A very expensive (but fun!) Saturday

(Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at http://danigirl.ca/blog/2007/08/19/a-very-expensive-but-fun-saturday/)

We had a fun and adventure-filled but ghastly expensive day on Saturday.

In the morning, we visited the Ottawa debut of A Day Out With Thomas. Those of you who have been around for a while will remember the absolute magic of our first adventure with the Very Useful Engine, two years ago in St Thomas, Ontario.

Our latest adventure was not quite so magical, but a fun morning for the boys. In addition to a rather uninspired 30 minute train ride through some scrub and industrial land, there were train tables, temporary tatoos, arts and crafts, and of course, a giant gift shop filled with all things Thomas and Friends. Tristan's waning interest in the big blue engine was rekindled, but Simon has always been less of a fan than his brother. In the gift shop, he looked around for a while before asking, "But where are all the Star Wars toys?"

In the afternoon, we went with Granny and Papa Lou to one of my favourite summer traditions, the Ottawa SuperEx. While the SuperEx never lives up to what I loved about London's Western Fair from my childhood, I still look forward to it every year. I love the grease, the sleaze, the colours, the carnival food, the excess of it all.

The boys don't really need me to ride the merry-go-round with them anymore, but I still do.




But mostly, they ride by themselves.







They weren't big enough to go on the bumper cars by themselves (they couldn't have reached the pedals even if they wanted to) but Beloved and Papa Lou were willing to go along for the ride. My mom and I watched from the lines and laughed the whole time - of the four of them, I honestly couldn't tell you which one was having more fun.






I think my favourite part of the SuperEx are the games of chance. My mom and I are usually pretty good at the squirtgun games, but this time it was Tristan who won his own stuffy.




And no matter how expensive the day might have been, all the money in the world can't buy memories like these.

Tristan's big splash

It's been such a lovely summer so far, full of sunshine and traveling and beaches and pools and water parks. I know we've had a good summer because we're on our fourth package of swim diapers... that's a lot of fun in the water!

Over the course of the summer, Tristan has gone from not quite being able to swim the width of the pool with a float to being able to swim very short stretches unassisted in a panicky sort of dog paddle. He's shown a lot of improvement with all the time we've spent in the water lately, and has taken great delight in being able to jump off the side of the pool and "cannonball" into the shallow end.

Yesterday, we spend an unexpected but lovely four hours or so splashing about and lounging on the deck of our friends' new pool. Despite Tristan's improvement through the summer, I had serious reservations when my friend UberGeek asked Tristan if he'd like to jump off the diving board and UG would help him get to the ladder. It's a testament to many, many years of friendship that I would even consider letting Tristan try - that, and the way Tristan's face lit up when he said, "SURE!" and scrambled up onto the deck before I could even formulate a protest.

The first jump, as soon as Tristan surfaced sputtering and wide-eyed, UberGeek was there to grab him and guide him to the ladder. I took a deep breath of my own and bit back my maternal concerns as Tristan practically ran to the diving board for the next jump - and the next, and the next, and the next. By the end of the afternoon, he was jumping in and able to swim to the ladder completely unassisted, and was also able to swim most of the length of the pool with only minimal assistance. Just like getting up on two wheels, it's amazing how quickly the little synapses fire in a growing brain to suddenly "get" a new activity and master it.

Simon too was the picture of contentment, splashing around in an unusual swim ring built into a t-shirt, a design I've never seen before. While getting him in and out of it was quite reminiscent of shoving him down the birth canal, it seemed a lot safer and sturdier than water wings or a traditional ring float.

In a single afternoon, Tristan went from barely able to swim a foot or two to jumping off the diving board and swimming to the edge, and I went from ensuring neither boy was further than arms' reach away from a grownup to letting them splash and float contentedly around the deep and shallow ends under their own power. I'm simply gobsmacked. And it served as a good reminder that the boys are likely to be ready to take on new challenges far earlier than I'm going to be ready for them to do so.

I only wish I'd had a camera with me...

The one with the naked princess, of course

The boys have been running around all day, and we all need some quiet time. I ask Simon what he wants to watch. Quelle surprise, he wants to watch Star Wars.

"Which one do you want to watch," I ask. "The one with the Jawas, the one where Han gets frozen in carbonite, or the one with the Ewoks?"

"No," clarifies Simon, "I want the one with the naked princess with the gun."

He's THREE, for chrissake. THREE!!

(Okay, so I don't know a single guy born between 1965 and 1985 who didn't have the same crush, but I had no idea Leia's Metal Bikini had its own fan site, let alone an episode of Friends.)

(Edited to add: this exists, with more than 7000 threads and 125000 posts, and yet *I'm* the strangest place on the Internet?!?!?)

An ode to boys in the summer time

When I left the house at 6:30 this morning, the boys had already dressed themselves. This is memorable in itself; while Tristan is quite capable, I don't think Simon has ever fully dressed himself before, and certainly neither of them has done it without considerable prodding and harranguing on our part.

