All Things October

October is the month of Rioux. There may only be one full moon, but this family will take every opportunity to howl. They will throw back their heads and make their mouths as round as pumpkins. They will sing like children of the night.

At this very moment, as J types, her industrious husband is building the costume he will wear in three night's time. What is it, you ask? Ah, there will be no sneak previews. You must wait and see, trusting that the Riouxs will not disappoint. As she types, her babes are asleep upstairs in their beds, dreaming of pumpkin patches and candy corn. E is practicing his zombie moan, his somnambulant shuffle. As she types, no fewer than five jack'o'lanterns sit patiently on the front deck. They have already been lit. You can call it a test run. You can call it too excited to wait.

My One and Only

M turns one tomorrow.

It cannot have been a year and yet it has and he will be a year oh my can it be? Grammar fails me. Punctuation is beyond me. I have only poetry and a mother's long sigh for the last of her babies becoming a walking, babbling, toddling boy, a downy-headed five-toothed miniature version of his big brother with his mother's eyes and his daddy's devilish grin.

Yesterday we held the party. Four a.m. seemed a good hour to rise and bake cupcakes, string garlands of dry leaves as decorations, and ready the house for our guests. We managed to pack a good thirty people into our little town home. The place felt cosy and warm, as it should on a little boy's first birthday. We felt surrounded by love, and so we were.

Tomorrow he will be one. I am still in shock. Aren't you?

Halloween Should Be a Holiday

Don't you agree?

Shouldn't we all be treated to a little more time to prep our faces, carve our Jacks, and sort our sweet loot?

The Riouxs are starting a petition, here and now, to honour All Hallow's Eve with an official day of resting in peace. We have the support of King Kong and the zombie hoards. We're setting out door to door, pleading our case and promoting our cause.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Good Times

Grandpa Gord gave us
Good times when he left Gimli
Not that long ago

And yet it seems so
Many more moons than months now
Summer is all spent

Water guns empty
Swimming holes too cold for toes
To wade - wait - wade in

Maybe next summer
It will be our turn to turn
Around and visit you

September's Swan Song

The Riouxs love fall. We are all autumn babies, regardless of the calendar months in which we were born. Fall is rich in colour and flavour, all rusty orange and apple crunch. Fall is the Saanich Fair with its sweet yellow corn, its stomach turning rides, its dusty barns. Fall is the start of school, preschool for E, his last before the gates of grade school open and usher him through. J returns after a year of trying to forget. Fall is finding where we hid last year's scarves and sweaters, only to shed them when the sun beats out summer's final sweaty drumroll. Fall is when we find ourselves again, happy to be home, to be at rest, Rioux ever after.

Little One-Tooth

Well, that's how we used to know him. M's first tooth came in when he turned eight months old. Top left, sharp and pretty. A perfect egg tooth. The kind old sailors use to open their cans of spinach. The kind that flashes when old witchy women throw back their heads and cackle. M cut his next three teeth all within a fortnight of the first one and the whole Rioux family felt his pain. He bit his daddy's cheek and broke the skin. We won't even mention what he did to his mommy's nipples. Ironically, his big brother remains unscathed. Perhaps M is waiting for his eye teeth so his revenge for all those brotherly bruisings can be so much sweeter.

Sleep My Beauties

When they sleep they are so beautiful that all memories of the day's struggles, the week's grief, the month's trials, slip so easily away. I forget what needs to be forgotten and remember where I am, how briefly I will be here. Again and again I find myself falling in love with these sleeping bodies, their perfect round heads, their innocent mouths. Again and again I stand over them in quiet awe, loving them, realizing how grateful I am to be this very mother.

Too Cool For School

Yeah, these kids are cool. They wear sunglasses indoors and eat sandwiches with the crusts cut off. That's cool. They kick back in vintage Osh Kosh B'Gosh and hide cheeky smiles behind chubby fingers. Cool, cool, cool. They mix cool potions and make swamp lands for dino toys to leave their tracks in. They lick icy cool Popsicles and dip their heels into the pools in the backyards of their truly cool friends. They sprinkle cool on their cereal and eat it for breakfast.

Moments to Live By

It's July, but it's only barely summer. Mornings can be cloudy, afternoons uncomfortably hot. It goes to show you never can tell what the day will hold. The Riouxs have a saying: When life blows you raspberries, pop them in your mouth. Or put them in your drink and propose a toast to the sweetness of having someone to clink your glass with. If they're sour, squish up your face and reach for another off the bush. Hold the ripe ones on your tongue.

