It’s Not All Mary Poppins

Bah, humbug

I love walking the dog. The early morning sunshine, slanting through the trees by the river, the dew on the green grass, the birds chirping, the other dogs bouncing across the field.

It makes me hum with peace and contentment.

Usually.

This week, I’ve had to add to that list, “the whine of the toddler”. Damn it. There’s a dad who takes advantage of the morning dog-walk to take his baby and toddler for a walk, too. It would be heart-warming if the toddler didn’t whine, whine, whine, whine, whine. Everything that comes out of that boy’s mouth is a grating whinge.

People think I’m a patient person, and I suppose I am in some ways… but not this time. I have zip patience for this, because it’s so unnecessary. And besides, the kid is noise-polluting my zen. I daydream, every time, about approaching the dad. “You know, you can train them out of that. You don’t have to listen to that every minute of the day.”

I think he’s so used to hearing it that he doesn’t even hear it any more. But I do.

It’s time to change the time of my morning walk. I want my peace and serenity back. Dopey kid. Dopier dad.

Grump, grump, grump…

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August 10, 2010 Posted by | parenting, whining | , , , , , | 5 Comments

Fartlek. Who knew?

“Can we climb on the rocks?”

On one side of the quiet, dead-end street that ends at the park, there are several modest homes with lovely gardens. On the other side of the street there are no homes, just a grassy verge which, after a metre or so, slopes down to the reeds which edge the river. On the grassy side of the road, some cranky, anal-retentive civic-minded soul has placed a line of large rocks. I’m sure they are there to prevent cars from parking on the grassy verge, but when the tots see them, they are not thinking “damned cars, churning up the grass and obstructing my view of the river”, but “Hoo-boy! Rocks to jump on!!”

And because it is a quiet, dead-end street, I say “yes”. All along that short stretch of road, they trot, step up, stand, and jump off. They step up, using JUST YOUR FEET AND NO HANDS, because we are entering an off-leash dog park, and a LOT of dogs traverse this stretch of road. A lot of those dogs are male dogs, and the thing about male dogs is that if it’s not moving, THEY HAVE TO PEE ON IT.

And if ONE dog has peed on something, then you know that every other male dog (and even some determined females) which passes this way is obliged to PEE ON IT, TOO. This is written in the Doggie Rules for Living somewhere. It is Inviolable.

So those rocks? They have been peed on many, many, many times. And yes, I know that urine is pretty much sterile. (At least, people pee is. I assume canine pee is similarly germless.) That is why they are allowed to climb on the rocks at all. But, if dogs are OBLIGED to pee on anything that doesn’t move, toddlers are similarly OBLIGED to put their hands in their mouths. And their noses. And their friends’ mouths. And sometimes, yes, their friends’ noses.

So. We don’t touch the pee-rocks.

But we do step on them! And jump off! All the way to the park! (About, oh, 30 metres.)

“Can we run to the bench?”

There is a bench along the path about 20 metres inside the park entry. If there are no cyclists approaching, the answer is always ‘yes’. It’s a big treat to be able to let go of the stroller and run ahead, even in carefully controlled segments, 10, 20, 30 metres at a stretch. And off they go, Noah and Tyler and sometimes Emily, running in the jerky, bouncy, up-and-down-y way of toddlers, clumsily constructed wind-up toys wound a bit too tight. They reach the bench, climb up on it, then clamber down and trot back toward me.

“Can we run to the next bench?”

And away they go again, running hard to the next bench. Then they trot back to me. Or trot over to the tree in the field. Or clamber over the bench.

“Can we run to the sign?” Run hard, trot back.
“Can we run to the tennis court?” Run hard, trot.
“Can we run to the bridge?” Run hard, trot.

This is our pattern, three or more days a week, all summer long. It’s about a kilometre from my home to the park, so these kids are running/trotting about half that distance. Not bad for little critters with foot-long legs. (Yes, I do mix my measuring systems. Comes of having been in school when metric was introduced here. Spent a few years learning Imperial, the remainder learning metric, so now I have both. Except for temperature, which is always, only, Celcius. And my weight, which is always, only, pounds. Call it a true Canadian mish-mash compromise.)

So. A decent run/trot for such short little legs. The other day Noah did the run/trot through the entire length of the park, about a km, and then walked the remaining 1.5 km to the mall beyond the park. AND did the same on the way back.

You know, his endurance really is increasing. I’d noticed it, but hadn’t given it much thought. He’s an active, healthy child, he’s growing, he’s getting stronger. That’s what kids do, right? They get stronger.

Well, yes they do, particularly if they’ve been FARTLEK TRAINING.

No, I did not make that up.

But I had not heard of it until this week, when Kristen mentioned “doing fartleks”. (“Fartlek.” Snort. Yes, it makes me snicker, too. Comes of spending too much time with toddlers, I’m sure. Anything that would generally be contained in a diaper is screamingly funny.)

She mentioned it, I googled it, and now I know. That ‘gogoFASTFASTFAST … go slow… GOLIKEACRAZYPERSON … go slooooooow … goGOgoGOGOGOgogogo … sloooow’ thing that toddlers do? They are not trying to drive you crazy. They are not even being inconsistent.

They are fartlek training.

And now we all know.

June 10, 2010 Posted by | Canada, eeewww, health and safety, Noah | , , , , , | 8 Comments