But the really cute part is what they dressed themselves in: their matching Superman pyjamas. You see, it's superhero day at their gymnastics day camp today, and they are supposed to dress as their favourite superhero. Conveniently, earlier in the summer I had picked up a couple of pairs of Superman shortie jammies, complete with velcro-attached cape, at WalMart. I have to tell you with a complete lack of bias that they are exquisitely adorable, running around in their identical Superman jammies with capes billowing out behind them.

I'm so pleased with the half-day gymnastics camp at Starr Gymnastics. I enrolled them back in the beginning of the summer, knowing Beloved would appreciate the break and that they were both old enough to start with this kind of thing. When I enrolled them, even though the session said it was for 3 to 5 year olds, I had the impression that they'd be in separate groups, and I thought it might be nice for them to get away from each other for a little while, too, but it turns out they're in the same group after all. Tristan confirmed Monday afternoon that he was very happy to have Simon on his "team" so maybe they're not so sick of each other after all. They spend the morning tumbling, bouncing on the trampoline, swinging from ropes and climbing on stuff.

Don't you wish they had fun stuff like day camp when you were a kid? I never even went to sleep-away camp when I was a kid; we spent our summers watching the Price is Right and Match Game in the mornings and then roaming the neighbourhood in the afternoon. Or curled up with a good book - some things never change!

The other thing that I'm doing to live vicariously through the boys is swimming lessons. I've got them both enrolled in the same time slot, Tristan with his preschool level C and Simon in a preschool level A class. Last night was the third week of lessons and I still can't help myself - I sit on the deck and positively beam at them as I watch them in the water. They're both fearless, Simon moreso than even Tristan was at the same age, and both obviously doing well in their groups. Tristan can swim across the pool with a noodle under him, or for at least a couple of feet without one. Where the other kids in Simon's class cling to the instructor or to the side, Simon bounces merrily on his own in the water, blowing bubbles or kicking vigourously at the teacher's suggestion.

They've grown up so much this summer. I remember when they were babies (you know, way back in the old days) and how intensely and fiercely I loved them. I would look at older boys with skeptical curiousity, and I couldn't imagine loving them any more than I did when they were taking their first toddling steps, wearing onsies and smiling toothless, drooly grins. And yet I look at these boys - no doubt, they are boys through and through, no trace of the baby remains - and see them thinking and absorbing and synthesizing, and it's breathtaking.

Over the course of the summer, Tristan's mission has been to conquer the monkey bars. Each time we stopped at a park, he would try to traverse the span of the monkey bars, and in a few months he's gone from being barely able to dangle himself to being able to cross even the ones for the big kids, the ones that arc up and down instead of simply going straight across. After watching the ease with which Tristan could do it, I tried it one day myself and nearly pulled my arms out of my sockets. I couldn't make it half way across and my armpits hurt for days. Those monkey bars aren't for wimps.

The best part of three hours of gymnastics camp in the morning, fresh air in the afternoon and swimming lessons in the evening? We finally found out that it is actually possible to wear them out. My perpetual motion machines, the ones that make me dizzy with their boundless energy, actually do have a finite energy reserve. For the first time in I don't know how long last night, they could barely stay awake long enough for a story, and there were no calls for an extra snuggle, a glass of water or an explanation as to why dogs have fur.

Ah, summertime...

You think he learned this in school?

We're driving back from the Carp Farmer's Market, a bag containing fudge and homemade salsa and fresh cukes and tomatoes at my feet. The boys are chattering in the back seat as we meander through the back roads bisecting rolling countryside.

"Mom, I know how to say cow in French," Tristan informs me as we pass a herd of Holsteins noshing in a nearby field.

"Oh yes?" I ask. "How do you say cow in French?"

"Vache!" he announces with authority. I confirm he's right, and tell him that the French word for horse is cheval. The boys continue to discuss French and English for a while, until out of the blue, Simon asks me the French word for penis. I am neither entirely that the version of the term I know colloquially is the appropriate clinical translation nor sure that my 3 and 5 year olds need it in their vocabulary, so I tell him I'm not sure.

"R-3-8-H-M," says Simon. "That spells PENIS!"

I decline to comment. Tristan does not.

"No, no, Simon," Tristan says. "This is how you spell penis." He thinks for a minute. "P-E-N-N-E. That spells penis. Oh wait, there's an S too. Um, P-E-N-N-S. That spells penis. Yep, P-E-N-N-S spells penis."

I shoot a look at Beloved, who is concentrating very hard on the empty road in front of us, the little muscle in his jaw flickering in the effort not to laugh. Personally, I'm conflicted. Spelling words out loud is a new talent of Tristan's. Do I praise his effort? Celebrate the mentorship over his younger brother? Correct his spelling? Feign deafness and ignore the entire exchange?

Some milestones are more ignominious than others. We continue through the pastoral countryside, both boys misspelling penis at the top of their lungs. I can hardly wait for the 10-hour road trip.

