A Year In Review: Part Three

Well hello there, gentle reader. Ready to pick up where we left off?

 By June, it was already feeling like summer. A big part of that was due to the teacher strike, of which J was very much a part. Thankfully, most days the weather was balmy. Often E came with her to walk the lines. He caught bees in mason jars, and learned how to set them free without getting stung. He rode his runbike and waved at passersby whether they honked or not. He asked good questions about why the government and the teachers were fighting, and learned that the personal is inevitably political. He taught a trio of teachers how to play Jacks and gave them a run for their money, if only they'd been making any.

As June dragged into July, M grew blonder and yet somehow remained adorably bald. His dimple deepened. Ever eager to fill his daddy's shoes, he still napped reliably on afternoon walks with his Grandpa. Not yet three, he was still (and maybe always will be) the baby of the family.

 E's interest in animals grew with the length of each day. He befriended the geese of Roberts Bay, the bird sanctuary at the end of our street, by tossing them handfuls of kelp. He collected snails on his morning walks. He became fascinated by penguins, the mascot of his school. He could explain the difference in size and eating habits of resident and transient orcas.

He told his parents he would be a marine biologist and study whales when he grew up. J had the feeling he didn't seem far from either.

It felt like the last summer they would be little. The last summer they would still sit in the grass and be dwarfed by its height. By September, M would begin preschool, and before long (if the government saw fit) E would begin first grade. J wanted to find a secret pocket in time where she could tuck her babies just as they were, keep them hidden and safe from the world.

 Change has folds of sweetness beneath its salty flavours, and that summer they lingered long and slow. E's bangs grew passed his eyebrows and his beauty became brighter. Winter's child kissed by midsummer's light.

And M. Little lamb-child. All wide-eyes and watching.

They are always perfect, these boys, every moment they're in.  

A Year in Review: Part Two

Welcome back! We are pleased to present part two of our Rioux year in review. Now where did we leave you?

May was a bright and busy month. It started with E learning about bike safety at school. Note the odd pairing of an adult helmet and a toddler's bike, complete with training wheels. Something about this picture doesn't add up. Perhaps E should ask Santa for a proper bike, or a growth spurt.

We wore ourselves out this month. J was in a play -- Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad -- in which she narrated a retelling of The Odyssey from beyond the grave. It was a ghostly good time, and the critics thought so too.


 But her boys were happy to have her home nights and weekends once again. So happy that they "volunteered" to help her strike the set when the run was over. What a lovely gesture for mother's day, and a great way to spend J's birthday. She must remember to thank them, again. Other notable events this month included the onset of the teacher's strike, which saw rotating job action across the province and a nasty wage cut from the oh-so-supportive BC Liberals. If you suspect a dash of sarcasm behind that statement, you are correct. The personal is political, after all.

M and E didn't let it get them down. They kept their regular routine of running their parents ragged, then crashing like kittens themselves (as seen below).

This year E experienced firsthand the truth in the saying, "All I really need to know I learned in Kindergarten." E learned...

• When you go out in the world, hold hands and stick together. 
• It's best to leave your toys at home.
• Share classroom supplies, including toys, with all the other children. 
• It's not okay to take things that don't belong to you, even if you REALLY like them. 
• When you do something wrong, you have to make it right. 
• When you make things right with another person, you will be forgiven.
• Pushing your hand in another kid's face will not make you friends -- you'll just end up getting bitten. 
• Some kids learn faster than others.

• Rocks are sharp, but barnacles are sharper. 
• Sculpins are slippery little devils. 
• Catching fish is great fun, but they need to be set free. 
• There are 2 vowels in the name: E-T-H-A-N
• There are 3 vowels in the name: R-I-O-U-X
• Reading gets easier with practice. 
• Practice gets easier when you're having fun. 
• Sharing what you've learned with others brings you closer together.
• When you hurt somebody, say you're sorry. 
• When you say you're sorry, MEAN it. 
• We were all babies once. 
• We all need lots and lots of love.
• We all have lots and lots of love to give. 
• Little brothers look up to their big brothers, especially when big brothers read to little brothers while they're sitting on the pot. 

And the Js learned a few things too. They learned that being a family is a complicated business. They learned that being married is more complicated still. But even through the complications of family, marriage, and life as they know it, the Js made time to celebrate the years they've spent together. Traditionally, the eighth wedding anniversary is celebrated with a gift of pottery. The Js toasted their health and happiness with handcrafted goblets on loan from a generous friend. Salut!