Pillow Fights

How do you handle getting up on the wrong side of the bed? Take the bed down with you. Strip the sheets. Pounce on the pillows. Claw the comforter. Slam the shams and undo the duvet. Bull-dive the blankets. Headlock the headboard. Mash the mattress. Let the goose feathers fly.

Joys of June

This is the month when summer begins to tease. The days stretch longer, as do our shadows. Only the weekends seem to get shorter. The Riouxs do their best to jam pack their days off with mini adventures -- E on his bike, M laughing in the baby swing at the park, Daddy-man building bow and arrows for his little archer, teaching him how to set up a shot. Learning when not to shoot will take more time, more patience.

M is crawling on all fours now, no more soldier-in-the-trenches, no more eager inch-worm. Cat food is no longer safe on the floor. As if crawling weren't accomplishment enough, this little babe is pulling himself to stand and cruising the furniture. He wants to catch his big brother, but no one can match E in a race (though he's always up for the challenge).

Preschool is over for the year. E painted boots and planted flowers in them for his teachers. If he could have planted them a garden he would have, and they would have deserved it.

Days are lazier now. At least, that is, we move at a lazier pace. Or perhaps we simply long to be lazier, it depends on which Rioux you ask and at which time of day. As J types, the light has grown dim around her. The house is filled with the quiet of sleep. She should join in, she knows, but her man is up typing too, working his writing muscle.

So much for laziness, it would seem. Maybe on the weekend.

Wild Thing

Have you ever been a wild thing? Ever growled so fiercely that the back of your throat burns raw? Ever bared claws and gnashed teeth and rolled your terrible yellow eyes?

J has.

And E has.

And M probably will. Whenever he gets teeth, that is.

When E is wild, it can be scary. If you're his cousin and he's coming at you with a pointy stick, that's scary. If you're that poor girl at preschool who didn't see the shove coming until it knocked her off her pretty pink stocking feet, that's scary too. If you're M, all of six months in this world and literally unable to get his body out of the way before E is on him, well...you get the picture. 

Here's the part we don't often see: E is scared too. Big time. 

J learned that tonight. She lost her cool when E became wild and instead of sending him to his room without any supper, she threatened to eat him up. She almost did. Poor E. He hid behind the shield of his laundry hamper until he felt strong enough, settled enough to hear her apology and hold her outstretched hand. J felt like a bully and a beast, but she did her best to make it right. She cuddled both her babies, read them stories and sang them songs until they both, ever so magically, drifted safely and soundly off to sleep. And here she is now, typing. Wondering if she is the last (for she knows she's not the first) to wish she were better, to realize how much power there is in parenting, and to be humbled by the reminder that we're still human, still frail, still and always learning how to be in this wild world. 

Bumming About

There are a shortage of cute bums in the world. The Riouxs are doing their part to add a little curve and a little plump and a bit of pinch. Good things come in rounds and pinks and oh so cheeky.

Wouldn't you bask in the buck if you had a butt this cute? 

The Boy's Got Sass

Truly, who else could wear a pipe cleaner hat, Risky Business shades and a laundry hamper shield with such style? E is a boy of much sass, and (though this picture doesn't show it) a rather cute derriere. 

Gardener For Hire

He will:

~ Pull weeds up by the roots. He knows the difference between "mysterious white flowers" and white narcissus, though he may eat the mysterious white ones and tell you they're spicy.

~ Haul dirt in a barrow. The boy is strong because he eats his kale. Watch out, Popeye. 

~ Transplant raspberries, all the while avoiding getting pricked by thorns. He will keep you safe too.

~ Rake. And rake and rake and rake. 

~ Correctly identify rhodo bushes and tell you how beautiful they are when they're in bloom. 

~ Rescue worms from murky puddles. 

~ Hold the shovel. He will hold the shovel. 

~ Ask you to tell him the story of That Darn Cat getting cut by dry grass. You will have to make this one up.

~ Steal your heart and sow your garden with seeds of youthful imaginings. You will feel four-years-old and free when you discover each tiny white shoot.

Where Have We Been?

Where have we been?

Away from the computer, truth be told. We've been riding our trike to preschool and back. We've been rocking on all fours, figuring out how to crawl (though not quite, thankfully not quite yet). We've been in the garden, planting kale that came in the mail, and spinach and radishes and baby carrots oh so sweet. We've been picnicking in the park and playing zombie tag in our friends' backyard. We've been watching our babies grow and wondering when exactly our brand new boy turned into a pear slurping, yam squishing, bright-eyed babbler. We've been big brothering and blowing the seeds off the stalks of dandelions. It's spring and the Rioux Famille have been having a good time.

