the United Nations of fruits and veggie adhesiveness: Apples and pears and kiwis and peppers and squash. Good thing I do not have to pay for you, cause you’d ring up quite expensive.

But I tell you: It’s like you have an internal clock that knows 2 goes along with temper tantrums. I’m not kidding, as these just started about a 1.5 weeks ago, these dramatic throws-to-the-floor-crying-and-feet-stomping. When your meltdowns are serious, we ignore you completely, and usually you just…stop and come over to us and we talk about what the deal is, for goodness sake that was unnecessary! Last night, when you started flailing around for some issue so insignificant I don’t even remember what it was, I leaned across to your Daddy and put my head on his chest, stifling laughter, because seriously: Lucy, you look quite silly all screeching like a banshee. You actually sat up and rolled on my back, continuing your (fake) crying and (fake) whining in a vain attempt to get me to pay attention to you.

And this, my sweet boundary pusher, is what makes this stage so ridiculous. You know you are being an idiot. You know you are being a drama queen. Sometimes I even get down on the floor and (fake) cry with you, and you burst into uncontrollable giggles because you know.

Jerk.

A wise favourite friend of mine said in an email the other day, “It is a good thing that the cuteness factor increases at this age. This is how they survive the next couple of years.”

Oh, how very true.

Happy birthday, my sweet Lucy Goosey. Your Mum-Mum and Daddy and everyone who knows you love you. You have taught me to never doubt the heart’s capacity to love more, even when you think it’s full.

Love Mum-Mum

p.s. — Goose, here’s something you can make fun of me for after I show your first date the photo of your nekkid arse sticking out of Spencer’s dog kennel: Up until 3 p.m. today, on the Our story page of this site, I had your birthday down as Feb. 26. I hang my head in shame and admit I gave that same date when I got your library card. But I assure you: While my brain may forget the date, other parts of my anatomy never will.