(I was pleased to find out, just before Christmas, that I’ve been selected as one of the Fisher-Price Canadian mom bloggers for 2012. What follows is my first post as part of this program. Over the course of the year, there’ll be Fisher-Price giveaways and further content. Stay tuned.)

Since the kids went back to school this month, it’s just been me and them during the day. No more lovely nanny to entertain and shuttle the older kids around while I coo over the baby. No time to coo! Hurry up! Get your snowpants on! Get your boots off! Where are your mitts? Let’s go, we don’t want to be late!

I have my mornings with Callum and Charlie after we drop Oliver at school, and to be honest, I haven’t necessarily been the best at entertaining Callum so far. If Charlie is asleep, I’ll let him (Callum, obviously) pick what we are going to do to occupy our time. He often selects board games, which we play on the floor of the family room while I sip my coffee. And the whole time I’m thinking about what I should be doing instead – tidying, unpacking (yes, STILL), sorting, whatever. Sometimes we manage to do a chore where Callum can help me, like put laundry away. Yes, I’m evil.

I admit, I will turn on the cartoons if I need to feed Charlie. Callum really isn’t into playing independently yet and he wants to talk to me and hang out with us while I’m stuck sitting down.

After school, if I can drag the kids away from the playground despite the frigid temperatures, we return home to a warm house and, normally, a sleeping baby. They usually immediately run to the playroom together to build some sort of contraption or start role-playing some undercover cops-and-robbers-type scenario. Sometimes the three of us bake together. Sometimes we collectively do Oliver’s homework (since Callum can’t resist trying to spell W-H-O and W-H-A-T or counting by fives). Usually I am trying to tidy something up or cook while this is happening.

The best of all, of course, is when the kids manage to have a playdate at someone else’s house.  Even hosting a playdate makes life easier – the novelty of a new kid to show their toy collection to has not worn off yet.

As I thought about this post, I pondered all the things that we could be doing together that we aren’t. I don’t have a stash of arts & crafts (and oh, leaving them alone with anything normally ends up in utter destruction) and I’m not really coming up with a lot of creative activities other than ‘you guys go play while I start dinner’.

Thankfully, Fisher-Price is there to help with ideas for Play and Learn Family Activities on their website. It looks like there’s some great suggestions for all of my kids, up to Oliver’s age.  I need to build up an arsenal of ideas. This is my challenge this winter – keep the kids happy (with all three at different developmental stages) and keep myself sane. How about you? Got any brilliant indoor play ideas that factor in different ages and stages?

Disclosure: I am a Fisher-Price Mom and I receive special perks as part of my affiliation with this group. The opinions on this blog are my own.

In internet lore, if you blog about how your baby is doing something wonderful like (a) sleeping through the night; (b) breastfeeding without any difficulty whatsoever; (c) using the toilet by the age of one — or whatever excellent thing your baby is so much better at than everyone else’s baby, it is known that your baby will forthwith cease this behaviour and do the exact opposite just to screw with your mind.

So forgive me when I realize that I have barely posted about Charlie the wonder baby, who is now 2.5-gosh-almost-3 months old. Don’t ask me how many weeks. I’m supposed to know but I have no idea.

See, I don’t want to tell you how awesome he is, because he’ll turn evil.

I don’t want to tell you that I’m not really sleep deprived, and haven’t been since he was born, since I’ll be up all night, cursed (well, that’s likely coming anyway, since we’re about to totally mess him up with a 5 hour time change on a trip to the UK).

I don’t want to tell you that this kid has been my most successful breastfeeding experience – not perfect (what’s perfect anyway?), but definitely much better than the other two.

I don’t want to tell you about how accommodating he’s been, being hauled around wherever we need to go – how he always falls asleep on each walk to and from the school.

I don’t want to tell you about his awesome smile and coos and funny sounds.

I know this could all change at any point. I know this could all go pear-shaped and I could lose my mind. I still feel a bit like I’m just waiting for it to happen. But, for now, this baby wrangling thing is going very well. And I’m doing much better dealing with this maternity leave than I did with the other two. Which is kind of surprising to me (you may remember I was freaking out about this a few months ago). But I’m very, very thankful.

Be kind to me, internet fates. I don’t want an evil baby.

Almost two weeks ago, there were half a dozen pirates running around my house, jumping and leaping and ‘arrrgh’-ing. And there was Oliver, giving them orders as to what was happening next. “Ok guys, guys, it’s time for cake now!” “Ok, everyone be quiet! I’m going to open my gifts!”

His confidence in social situations boggles my mind. He walks into the school yard and has no problem talking up older kids he doesn’t really know. That is not me. By a long shot. I hide in my phone or coo at the baby so I don’t have to talk to their parents. The shyness gene got passed to Callum and by-passed Oliver completely. I am glad for him.

Other than that personality feature, he is very much like me. Too much, sometimes. We clash. I suspect him of doing things that I know I would have done when I was little. Often, I am correct.

He tests my patience, he gets up to no good all the time, he talks back, he still has a tantrum-y breakdown if he doesn’t really like what we have to say. He can be completely exhausting.

He loves his brothers passionately, he easily takes his imagination and runs with it, he asks very intelligent questions, he’s always thinking, he’s reading and reading and learning to write properly and asked me to quiz him on multiplication earlier, he can’t stop moving and running and jumping and dancing and singing. He sleeps deeply after every exhausting day.

Happy 6th birthday, Oliver. Keep moving. Wait, stop. Okay, go.

His head on my shoulder, the weight of his body against me, warm and soft. I’ve got to get that tummy settled before I lay him down.

I squint at the news or chuckle at something funny, quietly. I often think to myself that I should record the voice of Peter Mansbridge or Jon Stewart as they might forever be his sleep cues.

I put him down beside me and his eyelids drop in the flickering darkness.

Eventually I too drift off, and will wake up at some point to turn off the television, fumbling for the remote.

Otherwise we sleep soundly, warmly.

I know I could put him to bed in his crib earlier but I’ve never even tried to. I know I ‘should’ be letting him sleep on his own. But I’m savouring these moments like I never did before, knowing that he’s definitely the last baby. Co-sleeping seemed like a necessary evil with the other two – the one thing that got them to sleep a decent amount of time at night. This time, it’s my indulgence. I’m being selfish.

Sometimes I just lay there and gaze at him for a while. He’s wondrous.

The days revolve around everyone else – he gets schlepped to and from school, he gets taken to run errands, he gets ignored so I can cook dinner/read a book/whatever. But the nights are ours. My nights are his. It’s almost too bad that we spend most of it sleeping.