Yay day!

It's been a few weeks since we've celebrated a yay day around here. The sun is shining and it's two weeks until our Bar Harbor vacation, which are two things worth celebrating all on their own right, but I have more!

My bliss right now comes from the fact that I've been able to spend a lot of time with the boys recently, and I think we're all the better for it. We're in a phase where they're generally a lot of fun to be around (when they aren't bickering like an old married couple, that is!) and I am constantly tickled by their expanding world views.

Kerry and I took the boys to Westfest on the weekend while Beloved attended a weekend-long seminar, and Tristan recounted his encounter with a life-sized Lunar Jim and Clifford the Big Red Dog with some enthusiasm. "But," Tristan concluded with a worldly sigh, "it wasn't the real Lunar Jim."

"How do you know it wasn't the real Lunar Jim?" I asked.

"Well, Mom, because I looked at his back and it had a big zipper on it." Remind me not to let him get too close to Santa Clause this Christmas!

Later that day, Tristan also decided he needed to make a craft, but he was quite secretive about what it was. He asked me to cut a large circle out of a piece of paper, and returned a few moments later with what he called a CBC frisbee; sure enough, he had made an impressive approximation on his 'frisbee' of the exploding cabbage that is the current CBC logo - freehand, using only the image in his head for reference. Be still my patriotic, mothercorp-loving heart!

Yesterday after a bath, Beloved was helping Simon put on his jammies when Simon observed that his fingers were "fancy". It took us a minute to figure out he meant they were wrinkled from the tub.

So my joy is simply that I love my boys, and they love me, and with that everything else in life is golden.

Care to share what's making the sun shine on you today?

Thomas the Tank Engine is coming to Ottawa

Parents of preschoolers, consider yourself warned: Thomas the Tank Engine's popular "Day Out With Thomas" is coming to Ottawa this summer!

Props to Nancy for sending me a note yesterday. The Day Out With Thomas extravaganza will be held on August 17 -19 and 24 - 26 at the Ottawa Central Railway's Walkley Yard. (Never heard of it? Me neither. It's just across from the Home Depot near South Keys.) Festivities include a half-hour ride on a train pulled by the Very Useful Engine himself, a chance to meet Sir Topham Hatt, and of course the largest Thomas memorabilia gift shop on the planet.

Tickets went on sale this morning, and I couldn't help myself -I picked some up for the boys. They aren't cheap at almost $20 a person, but the boys still enjoy Thomas enough that it will make for a memorable summer event.

Not nearly so memorable, of course, as our first and only previous Day Out With Thomas adventure back in the summer of 2005. We trekked eight hours across the province to St Thomas for that one - and it was truly worth it. The boys still look at the pictures and talk about the day we met the real-life Thomas the Tank Engine. (Funny for me to look at those pictures now and see that Tristan is then the same age that Simon is now. Time flies!)

The betrayal

We're at my folks' place for the first bbq steak dinner of the season. The grown-ups are still lingering over dinner. The kids have scarfed down their food and resumed their soccer game in the back yard.

Overheard through the open window:

Tristan: Don't tell, okay Simon? Don't tell!

Simon: Mo-om!

Tristan (stage whispers) : Don't tell!

Simon: Mom! My brudder was in the dirt when you told us not to go in the dirt but my brudder went in it.

Tristan: I'm not your brother!!

Perhaps the first time he ever denies it, but I'm willing to bet it's not the last!

(Potty) Mouths of Babes

I'm so good to you. I mean, I could fill an entire blog with the cute (and sometimes scandalous) things my kids are saying these days. Heck, if it's good enough for a bad TV show with Bill Cosby, it's good enough for you! But rather than draw out the torture, I've been saving up a few nuggets to share with you in one indulgent helping.

Some things they say are unintentionally hilarious, such as when the boys were playing with Woody and Buzz from Toy Story and Simon got a little too rough. Tristan said, "Hey, be careful with my big Woody!"

***

The boys have a new game, along the lines of Marco Polo. Tristan calls out in a pinched faux-British voice "Hello!" and either Simon or Beloved respond with "Moto!" and a bad imitation of the cell ring tone's bad electro-funk dance music. It's especially funny to see Simon do his Hello Moto dance with his elbows tucked tight to his side and his index fingers thrusting upward in time to the beat he is mangling.

***

Tristan has recently begun to chafe under the rules of the house. Whether he is being told to shut down the computer or to eat his dinner, the result is a theatrical eye roll and lament about how he can't wait until he is a grownup and done with rules. (Hah!) The best one, though, was this past weekend as he was being subject to the injustice of having his toenails cut after a bath.

"Someday I'm going to be a grown-up," he began in a philosophical tone, "I'm going to have a house, and be a daddy and have kids of my own." While Beloved and I beamed, he continued, "And my kids will always be allowed to have long toenails."

