grace

When Fiona and Ruby were born, I offered up my babysitting services. For a long time, the Grs didn't have babysitters, and I was honestly a little scared of putting two wee babies to bed, when I wasn't even used to putting one wee baby to bed.

Since the Grs have started using babysitters, they've called me a couple times to see if I was available. They called tonight.

I didn't make it to the phone.

I spend many of my evenings at my kitchen table in front of my computer. My main floor is pretty small, just living room and kitchen separated by a peninsula of counter. My table sits at the end of the peninsula. Making it an archipelago, I suppose. I sit in the kitchen, facing the living room window that looks out onto the street.

It's a great table, found in the garbage around the corner, in near pristine condition, a round pedestal table with flaps that come down to make the perfect sized-rectangle for my flat surface archipelago. It's marbley brown with chrome.

As I sit at my table, at breakfast, in the evenings, over the course of a few days, the table gradually millimetres its way towards the living room window. The progress is so gradual, I don't notice that it's happening.

Until.

The phone will ring, or someone will knock on the door, and I will try to get up quickly. I'll push the chair back. But since the table has moved forward, so has my chair. When I push, the back legs will get caught in between two floor tiles. The top will keep going. I'll catch myself before I go teakettle over arse, but then I'll rebound back and bang my ribs into the table. Then I'll try to turn sideways to make my getaway, misjudging the space between the chair and the lowered flap, banging my knee and thunking back down into the chair.

I am nothing if not graceful.

So surprise! I didn't manage to get the phone. But I did get the message, and could I babysit on Sunday? No, damn, I couldn't. But I was free tomorrow night! Ha, did they need a babysitter tomorrow night, ha ha.

They did!

So tomorrow night, at 6:30, me and my camera will wander down the street to put two hilarious adorable children to bed, and then we will blog about it after for the pleasure of the entire internet.

Around 5:45 Friday afternoon, my phone rang at work. It was Grace and Greg's number. Of course, I picked it up. Fiona, it turns out, had been sad all day. So sad. Super sad. Whiny sad.

When asked what would make her feel better, turns out she said "Go Megan's, see Freya." Could they make that happen?

Of course they could. What else are pets for except the de-sadding of two year olds?

Though I have no real idea if it worked, since they were off to visit their Bobcia shortly after.

++

There were many things yesterday that caused my simmering down: I made arrangements to buy three ceiling fans for $35, one of those very nice kettles for $25, off of kijiji mostly, thus saving me scads of cash; I had a great yoga class, where I was able to get past a couple of mental blocks I'd been having and into full lotus; it was especially great compared to the class on Thursday, during which I spent 20 minutes crying in the bathroom; the big cry in the bathroom on Thursday; certainly not least, the aforementioned Skype date.

The most important thing, though? More important to my general well being and mental health than all of those things put together?

I present to you, the list.*

Like many fellow neurotics/librarian-types, I'm a compulsive list maker. When I clean my desk off at work, clean out my day timer, empty the papers at the bottom of my bag, I find tons of lists. Most of them I'd forgotten I'd made, many of which no longer make any sense.

For this move, I had the lists of people who've volunteered their time, I had lists of what needed to be cleaned, I had lists of what needed to be double checked, what needed to be tripled checked, who needed to be reminded of what, and what I needed to buy to be prepared for the actual move.

All written on scraps of paper clipped on my desk at work, on my kitchen table at home, in my day timer, at the bottom of my bag.

And the tickertape was wearing me down.

Thursday, I stole about 7 feet of brown paper off the roll at work, tacked it up in my long long hallway, found all the lists I could find, and transcribed every thing from them onto the brown paper.

I promised myself that as soon as I thought of something, I would write it on the list. If I thought of it again, my mantra would be "ON THE LIST."

My brain caught on pretty quick. I had to use the mantra maybe 5 times before my brain just relaxed, and my shoulders with it.

++

I can only guess that the Go Megan's visit worked.

It's the best thing on there.

*Some of those names might not be right. The list is not so much for veracity as for the quieting of minds.

Got back not too long ago from the Grs house, where I had a lovely play and bathtime with Ruby and Fiona.

What is cuter than a starkers baby being helped to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom?

Not much, I can assure you. I was a bit busy when Fifi had her promenade, but I got a full cute backside view of the Ruster as she went off. Her muscles are shocking - her quads and hip muscles were actually bulging.

After bathtime came story time, which was a pretty short one. And then! I got to give Fiona her bedtime bottle. She schnozzled into the crook of my arm and tapped the cap that had been on the bottle against the side of the bottle and looked up at me as I murmured god knows what at her and then she'd look away and droop her eyes and just was generally delicious enough to make you wish she might never go to sleep but instead snuggle there forever, warm and baby-smelling.

They're so big now. I haven't been over in almost two weeks, and it's totally a cliché, I know, but the fact that babies change so quickly is only a cliché because it is entirely true. Fifi's got so much hair! Ruby looks so different I didn't even recognize her in a picture with her Aunt Carrie.

I do love those babies.