kicking it with ponies

It's been an amazing week over here. Last week, Cass went to his first judo lesson, and walked out an hour later beaming. He broke a board. WITH HIS FOOT. On PURPOSE.

This month alone, he's started drama club at school, a soccer program, and judo. He's trying new things and figuring out who he wants to be, and it's fun to watch.

Today, it was riding a horse.  It was Rosey's birthday party, and nine of her good friends came out to eat cupcakes and hop up on the ponies. Most had never been on a horse before. They all did well.

Cass is very interested in riding. Rosey is too.

She's upstairs right now, wearing her brand-new Stables t-shirt, and ta-thumping her Barbie horses (and their riders) through their paces.

Welcome, horse-mad age! Welcome!

so.

Holy crap, you guys. The chemical makeup of chloroform is easy.* Kinda puts a whole 'nother spin on the Casey Anthony trial.

B has been making Rosey some doll furniture out of stumps lately - he's been watching a video on chainsaw carving and started off making her some little doll chairs and a table, where her dolls have been enjoying many tea parties and get-togethers lately.
I know it's not very clear, but the back of the chairs are heart shaped.

It's his first attempt and R is thrilled. It's nice, sitting at the computer and hearing her murmur to them in the side-yard.

Much better than hearing her talk on the phone to her boyfriend.
(I cringe. And will maybe tell you the story later.)

But for now.....I'm going to take some strawberries out to her little bistro table.  I think those dolls might like a little treat.


*Nah, I'm not making it. But I was astonished at how simple it would be to make.

third grader

for TWO MORE DAYS. That's it. TWO MORE SCHOOL DAYS and.....

and I have a FOURTH GRADER.

ulp.

Pinky Boo

Rosey is SIX. It's sort of incomprehensible. I mean, yes, I know she's not a baby anymore, but SIX YEARS OLD?

She's the happy, bubbly one on the family - she'll chat your ear off - and my girl has a good, strong heart. 

She loves the outdoors and jumping and her stuffies and smiles everyday when she sees the cat has started sleeping in her room. She colours enthusiastically, cuts and pastes and glitters and tapes and stickers and would give everyone a rainbow if she could. She dances to everything (Black Eyed Peas, anyone?) and goes on amusement park rides until the rest of us have passed out from exhaustion.

She wants to be a dancer, a teacher, someone who helps animals and to drive a camper into the desert. She loves makeup and earrings (we'll be getting her ears pierced soon) and playing with her brother and the clean, loose joy of pumping your legs up into the sky and swinging.

I'm really enjoying being your mamamamama, Miss Rosey. You're a joy.

beau

Fire Prevention Day today. Picture by J. Evans

Today is my boy's birthday. His NINTH birthday, actually. NINE. That's a LOT.

He's so smart and wonderful, my boy. He fights with me about turning off his light at night (C'mon! I'm almost done with this chapter!) about playing outside (I played all day at school!) and brushing his teeth.
(I think it's more to irk me than anything else, since with his habit of taking thirty minute hot showers, it can't be an aversion to getting clean..)

He's beginning to realize that Santa Claus might not be all real, that his parents can't force him to eat all his vegetables, and that flashing the puppy-dog eyes at Mom will probably get him what he wants.

He wants to be in a rock band and be a scientist and a doctor and help people build things. He wants to grow his hair out and talk about tattoos and guitars and sunglasses and being cool. He loves his dad and his sister and his aunts and his uncles and misses his grandfather terribly. He is his own world.

And we're better - infinitely better - for having him in ours.

Happy Birthday, Cassidy, sweet boy. Happy Birthday, Beau!

preview of the goth years

Almost-five is precocious. Almost-five is independent. And very sure of her choices.

Rosey shot up another clothing size in the last month, so her Fall wardrobe needed new stuff. And as she's almost-five and choosing her own way among the styles and colours of things, she's experimenting. With colours. And styles. And the absence of and additions to frilly-ness.

Last night she decided she wanted to wear her new black top to school today. (Black? Black. With an embroidered design...a heart with a crown on it? Something. In black thread.) I laid out her denim skirt, some white tights and a white hair bow.

So I wasn't prepared for R to hit the breakfast table this morning in her new black top, her black jeans, gray socks and tennies, looking older than she should and without a hair bow in sight.

'No bow, Mama. I'd like ponytails today. Without ribbon.'

Oh, crap, so soon? I'm not done buying the cute stuff yet! I kept my tone light. 'R, are you sure? You look kind of....'

'Grown-up?'

'...dark. I mean....wouldn't you rather wear some colours?'