***

And then of course there are those moments when you know you have noone to blame but yourself.

Overheard while Simon and Tristan were wrangling over who knows what, Simon: "It's my freakin' turn!"

***

We were at the dinner table when Tristan was recounting his day. "And then I was in a time out while the other kids were playing, and it was for a really long time, and it was pissing me off!" His tone and inflection were perfect. He's obviously got that phrase down to a science.

***

Simon is going through a particularly affectionate stage right now, which is a good self-preservationist counter-balance to the particularly stubborn phase he is also going through right now. The other day he came barrelling up to me and threw his arms around me in a pint-sized bear hug, then released me and patted me fondly on the stomach. "I love your big, fat belly, Mommy!" he told me with oblivious affection.

The littlest enforcer

We're in the car, driving back from our favourite hamburger joint. Simon and Tristan are recounting the day's adventures, and Tristan tells us how he was playing basketball in the driveway with one of the kids from daycare.

Tristan: "It was fun, but then he pushed me while he was trying to get the ball and I fell down."

Simon (two years younger and four inches shorter than Tristan), fiercely: "If that guy ever pushes you down again, I'm going to teach him a lesson!"

I suspect that may in fact set the tone for their school years. Don't mess with Tristan, or his little brother will beat the snot out of you.

Outnumbered

It is becoming increasingly obvious that I am outnumbered, a single XX chromosome in a sea of XY chromosomes. Not only are my babies getting bigger, but they are exhibiting more of their inherent boyness with each passing day.

Evidence of the first part:

This is the curtain rod in my living room, held in place by one of those anchors that pops open like an umbrella after you shove it through the hole.

Note the damage to the drywall. That's about a seven inch divot. Despite these industrial-strength anchors, the boys have still managed to pull the curtains half off the wall. Would this happen with girls? I suspect not.

Evidence of the second part:

Simon and I played outside today. After watching for a while, I eventually had to join in to try for myself the game that kept him occupied for the best part of an hour: scrounge around the side of the house for fallen icicles, impressive in size from the mid-week thaw, and smash them to smithereens on the bricks. We must have pulverized 20 lbs of ice. I can't believe it kept him engaged for as long as it did, but the very best part was the evil giggle that burbled from him every single time he smashed a hunk of ice to bits. Wanton destruction not only sanctioned by but actually accompanied by Mommy - he was in heaven.

Evidence of the third part:

As I type this, I'm curled up on the sofa while Beloved and Tristan are a few feet away, playing the Cars video game on the Xbox console Beloved just rented from the video store.


They've completely forgotten I'm here, father and son bonding over a video game. Tristan, not even five years old, has already beaten his father in at least one race. He holds the game controller like he was born with it in his hand.

I have this sneaking suspicion this is only the beginning...

The saucy gourmand

Dinner last night was spaghetti. I like spaghetti, Beloved likes spaghetti, the boys like spaghetti. Spaghetti is cheap, healthy, and so easy to cook even I can't screw it up (although I'm not so good with the quantity thing. We either have too much spaghetti and not enough sauce, or too much sauce, or enough spaghetti and sauce to feed a platoon.) We eat spaghetti for dinner every single week.

So, as I said, dinner last night was spaghetti. Actually, it was spaghettini, because they were sold out of the whole wheat spaghetti. It's okay, I have a modicom of flexibility. I can deal with spaghettini instead of spaghetti - it just takes less time to boil the snot out of it. And even though it was a weeknight, we even had sauce with meat because spaghetti sauce is one of the few foods the ONLY food I ever even think to make in bulk and freeze, like all those magazine articles about organizing your life suggest you ought to do.

We had a salad, too, because I loves me a salad with my spaghetti, but truth be told, the salad was a little on the pathetic side. I only had about a cup of leaves left in the bottom of the box (what, you don't buy your lettuce by the box? It's so much better than the stuff in the bag, I kid you not) so when I tossed on a can of mandarin slices and some almonds, I think the mandarins and almonds outweighed the leafy bits by about two to one.

So we had spaghetti, and salad. I put some pasta in the bowl for Tristan, and gave it a spritz with the Becel non-fat butter substitute (again you laugh, but I'm telling you, that stuff is good!) and cut his spaghettini into manageable bites. It's at this point in the story that I have to make clear the point that nothing even remotely resembling sauce may touch Tristan's pasta. Butter, margarine, and various oil product imposters may be added in small quantities, and parmesan cheese will be added liberally by Tristan himself and ONLY Tristan himself. But for the love of all things holy, do not even attempt to sully his noodles with sauce. This has been the lay of the land in our family since he was old enough to hurl a bowl of pasta right back at the chef, and we've come to an entente (an al dente entente, matter of fact) under which we all can live happily.

Simon, on the other hand, likes his spaghetti sauced. It's messier that way, you know. And frankly, adding a spoonful of sauce to one bowl and a spritz of non-butter substitute to another is not so much of a stretch of my culinary capabilities.