A Year In Review: Part One

Let's stroll back a ways, shall we? All the way back to the beginning of the year. 2014 was newly unwrapped, still shiny and clean. Resolutions were still intact. All was well with the world.

The Rioux boys were still 5 and 2, M was still blondish-bald, and recess was still E's favourite part of kindergarten. Some things never change. Dan's Market, for instance, is still our go-to for farm-fresh groceries; the boys never tire of feeding the goats while we shop.

In February, E turned 6 and we celebrated with an indoor climbing  party. Six raucous boys and girls harnessed-up and scaled the walls, slid down tunnels and scarfed birthday cake. It was one for the memory books.   

By March, E had only grew cuter, and while M's hair had yet to grow any longer, his appetite had  grown impressive.  His appetite for noodles was and remains surpassed only by his love of reading. We are all thankful his Grandpa has such patience for rereading books, particularly those, such as Hug featured below, which have fewer than five words.  

April is by no means too soon for ice cream and building castles in the sand. 

 

The Riouxs believe in making the most of any season.  

And what did the remainder of the year have in store for them? Well, here's a sneak preview of A Year in Review: Part Two!

Late Nights, Low Lights

No one sleeps well when there's a sick kid in the house. Certainly not the brother who's bothered by the tossing and turning, the discomfort beneath the shared covers. But he's soon spared his sleeplessness when the blanket-wrangler hops his bunk to climb in with his parents.

No mother can sleep when her baby is coughing or crying, feverishly hot but no fever according to the thermometer. Throat so raw she wonders how he can continue to protest. We're up for water, we're down for the count. Low rumbling snores like toy trucks rolling over gravel.

And even when his little sleeping body has finally fallen still, when all seems quiet once more, she is awake. Mistrustful, perhaps, of the early morning calm, or merely wired from the last hour's unrest. Morning will come before she is ready, and with it the day's demands. Sleep is an errant knave.

Would The Real Mr.Rioux Please Stand Up?

 

Proof that it wasn't the mailman. When E saw this picture of his daddy at age 6, he thought he was looking at himself. It's a good thing cuteness runs in the family.

This Little Boy, He Turns Three

 

Good things happen in threes. This little face, still chubby, turns three tomorrow. This same smile, a little toothier now, is three years old. This little boy, he turns three. Three times as lovely, three times as cute, three times as 

J can still remember the night before his birth. Remembrance Day had come and gone. She'd been at the hospital -- yes, doctor, he's still in there -- and she'd paced the spacious mall-ways, killing time, squinting at  the pre-Christmas tinsled glare, wondering when and where and how long it would be before this little someone made his/her presence known. Two weeks overdue and time had all but stopped. Time was endless and all encompassing. Time was this belly, this breath, this unborn babe. And then, in the dark of the sleep-torn night, he stirred. Everyone was wakened. E was bundled up and out of bed, mumbling of deep-sea dreams, and the whole Rioux famille piled into the van. One stop at the grandparents to drop off the soon-to-be big brother, and on to the hospital. 

J sang the song her midwife's daughter had taught her: I am an open bamboo, open up and let my babe come through. She sang as they sped along the bare highway, mouthed the words as they pulled into the parking lot, heard the echo in her head as they waltzed in the corridor, the midwife waiting for the right moment to make her presence known. And then, in a matter of hours and no small effort he was there; M had arrived.  

And here we are, three years later. Our littlest is no longer so little. He goes to preschool, twice a week. He is the prince in his ballet class. He knows the Teenaged-Mutant-Ninja Turtles by name. He requests readings from his favourite collection by Dennis Lee: Alligator Pie, Alligator Pie, If I don't get some, I think I'm gonna die...