She considered, her head tipping with the weight of her thoughts. 'Sure.'then left the house dressed in black, her fuchsia backpack and her pink cap breaking it up a bit.


I'm really hoping the school psychologist wasn't in today.

Between Rosey doing her Daria impression and Cass's black eye*, we look like a family on the edge.
Oy.



*What IS it with Cass and black eyes in October? This time he was playing with a friend and twisted at the wrong time.

fly high

Summer ended with a swoosh of wings.

And some very neat vantage points.


School starts tomorrow. And while I'm not freaking out (well, not yet) that both my darlins will be going out on the big yellow taxi to begin new chapters in their growing-up, I am very aware that the house is...well, very quiet tonight.

This was the song for one of my proms, I think.

let's dance in style, lets dance for a while
heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
hoping for the best but expecting the worst
are you going to drop the bomb or not?
let us die young or let us live forever
we don't have the power but we never say never
sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
the music's for the sad men

can you imagine when this race is won
turn our golden faces into the sun
praising our leaders we're getting in tune
the music's played by the madmen

forever young, i want to be forever young
do you really want to live forever, forever and ever

some are like water, some are like the heat
some are a melody and some are the beat
sooner or later they all will be gone
why don't they stay young
it's so hard to get old without a cause
i don't want to perish like a fading horse
youth is like diamonds in the sun
and diamonds are forever
so many adventures couldn't happen today
so many songs we forgot to play
so many dreams are swinging out of the blue
we let them come true

forever young, i want to be forever young
do you really want to live forever


And while the lyrics now seem perhaps a bit - melodramatic? - the music still catches in my throat and gives me shivers, just like it did waaay back in the eighties when I couldn't possibly dream that one day I'd have two kids old enough to go off to school.

she's a big girl now

She didn't flinch. She didn't cry.

The doctor told her to look away and she did, hesitantly, but she stayed stone-still on my lap until both (one on each arm!) bandaids were applied.

My brave girl. She'd do just about anything to get to go to school. Tomorrow we're going to go look at backpacks and pencil cases, lunchboxes and clean white sneakers,

and then?

Then she'll be ready. For school.

colour blind

We went for a drive the other day - ended up in Barrington and Shelburne, two towns in a part of the province I don't visit a lot. They're both lovely, although differences are clear - Barrington (and the surrounding area) is mainly fishing-based, and Shelburne trades on its historical status while trying not to reel from the loss of the Air Force base nearby.

Shelburne Harbour is beautiful. Lots of museums, artisans plying their craft from days gone by, and a general air of stepping back in time.

We rounded the corner (my head full of must shoot that! Want to take a picture there!) and saw it.

Amistad. La Amistad.











And suddenly I was trying to explain to my son what a slave ship was - how it happened, before, but musn't happen again, how this lovely ship reminded us not to let history repeat itself, how people all over the world needed a reminder sometimes that things have not always been so easy.

Cass scrunched up his face, thinking hard. Then, his voice alternately bewildered and outraged: 'They were slaves - because of the colour of their skin? Why?'

I paused, thinking. The very-Afrikaans man aboard the Amistad gave me a small smile.

'I hear that a lot with the younger kids.' he said. 'It gives me hope.'

summertime, summertime

The kids have started swimming lessons at the local pool - Cass is mildly enthusiastic while vowing he will never,uh uh never put his head underwater and Rosey is getting all starry-eyed about her very sweet instructor. (Who would be dishy if he wasn't still or damn-near still in high school.)

Actually, that was from yesterday. Today Cass popped his head under - just like that! - and is now pleased as punch he can do that like a big kid. And of course as soon as he did, she was determined that she could do it too. I'm fairly certain they're both going to sprout fins soon.

The backyard pool is up, and was briefly wonderful and fantabulous and the best thing ever - then we started balancing the pH, and it all went to hell quickly. Rust? Algae? I have no patience, and want it settled NOW. After all, we did the work, right?

I had an ultrasound a few weeks back and now am the proud owner of ovarian cysts. It's a diagnosis I wasn't expecting*, as I haven't had any episodes of blinding pain, but now I'm super attuned to any (almost certainly normal digestive) odd rumbles or twinges, and I don't like it.

School starts in five weeks. FIVE WEEKS! Must begin getting school supplies together!

Anyone have any great girl haircuts they could offer? Rosey-roo's hair is too long, really, and overwhelming her face - but the bob just does NOT suit her. I have pictures where she looks like an extra in a David Bowie video - all that dark hair and heavy angles make her look like she's trying to look Asian. Asian-esque. Asian-ish?

Suggestions?

(And I will mourn her lovely long hair. But she's hot and not enjoying ponytails all the time.)

