Ethan's Jellicle Ball

 Jellicle Cats come out tonight

Jellicle Cats come one come all

The Jellicle moon is shining bright

Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball!

Okay, so it wasn't at night, there was no moon, and most of the Jellicles refused to wear their cat-ear headbands. They were also too timid to wear the blindfold and play pin-the-tail on the cat. There was, however, a trampoline, a parachute, face-painting and about two dozen rubber mice scattered around the room like eggs at Easter. It was, in spite of everything, a most delightful Jellicle Ball. T.S. Eliot would have been proud.

As the parents of a bouncing, boisterous just-turned three-year-old, the Js were also proud as punch and more than a little terrified of what colourful adjective might best match this age-group. Throttling Threes comes to mind. Thunderous also has a nicely accurate ring. But this was E's party and he could throttle and thunder if he wanted to. It took E the better part of the weekend to figure out what it meant to be three. Three meant a party, yes, with goodie-bags and Grandma and a bunch of kids who brought gifts and ate their weight in Pirate Bootie. Three meant a tower of merengues with kitty-cat faces and a candle and a song and a roomfull of adults clapping and laughing. 

Three is not a baby anymore, there's no getting around that. Three means being "a big boy" and being (almost, fingers crossed) potty-trained and wearing underoos and getting to go to preschool in the fall. Three is also the magic number of this little family, we three Rioux, and it is a tightly knit number, one both rounded and sharp. Three is knowing one another's buttons and knowing how to push them. Three is knowing, too, that we are each the only one the others will have. Three is a good, strong, supportive number. Three is a base. It's a good place to be.

Looking forward, looking back

February is all but behind us. It's a short month, even on a leap year, but its fleetness never fails to catch us off guard. Yet here we are, March bearing down on us like a lion, all teeth and snarl.

We are all tired. E has taken to climbing into the big bed in the early hours of morning and announcing that it's time to get up, time for breakfast, time for Thomas. J usually gets up, cow-heavy like Sylvia Plath, plodding downstairs to pour bowls of cereal and put the coffee on. No one plays trains until the coffee is in hand. This morning E tells J she gets to be Fearless Freddie, chasing Hank around the track. No one can beat Hank, big old strong old Yankee Hanky. Freddie doesn't stand a chance.

J has begun entertaining fantasies of getting on a train, taking a trip, who cares where. Spring Break is coming up. There are 5 days of relative freedom. Such possibility. She could take E. She should take E. It's a two-day trip to Jasper from the mainland. Might be a quick turn-around, but the rockies would be beautiful this time of year. All that snow. The only real issue is the dangerously low bank account. Isn't that always the way? At what point do we just say, the hell with it, let's get on that train and take that trip and make that memory? It may happen yet. Depends on what March brings.

When she's not looking forward to the maybes, J looks back on the golden-green moments she and her boys have already shared. This is a good thing to do when the days are dark on both ends and grey through the middle. Keeps her spirits up. Sitting on the top of a hill with her best buddy, her little man, J feels only the promise of the day, the rightness of the moment, the simplicity of being beside someone you love. This is the gift we all carry, the one we share without knowing it. You next to me. Here.

Little Boy

Little boy

don't grow -- stay small

and always running

The Face of February

Can any of you believe he will be three this month? This week?