Ootischenia

The kids and I just got back from a week in Ootischenia (Castlegar, in the Kootenay Valley in B.C.). My Aunt Darlene, the single most influential and inspiring person in my life, and her husband Mark, live on an acreage out there. It is always wonderful to visit -- I rarely leave Ootischenia (breaking Guest Equiette Rule #1, Don't Hang Around All Day Every Day), content to check out the animals, pick fruit, talk shop with Auntie (the authority on all things important in life, including how to get a good set on jam and the best way to Time Out your child). That's my Aunt in the picture above, getting Stella to eat amazing amounts of her delicious homegrown, home-cooked food.

Here is a picture of Stella with my (little! She's all grown up now!) cousin Alexis. The kids loved Alexis -- she has a special gift with children. Francis called her "that girl", as in "where is that girl going", "where is that girl", "is that girl going to play trains with me", "can that girl and I watch videos". Alexis just finished her certification in Hair Styling -- you can probably tell by the hip and trendy hair (in stark contrast to ponytail girl, aka, me).

This is my Uncle Mark playing trains with Francis. Mark's patience and compassion for all human beings, including children, is awe-inspiring. He can fix and build anything, including the house you see here.

We all need a shelter from the storm, and this is it for me.

Bondage

Here is Stella with her braces -- the shoulder thing is supposed to round her shoulders forward, thus helping her grasp objects. The wrist braces are supposed to bring her thumbs outward, also helping her grasp objects. (Although what is happening is that her thumbs untuck from her palms but she then bends them at the knuckle back into the palm, thereby defeating the purpose of the brace, really). She doesn't seem to mind the braces, although I have to confess it breaks my heart somehow each time I put them on her.

She gets so frustrated sometimes, trying to grab things. She tries and tries, but not using her thumbs really limits her. And grabbing and exploring is how babies learn. Sometimes I pick the desired object up and put it in her mouth for her when she gets super frustrated.


Here is a picture of Stella in the Dreaded Tummy Time Position. Tummy Time, say the therapists, is key, key to all good things like rolling, crawling, exploring, and happiness (ok, I made that last one up). But the thing is, she hates Tummy Time. With a passion. I am supposed to "tough it out" and let her cry, and man! it is hard.

My Mom gave Francis a book called "Ruby in Her Own Time", about a duck who develops on a different (slower) schedule than her siblings.

She hatches late, is a picky eater, and refuses to swim, even while siblings Rufus, Rorie, Rosie, and Rebecca stick with the program. Their father despairs of Ruby ever catching up, but wise Mother Duck is quietly confident: "She will…in her own time." And sure enough, when it comes time to spread their wings, Ruby flies higher and farther than any of her brothers and sisters. But will she ever come back? You guessed it: "She will…in her own time."

I think about this book a lot. Stella has her own agenda, her own schedule. She's doin' it, in her own time.

FOs

Yes! Finally, some Finished Objects! This bag is from the Print-for-Free on the Ottobre site, but without the piping on the bottom (I couldn't figure out the piping as the piping piece was weirdly shorter than the base panel allowance). I got the fabric off the oh-so-addictive Fabric.com. I ended up gifting this bag and a necklace I made to Francis' teacher at his daycare -- she was amazing! Sadly, she has left the daycare for a similar job closer to home. She was truly a teacher, not a child-minder. We will both miss her dearly; I found her inspirational. Unfortunately I didn't think to get a picture of the necklace -- I used yummy vintage red beads.

I made these using a Print-for-Free pattern off of the Husqvarna site, and again using fabric from Fabric.com. I am planning on adding some bling-y beads to the crown as "jewels". However, Francis is not interested in being a king this year for Hallowe'en -- he wants to be a lion again. OK, easy enough (but why do I have a nagging feeling that he'll change his mind to something all together different days before when I don't have time to throw something together .... ?) So, I am planning to add this to his "tickle trunk" (dress-up box). I am very saddened that Francis is not interested at all in dressing up fantasy play -- this is the kind of play I like to encourage! (In contrast to anything involving a movie, or batteries, or violence). I am making him a pirate costume for Christmas, to go together with a (purchursed) sword and shield. Yes, I know, I know, I am getting him what I would have liked for Christmas as a child, instead of what HE really wants -- which is MORE Thomas trains and a roundhouse.

Not that Francis is without imagination -- you should see him play with his trains, with his doll, or pretend to cook! It's just that dressing up doesn't interest him for some reason. Here is a picture of him "baking".

Snips n' Snails n' Puppy Dog Tails

Oh, wow, do I ever have some deprogramming to do with Mr. Francis Doll. He goes to daycare, which means he leaves the influence of the carefully reconstructed world that is our house. He leaves my sphere of influence. This means he sometimes comes home talking about Superman (not encouraged) or "died" (we haven't approached this concept yet because really I have no idea of how to begin without freaking him out) or hot dogs (thank god for Tofurky dogs).

But lately he has developed this concept which strikes fear, or worse yet, anger, in my heart. The belief (where, oh, where did it come from?! and already?) that "girls" (meaning females) are not as brave, strong, or as big as "boys" (meaning males). For example, girls cannot see ghosts (Francis' catchall for all things frightening) because they are scary. Girls do not have "big muscles" (a current aspiration of Francis). Oh oh oh oh, where to begin the deprogramming?

On the other hand, maybe I am just overreacting. He is 3 1/2, and testing out the whole gender concept and what it means. (It doesn't help that all girls clothes, it seems, are pink, as are all "traditional" girls toys. I had to special order his primary-colored play kitchen up from the US). I remind myself that he is also steadfast in his belief that he has (five, always five) babies in his tummy, and that he can breastfeed.

Francis breastfeeding his baby Dileah (my spelling interpretation of her name ...)