Summerlicious

Summer is the season for little boys. Strap on sandals, don your bathers and hit the beach, hit the lake, hit the river. Go where it's sandy and wet. Flop down. Dive in. Dip your toes. Dig. Get dirt under your nails. Bury your legs. Plant your face in the sand and wear a pirate's five o'clock shadow. Run until your legs collapse beneath you. Do a somersault. Lie on your back and look at the clouds. Dream. Pretend you're a dinosaur or sabertooth tiger. Pretend you're the neighbourhood cat. Growl. Hiss. Spit. Purr. Be a crab on all fours travelling sideways. Find the real crabs hidden under barnacled beach rocks. Point out the fighters. Pick up them up. Don't cry if they pinch. Check for bee-hives or lighthouses. Watch the gulls ride the wind, dropping clam shells. Listen for the crack. Watch them feed. Run inside for your own snack. Something cold. Drink with a straw.

Fight sleep when the day winds down.

    Repeat.

Thumb's Up

The Riouxs would like to offer a sneak preview of their newest addition. He (or she) goes by the name of Spiker, courtesy of big brother E. From what they can tell, Spiker's hobbies include turning somersaults and thumb-sucking. Favourite holidays include Halloween, when he/she's scheduled to make his/her grand appearance.



Oh and one other thing. Spiker is a glass half-full kind of person. Just check out the posi-vibes in this shot below. How's that for a pleased-to-meet-you?

Scrabbled Eggs

 On Sunday mornings, the Riouxs believe in putting their feet up. There's no need to rush. Pajamas can be left on. Breakfast can be leisurely. Scrabble can be played and the rules are strictly optional. 

   

E is a master at naming his letters. His favourites are X and Z, the high scorers. Between bites of toast, he baffles his parents with newfangled arrangements that have yet to make an appearance in the Oxford English Dictionary. It's true what they say; language is always expanding.

J is becoming a master at the soft boiled egg, though he'd never admit it. The only secret to getting it right is forgetting how much it matters if you don't. J puts the kettle on for tea, remembering when she used to pour two cups of Fantastico to get their morning started. That was before the move to Sidney, where options for freshly roasted coffee are as weak as Folgers. J takes his tea black, but she likes hers with Almond milk and honey. Some things don't change.

These are golden mornings.



 

Canada Day Parade

It's something special to participate in a parade. There's no doubt about it. Maybe it's the momentary celebrity, or the celebratory spirit of the crowd, or maybe it's just getting to ride in your flashy red electric jeep and have everyone waving and wishing they were you.

That's how E must have felt during his first parade.

Just look at him. He's a symbol of national pride, with his Canadian flag, his maple leaf tattoo (just on his hand mind you, the one on his cheek came off in an instant) and his cardinal red t-shirt. And he's the heart of his Daddy's pride. Even the pre-school he was "marching" with had to have felt lucky to have him in their numbers.

What these photos don't show is the gigantic pirate ship float bearing down on the gaggle of pre-schoolers. Fortunately E kept his anxiety in check, but there were others in his company who were running for their Mommies as the pirates slashed their sabres and shouted Arrrrr in their fiercest voices.

Whoever picked the line-up for this parade must have had a scurvy sense of humour.