Happy Birthday, three times over, to the baby we welcomed, the boy we love and hold, here and now, and the wonderful person we see growing each day. 

xoxoxo

 

Upside Down

Standing on one’s head, for any period of time, is a cultural experiment. It starts with a willingness to look at the world from a different perspective. That willingness turns into a decision, and this is the first step. The second step involves asking the question, “How do I go about this?” A little assessment of the environment is required, a little playful exploration. Where will I place my head? Is there a cushion or a folded blanket I can use to soften the experience? It may be that there are props, little comforts that can ease the body into the inversion. A wall, for instance, could serve to support the legs. But props and comforts will only take you so far. At some point, you have to ready yourself to go upside down. Children are much more adept at this. They have less experience with the embarrassment, or pain, of falling over. Watch them in the playground dangling from monkey bars, or from the branches of a tree. Literal and abstract shifts in perspective are a natural part of growing up. You may have overhead a child on the bus with her mother, as another example, asking why the man sitting across from them has such dark skin. Noticing difference does not pose any challenge to the young mind. It is not an uncomfortable thing to flip one’s worldview when one is used to relatively rapid change. A loose tooth one day, a gap in your smile the next; shoes that fit on Monday do not fit by the end of the week. It is when a person gets used to a certain degree of stability, the illusion of have reached a fixed point in life, that it gets harder to see things with fresh eyes. That is why it is worth your while to spend some time standing on your head.

It will be awkward at first. It may take a few tries before your legs stay up and your torso stops wobbling. Be gentle with yourself. What you discover will be worth the effort.

When There's Time To Reflect

She has time now. The school year is all but done. Her last day came unexpectedly when the teachers' union announced a full scale strike. She crammed what she could into the boot of her car and the next day she walked the picket line.

Walking is meditative, especially when it is back and forth along a straight grassy line, the edge of a sidewalk. One foot after the other, sometimes barefoot. The sun plays the edges of the shadows. The sky is a bold-faced blue freckled with clouds. Thoughts drift in and through.

She considers what it means to end the year without having said goodbye to her students. She probes her own feelings, pokes at soft edges, wonders if there is more sadness than regret. Could she have done more? It doesn't matter. She will not be coming back. Not to this school, perhaps not to any classroom. She is moving on. This is her unceremonious graduation. She'll be attending university in the fall, pursuing her masters (again). When they instilled in her the value of lifelong learning, did they realize she would quit the job to become a student herself?

Now she is on bed rest, another form of meditation, this one far more difficult to find beauty in. She is recovering from the surgical removal of an unwanted piece of flesh. This convalescence is not unlike the experience of waking up the day after her first labour, but without the beautiful new baby to have made the aches worthwhile. She wonders if she should -- if she's allowed to shower. She has the time.

She looks around the room knowing that she must accept, for now, its clutter. She cannot do laundry, or vacuum, or rearrange shelves and closets. No strenuous activity. No pulling stitches. Just lie here. Just be.

She flips through photos and marvels at the moments of the year. E and M, growing into proper boys; taking swimming lessons and winning sunglasses at the Sidney Elementary Spring Fling; birdwatching on Sundays with Grandpa and Daddy-man, strolling through daisies nearly the height of that little blonde head; Friday dates, just Mommy and E, at the Love Cafe. Q ~ What will you have? A ~ An "I am Blossomed" smoothie to share, 'cause it tastes like banana bread.

And when she looks back, every day was a Friday, with an infinite weekend spreading out before it, all smiles.

Happy Mother's Day

Pure love, and a lot of laundry. That's what being a mom is all about. 

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers and babes, of all shapes and sizes. 

Gratitude

It doesn't have to be about Thanksgiving, although these pictures are. It isn't exclusive to autumn, or to sharing a meal or exchanging kind words, though sitting down to a table spread with harvest colours and savoury flavours does inspire a grateful appetite. Am I making your mouth water for sage stuffing or pumpkin pie? Only five months to go, my friends. Soon enough. 

She is grateful for the food she shares, on a daily basis,  and for the family with whom she shares it; yes it might well go without saying. She is grateful for the healthy faces, hearts and bodies of her children. She is grateful when they clean their plates without complaining. She is grateful when they climb into their bed without tears. She is never more grateful for the swelling silence that accompanies her away from their softly sleeping bodies, toward her own bed and its willingness to receive her.

All poetry aside, she is grateful she is not doing this alone. Any of this. The meals, the care of the boys, the bedtime routines, the building of this home, this life. She is grateful that what happened last fall did not undo her, that there was a recovery. She is grateful that she made the choice to put them above herself, to believe in the relationship that holds it all together as something requiring as much faith, love, nurturing and support as any of the individuals beneath its boughs. For all of this, the second, third, fourth and fifteenth chances, she is grateful. 