And so we sit down to eat, Beloved and I and even Simon with our proportional bowls filled with noodly, saucy goodness, and Tristan with his bowl of plain pasta. That's when Tristan upset the balance of the universe forever by asking, "Can I have some sauce?"

After a moment of stunned silence, and a few very slow blinks on my part, I stuttered, "Um, sure. You mean, like, on your pasta?"

"Yeah!" he replied brightly. "Sauce! On my pasta!"

Now, it just so happens that yesterday was one of those days that I made enough pasta to feed Outer Mongolia, so I knew there was leftover spaghettini in the collander, should this be some sort of nefarious plot on Tristan's part to get out of eating his dinner. So I put a small spoonful, really more of a dollop, carefully on the pasta in his bowl and brought it back to him. And damn if he didn't eat every last speck of sauce, and ask for more half way through the bowl. And then he finished that off and asked for more pasta and more sauce, and I started scanning the kitchen for hidden cameras, wondering when the ghost of Allan Funt was going to leap out and accost me.

And through it all, Tristan the Notoriously Fussy Eater, the boy who insists YOU pick off the bits of the pizza he doesn't like, including the toppings and the cheese and the sauce, the boy who once barfed up an entire meal because I forced him to eat a single green bean, this boy of mine regaled us throughout the meal with an ongoing Ode to Sauce.

"I love sauce, Mommy! It's really great! Mmmm, it's so good, this sauce. I could eat sauce every day. I really really love sauce, Mommy! It's a little bit great."

Tomorrow, he's getting spaghetti sauce on ham for dinner, and the next night I'm going to whip up some mashed potatoes and roast beef - with sauce. This mothering thing, it's all about going with the flow, and apparently what's flowing is sauce.

Send laundry soap!

I mentioned yesterday I stayed home because I was under seige by a nasty virus. Just so happens that Wednesdays are the days that the whole crew is also home. Frankly, I think it would have been more restful to go to work!

Late in the afternoon, I was making dinner and the boys were playing upstairs when I heard Simon crying the distinctive 'ouch' cry, but what really set me running up the stairs was the tone of panic in Tristan's voice when he called for me. Tristan had bonked Simon in the nose with a book, and there was blood *everywhere*, streaming from Simon's nose.

It took a couple of minutes to get it under control (thank god I don't have issues with blood) but Simon was relatively calm and we got him cleaned up. Load of laundry number one = Simon's yellow comforter, two towels, a facecloth, Simon's shirt and socks, and my shirt.

A few hours later, I had just settled into bed myself when I heard the distinctive sound of retching from the boys' room. Tristan had been sick in his bed, setting in motion load of laundry number two, comprising sheets, blankets, the waterproof bed cover and a couple of stuffies.

He was sick again at 11 pm, 1 am, and 4 am. Sadly, he was neither coordinated nor awake enough to use the bucket we'd provided for him. We have four sets of sheets for two beds, and by luck more than design, the load from the first round of barfing was washed and dried in time for the 4 am sheet changing.

He's bright-eyed and energetic this morning, but the laundry machines and the laundress are exhausted. My cold, Simon's blood, Tristan's barf - that's three, right? Right?!?

An ode to naps

Isn't it ironic that for Simon, the number one way to ruin an otherwise lovely afternoon is the intrusion of a two hour nap, and yet for me, the number one way to make an otherwise lovely afternoon absolute perfection is the indulgence of a two hour nap.

(Did you hear that the French government is even considering making a short nap official government policy? Somebody ought to feed this to Harper as a way to appease all those alienated public servants.)

It's to the point that I have to actively deceive Simon into taking his afternoon nap. Embarrassing though it is to admit, he's three years old and I'm having a harder and harder time outwitting him. First, he figured out the bed was a danger zone, and if he let me entice him in for a 'cuddle', he was doomed. Once he caught on, he started resisting going in to the bedroom after lunch, then resisting any motion toward the second floor of the house.

I've had to work hard to keep ahead of him. Today, I resorted to tempting him with old photographs, one of his weaknesses, to lure him into the bedroom. Once I got him into the room, I tried to convince him to join me in the bed, "because I'm so tired after working hard all morning, and I'd really like you to come and help me have a little rest." Clever little monkey would have none of that. Eventually, through a combination of persistance, insistence and obstinance, I finally coerced him onto the bed, with Simon protesting the whole time.

I knew I'd won a battle once I got a soother in his mouth, and victory was mine after a few short minutes of lying together in the darked room, my arms wrapped tightly around him to discourage fidgeting. I think less than five minutes passed before his breathing was deep and regular, and his body was calm after the wave of tiny twitches that are always a harbringer of his deepest sleep. The hardest part was deciding to extricate myself from his warmth and get on with my afternoon, rather than giving in to a nap myself.

