A whisker’s difference

Saturday was a pirate birthday party for one of the boys in Tom’s class. Very exciting.  We got the boy a big book on all things pirate, wrapped it with pirate paper and put together a pirate costume for Thomas. A pair of black pants that were about to die anyway were sacrificed to the cause and cut into a pair of raggedy pirate-pants adorned with a sash (aka, one of Jane’s scarves). A simple white shirt for the top, and then a floppy tri-corn hat and cutless (post Halloween sales are awesome) were added to the mix.  Last but not least, a pirate needs facial hair. Tom doesn’t like face paint, so I decided to go with a thin layer of vasoline and coffee grounds.  Que drama.  He hated the stubble...

The saddest little pirate in town.

At one point Thomas was prepared to give me his pirate hat, pirate sword and even his piece of the birthday cake if he could wash off the stubble. I picked him up and carried him to the car. On the way to the party we agreed that if no other child had stubble or any of them laughed at his that we would wash it off.  Predictably, almost every boy had some kind of beard or mustache and Thomas had forgotten all about his previously world-ending stubble within two minutes of walking in the door.

It was also a great party.  The kids started by making pirate treasure boxes and personal pirate flags, but the coolest thing was definitely the professional pirate and his accompanying witch. They led the kids on a treasure hunt, and many associated games, through the whole of the backyard. Lots of fun.  Initially Tom was very suspicious of them, but he finally got over it and joined in. Fair enough, I rather like the idea that he is distrustful of pirates, witches and actors.

After the treasure had been found it was time for pizza and an ice cream birthday cake and finally, a treasure chest piñata.  Every kid took two turns, three swings each whacking it, but of course in the end it was up to the daddy to actually break the bloody thin open. A few of the kids gave it good and proper whacks, but there were also a lot of very light wrist-flicks, for which I blame Star Wars and lightsabres. There is no way a proper pirate would fight that way.

The triumphant return of Treacherous Thomas!

Helicopters of Happiness

Our back deck is covered with these, and it makes me happy. It’s a seedpod from a maple tree (penny included for scale), but the syrup connection is not what brings a smile to my face. It's the memories. When you fling such a seedpod into the air it floats down with a gentle spiraling motion. When I was a child growing up in the small town of Ely Iowa, we had a maple tree in our yard and I used to love playing with the helicopters. Over the years I must have spent hours looking for the best ones judged by perfection of form, but mostly by how slowly and gracefully they spiraled their way back to earth after being tossed skyward.  And when the quest for perfection lost its appeal, quantity has a quality all its own.  I distinctly recall gather up bags of these seed pods to dump en-masse off the edge of the nearby railway bridge.  That was big fun for a small kid in a preX-box, tiny town Iowa.

That bridge was a treasure in its own right. The occasional train would pass through, often leaving behind a searing hot flattened penny that some child had left on the tracks.  Standing underneath the bridge while a train thundered overhead was also a popular event. The bridge even spanned a wide, shallow creek that provided great entertainment and relief in the hot and humid summer months. 

These days, I have the pleasure of introducing the kids to the joy of nature’s helicopters.  It just so happens that there is a maple tree right next to the bridges at the end of our street. Fancy that.

Another milestone for Thomas

Before the wheels came off.

Last year, Thomas took a tumble off his bike and could not be coaxed back onto it for anything. This year has been better. Yesterday Thomas finished his dinner and declared that he wanted to ride his bike. So I grabbed a handful mail that needed to go into the local letter box and we headed out the door.  Lillian was nowhere near finished eating and stayed home with mommy.

After posting the letters we decided to head home through the park that runs parallel to the river.  It has a bike lane and lots of flatish soft grassy areas, which is when it got interesting. With almost no complaints from Thomas I took the training wheels off and gave him a push out onto the soft grass.  He went for about 10 meters and then fell over. And then we did it again, and again - almost entirely without complaint.  Eventually I brought him back onto the bike path, gave him a push, and quickly found myself running to try and keep up with him (yes, welcome to the rest of my life).

 He still doesn’t get more than 15 - 20 meters before spiraling out of control, but this year at least he is keen to keep trying. Oh what a difference a year makes.

Spring is GLORIOUS.

After a rather long and drawn out winter, spring is well and truly upon us.  With anticipation heightened by the severity of the Canadian Winter, it is hard to overstate how much people around here embrace the change. And it’s not just people, the environment itself seems over-invigorated. The trees in the neighborhood and local parks exploded and are awash with blossoms. The air carries a powerful mix of fresh cut grass and flowers (with the odd wiff of mulch thrown in for variety). Half the population is wearing shorts and short skirts, while the other half has accidents and whiplash. Australia’s two seasons - ‘on fire’ and ‘under water’ - are simply no match for the explosion of greenery and life on display around here at the moment. Glorious I tell you.

Jane's work, and quite a contrast to my Halloween window boxes.

Spring means frocks, hats and freezy-pops!

Spring means new swimmers and flowers, lots of flowers.