...according to me

whee!

Ingrid loves the slide!

 

And Derek's feet look gigantic in this picture!

stealing hearts

Derek wanted to bring Ingrid into his office today to meet his colleagues. I waited out in the car in the parking garage across from his office building. Ingrid wasn't in the best mood and it was nearing her nap time so I fully anticipated to see her again in 20 minutes. One hour later Derek called me and said Ingrid was having a blast and stealing hearts. He even let her go off with one of the women there and she didn't even cry after him. This bodes well for September when I go back to work. Apparently, she was very entertaining and very entertained as well.

I'm afraid of teenagers.

Teenage girls to be specific. Groups of teenage girls to be even more specific.

I wasn't always afraid. Certainly not when I was one myself so many years ago, but since becoming a socially aware adult I can't help it. Girls are mean and they fight dirty. I've always known this. Now, though, they just seem so much more violent. So much more bold. I cannot shake Reena Virk from my mind and every time her then teenage killer comes back up in the news, my stomach turns again. I can't even read the details anymore. I can't get the image of her 15 year old face out of my mind. And now we have another case of a teenage girl gone wild much closer to home here in Ontario. Eight year old Tori Stafford was led away and possibly killed by an 18 year old teenager with a very sordid and checkered, criminal past. I will likely never forget her tiny face, either. I will not read the details of her murder in the newspaper once it goes to trial simply because it will make me sick. Literally.

I often think back to my early teenage years. I remember Samantha. She was mean. She did things for the thrill of it. She was a bully. She mocked. She poked. She taunted. She threatened. She turned your friends against you. She introduced words and images that her 12 year old classmates should never have learned. She terrorized Karen and encouraged others to do so, too. She made up stories about her, threatened physical harm on her and made her life miserable. Karen was easy prey. She was poor, dirty and shabbily dressed. She lied and lived in an imaginary world. But she was defiant. I'm sure internally it was eating her up but she seemed resilient on the outside. I honestly think she was very smart, even if she did cheat off me a few times. I think she knew that Samantha was a loser and would eventually disappear into nothingness. In all the time I knew Samantha (thankfully only four years) I don't think anyone was immune to her or safe from her ridicule. If I subscribed to Facebook I'd look them both up. In my head I'm imagining that Karen is happy, healthy and living a good life and Samantha isn't even there because she's doing hard time somewhere. In my heart I'm hoping that's the case.

I thought about Samantha and Karen a while ago after I walked through my neighbourhood pushing Ingrid in her stroller. It was about 2:30 and the school buses had just finished dropping off all the neighbourhood latch key kids. As I walked down the street I spied a trio of teenage girls. They were like little pixies with their long, blonde hair fluttering down their backs, their fashionable Ugg boots pulled up over their tight jeans, their coats swaying side to side from their hip tossing swaggers. From a distance they looked beautiful... the stuff of a teenage boy's dreams. They were cool. The kind of cool that might, one day, lead them to pick up a cigarette.

Walking in front of them was a lone teenage boy. One who I imagined went home by himself, drank milk straight from the carton, let the dog out and went up to his bedroom to play Nintendo until his parents arrived home from work. The kind of boy who didn't cause any trouble at all. But he was in trouble. The dream girls had his number and they were phoning it in. They shouted at him. When he didn't give them the attention they were so obviously looking for, they shouted louder.

"How come you won't talk to us?"

"It's okay. We'll get you tomorrow in class!"

"We know where you live!"

Finally, mercifully, he turned onto his street and they didn't follow. Instead, they marched on in front of me. The ring leader walked, typically, in the middle. Her followers flanked her on each side. When she flipped the bird at passing cars so, too, did her sheep. When she stopped, she didn't stop alone. When she loudly made fun of another teen passing them in the opposite direction, it was in stereo. Observing their behaviour made me nervous. I had this foreboding sense that something was going to happen and I became very afraid. Paranoid. It's that mob mentality thing. I had visions of them rushing at me and knocking over Ingrid in her stroller just for fun, or throwing snowballs at us (it was February). So I crossed the street. I looked down at my sleeping baby and I silently begged and secretly prayed that she would neither fall prey to bullies like these nor become a bully herself.

Fortunately, I realize that no amount of begging and praying is going to help. Derek and I are just going to have to raise this child right. It is our responsibility to teach her what is right and what is wrong, acceptable and unacceptable, kind and unkind. It is my wish that she will have the internal fortitude to stand by and defend her beliefs.

How the hell am I going to teach her that?

 

Still waiting for those eyes to come in

You know, the ones you're supposed to have in the back of your head once you become a parent.

Today, Ingrid popped a button into her mouth when I wasn't looking. She was none to pleased with me when I had to forcibly remove it.

First shoe licking, then button swallowing. What's next?

If she grows fangs and a tail at least I'll know why.

Ingrid is obsessed with my burgundy, slip on, battered old shoes. She loves to touch the button on the front and basically pets them every chance she gets. She used to stop whenever I told her to but now she just looks back at me, smiles and carries on as though I'd just encouraged her. I mentioned this to my mother this morning, told her how irritating it is to have to keep moving my shoes around all the time. She told me to let it go, that it won't hurt her and to just wash her hands when she's finished.

So I let it go. Lo and behold, she not only touched the button, she picked them up, turned them over, rubbed her hands over the soles and...

wait for it...

...LICKED them!

So, Mom, how do you suggest I wash her tongue?

Where did my baby go?

I've been looking back over our early pictures and videos of Ingrid when she was just a tiny little baby. I almost don't really believe that she's really still the same baby. I don't remember her ever being that small, that young. I've been with her constantly since the day she was born. I haven't spent more than two hours away from her at a time. And yet, I did not see her go from helpless little baby to this...

 

That's my baby. Standing like a big girl. Standing like a toddler. Already. She's growing and changing so much it's like she's a different person every day.

Today, standing independently. Tomorrow, kindergarten.

Twinkle Toes

Ingrid does not like to have socks on her feet anymore. As soon as we put them on she pulls them off. It's like a game to her. She especially loves to air out her feet on nice days. She sticks her feet out and spreads out her toes like this...

pink

My Mother's Day lillies are blooming...

 

and our crabapple tree is glorious!

 

Delightful things in my garden!

Mommy's Little Helper

Ingrid has taken a real interest in just about everything, these days. Nothing goes untouched and unexplored. Yesterday she decided to help me do the laundry.

 

She also discovered the stairs and insists on crawling up them. All of them. Yeah - what fun.

Big City Weekend

Derek, Ingrid and I headed off to Toronto for the long weekend to join Derek's brother and sister for Andersen family semi-reunion.

We hit the zoo, the pool and the zoo again. Ate at one of Derek's favourite restaurants that we haven't been to in almost 12 years. It's only been my second time in Toronto and Ingrid's first. There are so many things to do that you could never do in one weekend. We will definitely be going back to explore more, but perhaps not until Ingrid is older and can enjoy it more.

There were camel rides by two brothers...

 

There was snack time with Daddy...

 

Hanging out with all the Andersen cousins...

 

Cute Caroline...

 

We got rained on, road the Zoomobile, got separated from our party and had to leave early because we were soaking wet...

 

Ate lunch at the zoo on day 2...

 

And posed with the giraffes...