He awoke two hours later in a foul mood, entirely too aware of my duplicitousness. "Mommy," he whined, yawning and indignant, "I didn't want to take a nap." I couldn't help but laugh. Sadly, I may be the first, but I certainly won't be the last woman to use my wicked ways to trick the poor boy into doing my will.

***

Bonus conversation!

Tristan has suddenly discovered the Disney movie Toy Story and runs around the house shouting things like, "To infinity and beyond!" and "I'm Buzz Lightyear. I come in peace."

Today, while I was pulling on my boots and coat to come to work, the boys were bouncing about nearby.

Me, enveloping Tristan in a bear hug: "I love you, Tristan. Have a great day!"
Tristan: "I'm not Tristan, I'm Buzz Lightyear!"
Me: "Right. Okay, Buzz, have a great day."

Me, turning to Simon: "And you, Woody! You have a great day, too."
Simon, indignantly: "I'm not Woody! I'm Mr Potato Head!"

Recommendations from the kid lit shelves

I've often thought about reviewing a couple of kids' books here. Trouble is, by the time you get 10-pages-in, you're mostly done. Maybe I should switch to a 20-words-in format for kids' lit? We struck gold on our last trip to the library and through random luck ended up with quite a few books that were clever enough to engage me while still appealing to the boys.

In university, I took a Canadian Literature course that eventually became one of my favourite courses of all time. The first day, the prof asked us to contribute, anonymously, a few books we would like to study. I don't remember which books I said I did want to study, but I do clearly remember him laughing as he read out loud my plea: "Just about anything is fine, but please - no more Margaret Atwood." I've since changed my mind about her, and Margaret Atwood is in fact one of my favourite authors, one whose prose I savour and whose writing I hold as a standard to strive towards. I have not, however, warmed entirely to her poetry.

With the charming book Up in the Tree, even her poetry is appealing to me. (The fact that I am only drawn to poetry for beginning readers must surely say something about my level of literary sophistication.) The book was recently released to the US for the first time, and the new edition contains a small note from the author says that in 1978, when the book was first published, it was considered too risky to publish a children's book in Canada. To mimimize costs, Atwood not only wrote and illustrated the book herself, but she hand-lettered the text and used a simple two-colour process of red and blue ink. Between that and the thick, glossy pages, I think I enjoyed the tactile experience of reading Up in a Tree as much as I enjoyed the words themselves.

The same day, we also got Judith Viorst's Just in Case. It's a lovely little book about a little boy named Charlie who likes to be prepared "just in case". He does things like making 117 peanut butter and jam sandwiches just in case the food stores are all closed and bringing a net and some oars to the beach "just in case" a mermaid grabs him by his big toe and drags him off under the sea to play. It's quite charming, and the prose has a lyrical quality that makes reading it out loud a pleasure. And the repitition at then end of each section works for both the almost-three year old, who hears it coming and likes to say it along with me, and the almost-five year old, who recognizes the words and likes to say them along with me.

Also on the same day, we got a silly little mystery book by Karma Wilson and Jack E Davis called Moose Tracks. The narrator wonders, in perfect verse, who has left the moose tracks all over the house. The bear hair is explicable, the wood chips are from the beaver, and the chipmunk is responsible for the shells. But who has left the moose tracks? We also enjoyed the witty, cartoonish illustrations in this book.

Care to share a few recommendations?

(Edited to add: for a comprehensive list of toddler-approved books from a toddler who happens to be the daughter of a librarian, not to mention a "cultural nationalist in training", be sure to see this post from the Mad Hatter!)

In which my four year old outwits me

For the most part, potty training Tristan was a breeze. He waited until he was three and a half to be ready for it, but when he was ready, the transition was quick, painless and relatively dry. From the last day of diapers, we've had a total of maybe a dozen accidents at most. A year and a half later, however, one hurdle remains.

He refuses to wipe his own butt.

We've tried cajoling, reasoning, bribing and ignoring him, but he outwaits us every time. And for reasons I'll never understand, the vast preponderance of the time, he likes to go when we are sitting at the dinner table.

Tristan, from the bathroom: "I'm done."

Me, at the table: "Good."

(pause)

Tristan: "Are you coming?"

Me: "No. Wipe yer own butt."

Tristan, whining: "I can't!"

Me: "Yes, you can."

Tristan: "I don't want to!"

Me: "Well, that's probably closer to the truth. You have to learn to wipe your own butt, Tristan. Big boys wipe their own butts."

(pause)

Tristan: "Is this Monday?"

Me, unfazed at the non-sequiter: "No, it's Saturday."

Tristan: "Well, I only wipe my own butt on Mondays."

How do you argue with logic like that? He may have won again today, but you can bet he's not getting away with it come Monday!

(Edited to add: and by God if he didn't wipe his own butt on Monday. By his choice, mind you. He called from the bathroom, I reminded him it was Monday, and he said "Oh, okay" and did it. Who knew??)

It's a new year!