Since September

This was only just barely and not quite a year ago. 

The tail end of summer dragged its weary path into fall, and that saw the start of a new year for E. Still chubby-cheeked and baby-toothed, still wearing the bamboo boxer shorts his mama bought for him when he was two -- and won't she be in trouble for telling -- he traded his preschool pack for a big-kid's back-pack, a new haircut, and a whole new school. 

He carried the sign that was shipped from New York and penned by his daddy's mommy, in likely the same rounded-letters she used for his sign so long ago now it would seem -- and posed for this photo on his First Big Day:

At home, he was the guest of honour at the Kindergarten-is-going-to-be-a-piece-of-cake party. And there was cake, and in many different pieces, but the one requested by E was the fire-breathing scorpion cake, which his mama was happy to make -- probably because it reminded her that he was still such a little guy, still just her own bug-loving boy. 

But not for long, or so they say. One baby step for E is a big step for his mama, and he keeps going, keeps climbing and reaching and before any of us can say look out he'll be all grown. But she's heard this one before: it goes by so fast. And maybe that's true. But for this breath, and the next, he will be just as he is. Just right. 

Feed Your Soul

When her babies were born, she became devout. She knelt to change diapers, bowed over cribs in the stillness of night, pressed lips against cheeks and brows so soft she could have wept, and often she did. 

She traded sleep for lying in wait, eyes closed but ears ever open for the sound of stirring, squeaking, for the onset of tears that would mean stumbling out of bed and pacing, pacing, so many countless hours of pacing, until the little head nodded to sleep once more. Sleep for the babes, but not for her. 

She traded pleasure books for parenting books, silk dresses for snot-smeared sleeves, make-up for making up after tiffs and tantrums and tidal waves of post-partum tears. She lost herself and found herself, learned to mother, learned to let go, and let go again, and again. 

There is a point at which every mother must reclaim what she has let go. 

Looking back, other mothers told her, I would have taken more time for myself. I gave up so much for my children. I would have carved out space to feed my soul. 

Yet others will remind her of quickly these years fly, how they're only little for such a little while --blink and you'll miss it -- as if to justify putting her own life on hold to capture every moment of theirs. 

This is not how time works. It is not how memory works. One life cannot stop to preserve the memory of another. 

So, bravely she goes where few mothers have the will to go without the deadweight of guilt dogging their footsteps. Lightly she steps onto the stage, dresses herself in ancient gowns and breathes life into another's body. Yes, she is away from her boys. Yes, she misses them, and they miss her. Yes, these late nights are taking their toll. But oh hell yes she is feeding her soul. 

A Day in the Life

 

M is the kind of kid who's happy in his routines. He's only two -- though he'll tell you he's two and a half, and he'd be right -- but he enjoys a cup of coffee in the morning with his mom and dad. For those of you who are worried drinking coffee will stunt his growth, the writer would like to invite you to measure his parents. For those who are conditioned to regard what they read with a healthy dose of scepticism, you're right in assuming the coffee is M's special decaffeinated brew: ground chicory, figs, malted barley and acorns. He has his own M-sized mug and all. He likes his coffee and his kitsch, like a true Rioux.

Like his mom, he enjoys his baths. Morning baths, mid-day baths, meltdown baths. The occasion doesn't really matter. He'll take his bath with bubbles, or without, but he has his favourite companions: playmobil Santa, the handless Spartan, the ferry boat, the Dunkleosteus. You know. The usual suspects. For the record, his mom prefers to bathe alone.

M likes to help in the kitchen. He's good at chopping herbs and checking for quality control. He's not afraid to let it be known if something falls below his standards of satisfaction. Too sour = frown. Too juicy = frown. Camera too close to face = frown and flail of fist. 

At the end of any day, M likes to rest on his favourite pillow: Mommy's chest. He is a contended little chap. A palm tucked under the neck-line goes a long way to keeping him so. 

A Few of E's Favourite Things

1. Coffee-shop dates, black-forest cupcakes and maraschino cherries

2. Building cardboard box dragons and riding double with his born-to-be-wild dad

3. Being king of the castle (look out, you dirty rascals)

4. Impersonating an All Blacks fan and waving a flag to prove it

{ Okay, so that last one isn't quite a favourite, but it did make for a memorable day when E's kindergarten class represented New Zealand in their school Olympics. }