The family managed a relatively peaceful road trip to Montréal over the Victoria Day weekend. We've gotten into the habit of structuring travel legs around the sleep patterns of the children - leaving early in the morning before they wake up, or taking the second leg while they sleep in the afternoon.
After visiting relatives in Montréal and Ottawa, I can say that we're definitely getting better at the packing and planning aspects of our trips, though maintaining car tidiness and packing cohesion over the weekend is not yet optimal.
Both of us are big believers in not resorting to DVD players and other digital distractions, preferring to try to interact with the children in song, conversation and sight-seeing. One such conversation had a particularly humourous twist.
Marli and I were discussing the family history of my Japanese-Canadian roots when Daigoro jumped in with his frequently-asked question, "Excuse me, what are you guys talking about?"
Marli patiently (and very concisely) explained the concept of identity. She talked about how people talk about appearance, culture and other aspects of one's background as making up one's identity. She finished by asking, "So, what things identify you and our family?"
Daigoro thought for a while, then answered, "Daigoro is fast. Daddy is strong. Mommy is safe. Kenshin is screamy."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Lasts
It's been a while since my last entry, principally because (as much as it pains me to admit it) Kenshin actually hasn't been developing much, speech-wise. It's actually a bit of a concern for us, so much so that we had him evaluated by a developmental specialist to ensure that his lack of development of language skills is the only factor.
Fortunately the specialist indicated he seems to be developing mentally, physically and socially the way that a two-year old should, just that his linguistic development is about a year behind.
On the happier side of things, he has developed a veritable obsession for having books read to him - he will press a book into our hands, listen beaming while we read it, then demand a second, third and fourth reading. It's quite endearing - he will smile and giggle at the book content and look positively radiant with joy.
He is progressing slowly. Besides his early words of "Mom", "Up", "Bye" and "No", he's added "outside" (ow-syyy), "ball" (baaah) "yay" and a few other words to his lexicon. You can see the wheels turning in there. He will spend literally an hour or more positioning and repositioning trains on his Brio-compatible tracks and toys, and laying out the track in various patterns. He's actually figured out polarity on the magnets on the trains, knowing to flip them around when they're repelling each other. He also engages with all manner of buttons and switches at every opportunity. At least once or twice he has managed to turn on, off or otherwise reconfigure equipment that I wouldn't have credited him with being able to figure out.
Daigoro continues to astound me with his ready grasp of difficult concepts and excellent recall of things I've often only spoken to him briefly about. He progresses very well in his drawing and writing skills as well as displaying a well-developed sense of empathy and care.
Marli has weaned Kenshin down to a single morning feeding per day, which brings me to the title of this entry - the idea of a last feeding. Often we note firsts - teeth, walking, word, etc. - but we seldom take note of a "last". Kenshin is very likely our last child and Marli will consequently likely never breast-feed again. At some point in the next three to six months will be the last time that Kenshin will have breast milk, Marli the opportunity to feed Kenshin breast milk, and I to see the two of them share such an intimate and serene moment. Similarly, once Kenshin starts to speak, it will be the last of baby-talk, and eventually the last of the loping, lop-sided toddler run, the utterly unfiltered laughter and soon enough, the last time I'll be able to bundle either of them up in my arms, cradled like an infant.
Last week I took the children to see cherry blossoms in High Park. It is a nation-wide phenomenon in Japan to go sakura hanami (cherry flower-viewing) - besides being an excellent excuse to get sozzled and write maudlin poetry, it has a much deeper sense of bittersweet awareness of the temporary nature of natural beauty. They even have words for it: mono no aware - the poignancy of things. As I watched my pre-schooler and toddler run beneath the gently falling cherry petals, I felt it deeply within my heart that these are moments which will never come again, and yet they are nonetheless happy and beautiful. This, I think, is the deepest wisdom that one can try to grasp - that even though all things will pass and come to dust, there is no need for despair and ennui in the world.
Gleaming petals fall
Dying light of a spring day
Children run, laughing.
Fortunately the specialist indicated he seems to be developing mentally, physically and socially the way that a two-year old should, just that his linguistic development is about a year behind.
On the happier side of things, he has developed a veritable obsession for having books read to him - he will press a book into our hands, listen beaming while we read it, then demand a second, third and fourth reading. It's quite endearing - he will smile and giggle at the book content and look positively radiant with joy.
He is progressing slowly. Besides his early words of "Mom", "Up", "Bye" and "No", he's added "outside" (ow-syyy), "ball" (baaah) "yay" and a few other words to his lexicon. You can see the wheels turning in there. He will spend literally an hour or more positioning and repositioning trains on his Brio-compatible tracks and toys, and laying out the track in various patterns. He's actually figured out polarity on the magnets on the trains, knowing to flip them around when they're repelling each other. He also engages with all manner of buttons and switches at every opportunity. At least once or twice he has managed to turn on, off or otherwise reconfigure equipment that I wouldn't have credited him with being able to figure out.
Daigoro continues to astound me with his ready grasp of difficult concepts and excellent recall of things I've often only spoken to him briefly about. He progresses very well in his drawing and writing skills as well as displaying a well-developed sense of empathy and care.
Marli has weaned Kenshin down to a single morning feeding per day, which brings me to the title of this entry - the idea of a last feeding. Often we note firsts - teeth, walking, word, etc. - but we seldom take note of a "last". Kenshin is very likely our last child and Marli will consequently likely never breast-feed again. At some point in the next three to six months will be the last time that Kenshin will have breast milk, Marli the opportunity to feed Kenshin breast milk, and I to see the two of them share such an intimate and serene moment. Similarly, once Kenshin starts to speak, it will be the last of baby-talk, and eventually the last of the loping, lop-sided toddler run, the utterly unfiltered laughter and soon enough, the last time I'll be able to bundle either of them up in my arms, cradled like an infant.
Last week I took the children to see cherry blossoms in High Park. It is a nation-wide phenomenon in Japan to go sakura hanami (cherry flower-viewing) - besides being an excellent excuse to get sozzled and write maudlin poetry, it has a much deeper sense of bittersweet awareness of the temporary nature of natural beauty. They even have words for it: mono no aware - the poignancy of things. As I watched my pre-schooler and toddler run beneath the gently falling cherry petals, I felt it deeply within my heart that these are moments which will never come again, and yet they are nonetheless happy and beautiful. This, I think, is the deepest wisdom that one can try to grasp - that even though all things will pass and come to dust, there is no need for despair and ennui in the world.
Gleaming petals fall
Dying light of a spring day
Children run, laughing.
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