I'm fond of odd-numbered years -they seem to be lucky for me. Beloved and I met in 1995 and married in 1999. We conceived Tristan in 2001 and Simon in 2003. We also bought this house in 2003, and I started my current job that year. In 2005, I earned a promotion. I like odd-numbered years. I have a good feeling about this one.

Without any attempt at a segue whatsover, I'd like to introduce the latest member of our family. On Boxing Day, Beloved got a great deal on a new desktop to replace the old one that died this summer. After reading all your comments about kids and computers, I realized it was high time the boys had access to a computer of their own, so rather than putting this back in the basement, we decided to keep it in a central place. On the weekend, we picked up this little desk/cupboard so we could keep it on the main floor - and hopefully keep the clutter to a minimum.



You were so right, bloggy friends. It's freaking me out how easily Tristan is taking to the computer, considering how limited his exposure has been. He's seen a computer practically every day of his life, but far as I know, the only mouse he's played with significantly has been the one at the bookstore - and it's a Mac.

I remember how long it took me to coordinate the mouse in my hand and the pointer on screen, way back in 1986 or so. And yet, Tristan does it like he's moving the pointer with his mind instead of the mouse. What really blew me away was that he figured out within the first three minutes how to grab the top of a window and drag it across the screen. He's seen me do it a dozen times or more, but there's nothing intuitive about it - for an old girl like me, anyway.

It's a whole new year, and a whole new era in our house. There's a desktop in the very heart of the house, wide open for the kids and us to share.



I can feel it - this year is going to be amazing!!

Happy new year!

Post-Christmas wrap post

(Editorial note: please stop to admire my careful wordsmithery before proceeding. That's two devices in three words in a four word title: the post-post repetition, and the wrap as in gift wrap/it's a wrap pun. What, you don't love it? Sheesh, you people are hard to please!)

Ahem, well then, on with the show. Without further ado, I'm pleased to present to you this round-up of the Gifts of 2006.

The Theme of the Year award goes to Pixar’s Cars movie. Between the two boys, they got maybe ten or a dozen of the cars characters, including duplicate Lightings and Maters; the Mack playset; the movie; a set of board books; the deck of Uno cards; and a toothbrush each. Close second is the Wiggles, making an appearance in a Memory card game, two DVDs, and two board books, including one with a surprisingly un-annoying digital music player that makes a good toddler-friendly impersonation of Mommy’s iPod.

The If I have to play another round of Candyland I’ll swallow this cyanide pill award goes to Cariboo and Uno. While Cariboo is still a little bit simplistic, it’s a game the boys can play with each other – and without parental engagement. They actually prefer just using the key to open the boxes and hunt for balls, bypassing the rules entirely, but so long as they are playing with each other instead of torturing the dog, we all win. And in Uno I have finally found a game that I could sit for hours and play with Tristan. He needs to be prompted a bit, but can play independently without showing me his cards. We are well on our way to family game nights!

The Have I told you how much I love my mother award goes to – surprise! – my mother, who gave me a small package with a gift tag that read, ‘To Danielle, with love and admiration. From Mom.’ Inside was a small silver key chain, inscribed with the word “mothership”. She printed out the blog banner and brought it to the engraver to duplicate the font – and they did a damn fine approximation. Does my mom rock or what?

The Ohhh, I love a good deal award goes to the Bob the Builder Electronic Workshop. We were in WalMart when I saw a bunch of these stacked on a skid in the toy section. They were reasonably priced at $14.97, so I picked one up for Noah, my two-year-old nephew who has recently become a Bob devotee. The boys were so fascinated by the box that Beloved went out that night and picked up a second one for Simon. A few weeks later, we were in our favourite specialty toy store and they had the same set - for $54.99!!

The Indoctrinate them while they’re young award goes to the 65-piece kitchen set for Simon. He calls it his ‘tea set’ and loves it. He was especially excited by the ‘flipper flopper’, which Tristan precociously informed him was called a spatula. (How he knows from spatulas is beyond me.) I’m hoping to have Simon cooking dinner by the time he’s in grade school.

The I know you better than you know yourself award goes to Beloved, who got me the Penguin Book of Popular Canadian Quotations (he specifically said he thought it would make for good blog fodder), and the first season of the Muppet Show and Sesame Street Old School (1969-1974) on DVD. We've recently discovered old Sesame Street clips on YouTube, and have spent hours watching them. Ironically, the boys' very favourite clip from YouTube is the first sketch on the first episode of the Muppet Show DVD.

The How to flummox the staff of Future Shop award goes to me for trying to find tapes on December 24 to go with Tristan’s portable cassette player. The first clerk I asked had no idea what I was talking about and sent me toward the VHS cassettes. The next two clerks hemmed and hawed and said they didn’t think they carried that kind (insert tone of disdain here) of thing. I finally found them in the car audio section. Sheesh, it’s not like I was looking for laser discs or 8-track tapes, for goodness sake. I bought bulk, just in case.

