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.

Sprinkled

Summer is here. We are two days passed the solstice, the days are longer, and there is the promise of sun. It is sprinkler season. There is no joy like running through water, barefoot on the grass, toes squishing. Bathing suits are optional, but the feet must be bare. The day can be hot, or just lukewarm; so long as the water is colder than the weather the feet will run and the grin will shine.

E is a champion sprinkler runner. He likes to keep to the edges, just teasing, barely getting wet, then turn about and dive headlong into the spray. He is courageous. Eyes squint and cheeks gleam. Body is in constant motion. Laughter and the hiss of the water fill the air, the soundtrack of summer.

He is in his element and the Js are in theirs, reliving the memories of their own slippery summer escapades. All the best fun is to be had with water when the days are long and the grass is not yet burnt and spiky. Three cheers for the humble sprinkler and all the pleasure it brings!

Sympathy please

Nobody likes to be sick. Grown men have been reduced to snivveling toddlers. Even mommies will call for their mommies. But there is nothing worse than seeing a little guy suffering through the coughs and the fevers and the queasy tummies and the dreadful upheaval of last night's supper. 

Poor E. It came on so quick. One night he was racing the halls, playing in the tub, a little hoarse in the throat maybe, but still -- the next minute he's up with a burning forehead and a coal miner's cough and his little body heaving and heaving. Poor lamb. 

He slept all through the next day. When his daddy took the picture above, E perked up and said, "You should take a picture of me throwing up." Only a three-year-old boy would want to keep that memory. 

 

 J's mother always used to tell her to "feed a fever" and so J ensured that her patient got a healthy breakfast when he was up to eating solids.


Cheerios. Breakfast of champions.

And E needed all the cheering he could.

But with a little encouragement from the engine that could...

our boy fueled up and was good to go.


Two weeks later, going on three, he still has the cough. He still wakes up with his eyelashes crusted together. He's getting better at covering his mouth and remembering to ask for a tissue instead of wiping his nose on his sleeve. At least he's sleeping through the night again, so long as he gets to lie next to mom.

Why Daddies are Great

Daddies are great. Especially this one.

This daddy will stay up late making you a lunch so you can sleep in just a little longer. He'll even cut the crusts off your sandwiches, just the way you like them.

This daddy will let you watch cartoons on his iPad while he makes you breakfast, oatmeal with blueberries. He'll let you put on the cinnamon, as much as you like, and give you milk to drink even when you forget to say please.

This daddy will take you to the park and play fantastic made-up games, like Troll and Goon. He will carry you on his shoulders when you're too tired to walk on your own. At home, he will play hours of trains with you, doing all the right voices, and he won't protest if all you want to do is make big pile-ups and derailments.

This daddy will teach you jokes like this one:

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?

Because he was dead!

And he'll still laugh even when he's heard it a hundred thousand times.

This daddy will read to you, night after night, all your favourite stories, even if he really thinks the stories are lame. He will whisper softly in your ear until you fall asleep, but should you wake in the night he will come to you. He will lie down and whisper to you until you're asleep again.

This daddy shows you he loves you, in everything he does, and he remembers to say it too. Especially when there's been anger, or sadness, or tears.

This is our daddy-man. How lucky beyond lucky are we.

Gratitude

Two weekends ago, J and E spent a sunny afternoon at the Moloney-Reber hobby farm out in Sooke. There were new baby ducklings and E got to hold one of them. He was so enchanted that he didn't want to let the duckling go. J was so so enchanted that he took this photo of the moment.

Little hands holding a little feathered body. Little hearts beating with the excitement of something new.

J wasn't there to see this moment in the making -- she was, as she often is these days, at work. But she is grateful to the Aunt and Uncle who invited her boys to share a day at the farm. She is grateful that J took his camera so that she might have this photo now to share with you.

She is learning to remember to be grateful. It's easy to feel tired, cut off, left out and overwhelmed. It's easy to feel that she's taken on too much, given back too little. That she's doing things wrong. That things are falling apart.

Remembering to be grateful is an act of self-preservation. It is a way to shoulder weariness without succumbing to the weight. It is uplifting when a lift is most needed.

J can sit here now feeling great and full, although she is away, for soon she will be home and the night will be warm and light. There is so much to be grateful for.

B is for...

big and beautiful,

belly in bloom

barefoot, brimming and beaming, bouyant,

bliss

B is big brother

(or better yet, baby sister)

a new beginning,

beginning again,

going back to the buggy days,

broken sleep, bleary nights, blue mornings

bawling

B is about balance,

being present, remembering to

breathe

B is a bodacious, busty, body

(however brief)

B is a bellyful of baby

Photograph-E

Self-portrait, Age 3

 Among E's growing interests and burgeoning talents is a love of photography. Here are some of his more unique shots.

Naked-neck chickens

Abstract self-portrait: Shoes

Bathing duck, at the Moloney-Reiber Farm

Shadows of Father and Son

Post-work Mama

Daddy-man

Cutting board close-up

Snackbowl

Prints available upon request. Hey, if Aelita Andre can be called a professional abstract artist, then surely E can too.