I wanted to be Meg (from A Wrinkle In Time) when I was growing up. Because she wasn't hugely popular or athletic but still used everything she had with courage.

Now I realize I'm envious of her big attic bedroom too.....

my kingdom for a sleeping porch. Or maybe a hammock in the side yard.




*In a nutshell - and Dad, stop reading this: - menstrual periods with excessively heavy flow (up to 16 days duration) for the last seven months. I've been a treat to live with.

third time's the charm

Rosey bounced up to me, beaming. 'Look.' she breathed, 'Look.'

Tight in her hand, the fingers uncurling, up on her tip-toes, watching her own palm....

barely breathing, hair swinging forward on her shoulder....

And there - there! in her hand was her tooth.


Third time's the charm, Rosey. Thanks for letting me keep one.

and the wheel goes round, round

You learn a lot, working in a public place.

Today, for example, I've had conversations about everything - from the cafeteria is making more wraps for lunch to the weather and isn't-it-a-shame-the-park-grass-will-be-all-ripped-up when the semis hauling the carnival rides sink into the soft ground and the latest potluck get-together news. There's a timelessness to it all, to the time-worn queries and sighings over the weather and the concerns that small-town life bring - and a sweetness I never found in other places I've lived.

There's a comfort in living here, in knowing not only my son will be safe as he rides his bike to his friend's house*, but neighbors along the way will note that he goes by and remark upon it as they drink their tea or hang out their wash or flip on their computers (we're not quite as 50's-ish as immediately appears) and Bear will get queried about it by tomorrow afternoon.

Because my young'uns are part of this community now. Assimilated into the great patch-work of it all, of births and deaths and heartbreaks and tradition, of other people watching my kids grow up, remembering in the back of their minds what my husband was like as a child.


Some of them remember when B rode his bike by himself for the first time too.




*For the first time! All by himself! How did he get so big so fast?

time and tide

The lupins are out, brightening our hearts and roadways.

They look like spiky crown-tops of some forgotten woodland king, peeking out of the long grass. A few years back, Nova S planted lupins all along the roads and highways in a beautification - and quite possibly tourist - project. Aging stock and repeated mowing have destroyed many (they're quite a fragile plant) but there are still enough to make you gasp as you come around a corner and see a field dappled with coloured pointy stalks, swaying in the breeze.

Blues and pinks and purples, everywhere you look for a few weeks each spring.

I spent a very nice afternoon lazing around - Cass was at a party, and I had time to myself - an intoxicating few hours to stroll through the grocery (which is a very different place when you aren't running through the aisles on a time line or shepherding children) go find some things to take photos of, and sit (sit!) at a park, smelling the beach roses. It was heady and wonderful and completely foreign.

And being childless made me realize how different things will be this fall. With both kids in school, I'm going to have time for things.

Time by myself. Time for myself.

Which will be as strange in its own way as having both kids be in school.

Funny how seeing the strange, shaggy flowerheads peering out at me can cause such introspection.

if she could drive you'd think she was a teen

Having a boy first spoiled me completely for wash-and-go. For years, it was look-at-the-clock-and-whoops-we-have-to-leave-in-half-an-hour-is-the-boy's-face-clean?

And off we'd go.

Now we have conditioner. And hair styles. Hair things. Special brushes and bobby pins and pony tail holders and sparkly stuff.

And the shoes need to be just so. 'Are these shoes okay with these shorts and this top?'

She's four. FOUR.

I know this is just the beginning. I know I'm still in for matching outfits and tights and shiny patent shoes and purses and (oh, God) jewelry, for makeup, for color wheels and no-pink-does-NOT-go-with-red.

I just didn't expect it to begin so fast.

Rosey 2, Tooth Fairy, 0

About a year ago Rosey fell going up the stairs and knocked her tooth out. The ensuing drama made me glad we'd had our share of tooth-problems. It had to be all smooth sailing from here on, right?

RIGHT?

*sigh*

One of Rosey's happy things the last few days has been that her tooth is loose. Her first (honestly) loose tooth! It was a BIG DEAL.

Then she ate an apple today. And swallowed her tooth. Again.

*sigh*

The tooth fairy celebrates ALL teeth, Rosey.
Even the ones in your tummy.

Honest.

little girl bigger

Miss Girl is now officially registered and orientated for Primary come September. I'm sure I wasn't the only parent there who filled out the paperwork and smiled at all the teachers with a lump in their throat, either.

