For a few hours, that is.

Parenting is so weird.

Some days I’m pretty sure I’m the worst and that my kid is gonna grow up and think I’m the worst. Or that I look at my phone too much and am missing his whole life. Or that I should be better at socializing him on the weekends. Or that. Or that. Or that.

But then there are days we wake up, and happily engage him in putting away dishes and loading the dishwasher, putting away laundry and loading the washer, sweeping the kitchen, and helping pour and stir ingredients into the crock pot for dinner — all before 9:30AM like a Montessori/Waldorf (?) dream team, as he’s positively BEAMING the whole time.

And then I think again that this whole parenting thing is gonna be okay.

For a few hours, that is.

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I don’t know how to stop.

I have an obsession with buying/giving my kid books to read.

I don’t know how to stop.

I adore reading to him and do it lots, I keep finding amazing steals at Value Village (98% of these are second hand and were $1.25 each!) and I figure if you’re gonna spoil your kid, ya might as well do it with books in hopes of helping build a love of literacy.

Right?

Right?!?

Riiiiiiiiight?!?!?

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Every Child Matters.

I didn’t learn about residential schools until 2011. Having went to high school in the states, it was never covered in the curriculum (nor are there enough mentions of the atrocities committed against the Indigenous people there, but that’s a story for a different day). It was unsettling to have my picture perfect image of peaceful and kind Canada disrupted in such a way at the age of 27. Even more so by first finding out about them in a class of fellow college students, all younger than me, who were talking about the crimes of the residential schools like common knowledge. Wait, what?!⁣⁣
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But in learning about it, I learned how to be different. I learned how to better understand the systematic racism that prevents people of the First Nations of being able to do and simply be. I learned how to check my own ways of thinking, and how the world (and sometimes myself) can be so quick to Other something based off of unfounded fears and assumptions. I also learned how to ask better of the people around me, and to not be afraid to call them on bullshit that does nothing but further divide us. Not just for myself, but for children in this world that deserve so, so much more.⁣⁣

My coworker and I wore these shirts today. On the way out of work we were stopped by a teenager. Our office is rented through the Burnaby Neighbourhood House, and it runs lots of community programs for people of various cultures and circumstances, etc. The teenager asked my coworker what our shirts meant. Having seen them earlier in school that day worn by his fellow peers, he didn’t know what they represented, and wanted to know more.

I too still have a lot to learn. Too many of us do. #orangeshirtday day is just a step of many that need to come next in terms of truth and reconciliation. One that I will soon took with my son. It’s a step I’ll be proud to take.
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#everychildmatters

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My heart soars.

O’s childcare is slowly getting him used to being in the 3-5 room, as he will be moving to it in September (he will be getting a support worker to help him once he gets there, thankfully).

His impending move has slowly meant spending time with children significantly older than him. They all walk, run and are quite tall. Especially when you are stuck in the third percentile and essentially sitting nearly everywhere you go (with scooting being his main form of transportation). Sometimes, it can be scary when the world and everyone in it towers over you.

But, and this is what brings me to feel an overflowing abundance of joy, the 3-5s have started to notice this. In ways of empathy, acceptance and brilliance, they have realized that he needs people on his level. So, yesterday, they began to scoot with him. They sat on the ground with him. They played with him. All in ways where they could equally reach, interact and socially engage.

My heart aches at times to see O’s differences and the special rights that he needs. At times like these, however, it soars.

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THIS.

Trust him.

Respect him. ⁣

Observe him. ⁣

Listen to him. ⁣

Ceremoniously slow. ⁣

Wait. ⁣

Breathe. ⁣

Soften. ⁣

He’s not giving you a hard time, he’s having a hard time. ⁣

We are on the same team. ⁣

Don’t react, respond. ⁣

He’s only little once. ⁣

Remember how old he is. ⁣

Do with, as opposed to do to. ⁣

You are here to help, not make it worse. ⁣

You do have time for this. ⁣

This is what matters. ⁣

Set limits early. ⁣

When you know better, you can do better. ⁣

This is an opportunity to connect. ⁣

What need is he communicating?⁣

Where is he coming from?⁣

Talk aloud what’s happened.⁣

This is not an emergency. ⁣

I am where I need to be. ⁣

This is age appropriate. ⁣

Treat him how you’d like to be treated. ⁣

Share your calm, don’t join the chaos. ⁣

Acknowledge the inner delight. ⁣

See the effort, voice the effort. ⁣

Be consistent. ⁣

It’s not personal. ⁣

I am here. ⁣

I hear you. ⁣

Your words today will become his inner voice tomorrow. ⁣

He’s doing his best. ⁣

Hours are long, but the years are short. ⁣

It’s harder for him than it is for me. ⁣

Let feelings be, they don’t belong to me. ⁣

Be who you want him to be.

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