If you drop by in the morning you will find E curled up on the couch, still in his nightshirt, watching a Kipper cartoon and savouring his vitamins. You will find M in his highchair and J sitting opposite, proffering a spoonful of something sweet. J is in his work clothes, wishing he didn't have to leave, cup of coffee still steaming in his hand. If you drop by mid-afternoon you'll find us snipping herbs to season barley salad -- E has graduated to scissors that really do cut, watch your fingers -- or snipping up old copies of National Geographic. J will take a break to nurse M while E takes the camera and captures moments so perfect you you'll want to stay in them forever.

M will be on the floor stretching for the plastic cup that's just out of reach. You will be tempted to roll it towards him, but the real pleasure is in watching him stretch and scoot. He's so close now, so close. J is torn between encouragement and wishing he'd stay small, cup out of reach, just a little bit longer.

Drop by as the sun is dipping low and you'll find the boys in the bath wearing bubble beards and screaming bloody murder if soap gets in their eyes. J is at the ready with a towel freshly pulled from the dryer as Grandma Susie taught him to do. Then its pyjamity time, three stories for E and a kiss from mom to last until morning.

Don't drop by in the middle of the night. Don't even call. The bed is full, the blankets barely cover us all. The cat knows not to bother us. We don't want to stir until the clock reads six o'clock. We don't often get our way. But when you have these two beside you when you wake it's not so hard to pull yourself out of sleep and begin it all again, so grateful for yet another day.

Hot Yoga is Making Me a Better Mom

It's true and I can tell you why.

Firstly, it's hard. I struggle, and not just with the heat or the way my tummy looks compared with the sixteen-year-old in the bikini beside me. (Who am I kidding? She's sixty, but she still looks better than I do.) My body actually trembles as I attempt to hold my balance and my breakfast, to place my leg just so without falling over, to hold my head up and relax my throat. To smile. And when I catch myself struggling, I think of M, just shy of four months, struggling to hold his head up, bracing himself with his chubby little arms, spitting up milk in the effort. I think of my baby and I am flooded with empathy. I feel new and old all at once. I want to go home and hold him. I too want to be held.

But the hard part passes, as it always does, and I am gifted with a moment's relaxation. I sink into this moment. I love the stillness. My body is all too ready to let go. Not so my mind. She keeps whirring, unfurling new ideas, sudden inspirations, quiet discoveries. For example, I realize (or remember) that my physical struggles are fleeting. I don't want to bend, I can't bend, I can't believe I'm bending, and then it's over. The discomfort, the hard breathing, the lack of faith in myself, it all fades. I remember my labours, how I survived each without giving up and what tremendous rewards I reaped. My beautiful children. A new respect for my body and what it can do for me when I listen.

These are not new lessons, but I need them again. I need to remember this when I am in the midst of a full-blown battle with E. This anger, this hatred, this guilt, this sadness will pass. He is only four. If I'm still learning, consider how far he has yet to come. Remember to have faith in him. Retreat and return to him. Rediscover him and fall in love again and again.

Year of the Dragon

It was J's idea, really. Their boy was turning four and Team Rioux had to celebrate in style. Should they book the skating rink? The aquarium? Go zip-lining at Adrena Line? Or should they play it old-school and plan the party at home?

J agreed that they could save money and put their creative energy to work planning a theme party, and since it is the year of the dragon (and E's favourite movie of the moment happens to be How to Train Your Dragon) that's the theme they went with. They would give the kids dragon tattoos (maybe the parents too). They'd cut up half a dozen cardboard shields and set up a craft station to decorate them. Each kid could choose their official knight name: Sir Ethan the Brave, Sir Odin the True of Heart.  

J made a gluten-free cake with sugar-free icing and it still tasted good. She even did it with a diaper-free baby in one arm. (For the record, most of these posts are typed with said bare-bottomed babe in arms.)

Not to be outdone, J rolled pinecones in glitter to make a clutch of sparkling dragon's eggs. 

He then hid them about the yard. When each kid had a shield, they were led outside by J's trusty deputy (coincidentally another J, though not of clan Rioux) and instructed to find the eggs and pile them in the sandbox; this collaborative effort would then summon the dragon.

The young knights put their hearts into the search. 

Sure enough, every egg was accounted for and deputy J handed out the cardboard swords just in time. The blue beast made his appearance at the gate and the little ones charged!  

The victorious knights returned indoors to sing, eat, and be merry. 

Perhaps for M's first birthday we'll do a wizard-themed party.