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.

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.