The Most Annoying Toy award goes to Mr Bucket. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Simon has developed a peculiar obsession with Mr Bucket, going into paroxysm of excitement every time he spotted it in a flyer or catalogue. We have no idea why, even going so far as to ask the caregiver if she has this game. She does not. Simon has simply become fixated on this particular toy for some reason. So of course, we bought it for him for Christmas. And he hates it. Well, that’s not entirely true. Mostly, he’s afraid of the noise it makes. Unfortunately, he forgets about every three hours that he hates it, and takes it out of the box, plays with it for 90 seconds, and puts it back.

The No really, I bought it for the kids award goes to two winners this year: Marble Run and Superfort. It’s a natural progression from the hours I’m willing to spend building intricate and looping wooden train tracks to building intricate and looping marble runs and really fun and funky forts. Bonus marks to Cranium, makers of Superfort: after watching me just once, Tristan is already building his own forts. I am highly impressed! Now, could somebody please add an expansion pack for Marble Run to my Tristan’s birthday wish list?

On a less commercial note, the Awwwwww award goes to Simon, who loved everything he got. Everything! Every time he opened a gift, it was the best gift ever. Not once did he ask for more presents, even when the festivities paused to regroup or welcome a late arriving guest.

And finally, the Big brother award goes to Tristan, who has made my jaw drop open more than once in the past few days with the tenderness he has shown in helping Simon open stuck toys, reach high shelves and find lost toys. There has also been plenty of bickering and sniping, but I've been so impressed with Tristan's behaviour that it merits a mention.

In retrospect, it was a blissful, bountiful Christmas. I've said it before: I'm a lucky girl!

Now I've got two preschoolers and my mother's birthday coming up in the next ten weeks. Any recommendations for more great gifts?

A Happy Halloween

The boys had a terrific halloween, and by extension, so did I.

A few thoughts on halloween this year:

• I have to admit, I was a little disappointed when I heard that Tristan's school had a 'no costumes' policy. The kids are invited to wear black and orange, but costumes are not allowed. I was disappointed just because I remember the great fun of wearing a costume to school - the excitement, the sense of a special day, the thrill of seeing what the other kids were wearing.

• I can also understand why they did it - it levels the playing field for the kids who might not be able to afford a fancy costume, I guess.

• Speaking of fancy costumes, I got sucked in myself. Even though I nearly choked when I saw the price tag attached to Tristan's Scooby Doo costume, when I amortized it over three kids I could justify it. Plus, he really loves it.

• Granny, who normally goes out of her way to give us a lift on Tuesdays anyway, dropped in to see the boys in costume between dinner and trick-or-treating. In his excitement to get his Fuzzy Caterpillar costume on Simon said, correctly, "Granny, you're going to LOVE this!"

• The boys' excitement was infectious as we walked to a few houses on our street. It's hard to believe it's been 25 years since I felt that swell of excitement, walking up the laneway to a house obviously decked out for the occasion.

• Is it just me, or is the upper threshold age for trick-or-treating getting higher each year? I swear, we had more than one young man whose voice was changing, and a few I had to look up to look into their eyes. There is such a thing as too old.

• Then again, kids too young to read a "DON'T RING BELL - PLEASE KNOCK" sign probably shouldn't be trick-or-treating alone.

• A lot of things are even more fun when you can share them with your brother.

***

This post launches my participation in NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month. There's no way I could write a novel in the month of November, but since I'm already putting up at least one post a day on weekdays, it would be within the realm of the possible to post every single day. Besides, what else is worth doing in November?

Postcards from the Mothership - now with 20% more drivel!

Mixed messages

I'm having a good couple of days. Pardon my enthusiasm, but I had to update you on Tristan's school foibles.

You'll remember a couple of weeks ago, we got called in for a parent-teacher confab after a mere eight days of school, causing me to believe we should perhaps stop saving for Tristan's education and instead start saving for bail money.

Yesterday, we got the first 'goal worksheet' back in Tristan's communication folder (because he alternates between a French and an English teacher, he hasn't been back with the other teacher since the week of our conference.) Five goals, five happy faces for five goals achieved. Go Tristan!

And from the department of mixed messages, we also got a lovely little certificate signed by the principal saying Tristan was "Star of the Week" for October 2 through 5. I understand from our daycare provider, who has older children at the school, that this is an honour bestowed upon a student by having the certificate hang in the hallway outside the principal's office for a week, then sent home to the child's beaming parents. I have no idea of the significance of this honour, whether he was nominated by a panel of his peers, or whether he will be able to add it to his curiculum vitae some day, but Tristan was plenty proud and so am I.

And speaking of honours, one of you lovely peeps have nominated me (or rather, nominated blog) for a Canadian Blog Award again this year. I am in great company, with nominating nods - so far - to many of my favourites, including Beanie Baby, MUBAR, Martinis for Milk, Breadcrumbs in the Butter, Bub and Pie, and a peek inside the fishbowl. I'm honoured and touched by your nominations - thanks!