(not getting all maudlin and teary...not getting all teary AM NOT)

But it seems a very short time since she was a chunk of black curls and huge smiles.

swanee river

And today while we were all out, enjoying the sun and exploring what havoc the beavers hath wrought (three trees down - big, thick chips as long as my thumb - fierce little buggers, aren't they??) Bear running the chainsaw and rrripping up logs into lengths for firewood and the kids chunking stones into the water and the fool dog dancing on his lead, wanting to simultaneously run full-tilt into the shallows and go find the most ginormous stick he could fit in his jaws -

(you know, the usual spring mayhem)

and a car pulled over and a man asked if he could put his kayak in the water.

B and I have been talking about finding a small boat for in back of the house - my father had (still has, I believe) a collapsable canvas kayak that I remember riding in, cruising on the lake, and I thought being able to paddle around would be a neat way Cass could feel grown-up and independant and free.* Of course the water is only there for a few weeks each spring and fall, but the expanse seems to cry out for someone to enjoy it.

And there he was. And when he was through, he climbed out and asked if my kids would like a try.


And they did.

And they'll always remember that. It was amazing.

And now I'm going to have to get a boat.



*While I could still see him and keep an eye on him, she said in a small voice.

fashionably damaged

Wednesday evening Rosey went to the refrigerator, yanked on the door....and screamed in pain as a full stainless-steel water bottle fell out of the fridge and onto her poor defenseless foot.

After a good fifteen minutes of crying and carrying on, she finally let me look at her foot, which quickly became mytoemytoedonttouchmytoe.

It's not broken. Nor bone-chipped. But red and angry and painful and

(possibly even more upsetting to her)

Rosey is going to lose her toenail. It's blue. Deep blue. And after three days of hobbling on it, the nail is finally giving up and beginning to lift.

The trouble began when I made the mistake of trying to explain. Cuddling her close and adjusting her ice-packed foot slightly, I talked about how her toe is blue because it was bruised under the nail and how in order for the skin to heal, her toenail might come off. I kept my voice low and soothing and smiled a lot.

And she freaked. Dissolved into snot-laden full blown tears. Threw herself tighter into my arms, sobbed and heaved and said 'No' and wanted me to fix it.

Which broke my heart a little, because the ice pack and the big hug? Were about as good as I was going to get.

So I patted and rocked and shushed and rubbed her back and hummed and let her cry - let her settle herself down, let her grab up her blanket and use it to rub her cheek against and

slowly,

slowly,

calm herself.

There were a few snorts and puffs and then....silence. Had she fallen asleep?

I moved very slowly and angled so I could see her face. Her thumb (damn it) was in her mouth, and her tear-stained eyes were wide open. Ookay, not asleep. But calmer!

'Pinth' she mumbled around the thumb.

'Pins? Does your toe hurt, Rosey?' My god, what if it was broken? I've been pooh-poohing Bear when he's wanted to take her in because she was bending it fine and walking on it and....
(full stop) She's fine.

'What, honey?'

There was a schwacking sound as she pulled her thumb out of her mouth.

'My toes should be' deep sniff ' pink, Mama. Not bluuuuuuue.'

She shook her head.

'I don't want blue polish. I only like pink. Can't I just wear pink?

Do I always have to have blue?'

wheelie

And after a little coaching and some last minute advice big-brother-style, this happened today at the fire station:



And after some wobbliness and some hair raising careening stops and a decidedly heart-stopping almost-melding-of-the-body-with-the-firehouse it was decided that maybe, just maybe, a big girl's balance isn't quite up to snuff yet, and the wrench came out again.



B put one training wheel back on, remembering how he learned to balance on two wheels by using a third to build confidence.

She's like a bird with a new wing and as long as this weather holds and she can bike every day? The last training wheel will come off in (we predict) a week.


This summer, we won't be able to catch her.

Fly free, little bird.

pinch hit

We were in the car, the radio was on, and I was idly listening to the "Question Of The Day', which ran something like:

Okay, guys and girls! If there was one person who you would switch teams for, who would it be? Which celebrity would make you play for the opposite team? Do you have a secret girl-crush? Is there a male star that you can't take your eyes off? Call us now!

The first guy that called in blurted something about Vin Diesel, and I was turning his words over in my head
'I'd just get him before my girlfriend could'

and then there was a noise from the backseat and Cass
- holy CRAP, they're in the car! -
said 'Mom? Switching teams? What do they mean?'

and I opened and shut my mouth a few times and totally lied

Baseball, honey. They're talking about baseball.

And he was satisfied and I - well, I felt like a shmuck.
Not very pc at all.

Because even though I feel comfortable talking to my son about almost everything, discussing homosexual experimentation (when we haven't even hit the big What A Penis Is For talk yet) seems too much.

Tonight I need to clean out the pantry. I know, damnit, that the kid came with a manual.

I just need to find it.