Siding and Entertainment

So I haven't been around for awhile. Chalk it up to taking a course, running a school show, some UNICEF stuff I'm doing, teaching a split class, oh--and the parenting thing. But today I'm home with the Spills, whose nose is doing its best impression of a faucet turned on to its fullest.

Until a few minutes ago, all was going well. We'd drawn a picture of scary things, written and illustrated the first page of a Sesame Street book, created a recipe for "Cinnamon Abia," and only been scratched nineteen times by our new kitten, Lauchlin Jean.

Then came the doorbell.

Turns out my hubby had booked these guys to put siding on the front of the house. I vaguely remembered seeing some receipt of the quote he'd been given weeks ago. So today they decided to show up, without a phone call. Luckily I was at home with the afore-mentioned Leaky Faucet.

Anyway, I called hubby, and he explained everything, and I have a cheque waiting for these guys when they're done. In the meantime, though, they are in for quite a show.

Spills has installed herself on the window seat in her bedroom. She has been dancing provocatively on it for the last few minutes and belting out "The Circle of Life" while waving at the men on the roof. She has also been waving Lockey (kitten) at them, and making his paws swivel around in friendly ways. She's also been shouting things at them through the glass like, "Did you know I was sick today? Did you know Daddy went to his new job today?" Now, I notice that she has gotten out her microphone, and seems to be delivering some kind of lecture complete with hoots that sound a bit like "Joy To The World."

I'm sure these guys will call first next time.

It's all in the genes....

So, last night Spilly threw herself around the house, yelling, "Allabaydomarolalabiddamobo...." or something like that, in various gradations of operatic grandeur.

I said to my husband, just to see what he'd do, "She gets it from Daddy."

He gave me a withering look. We both know where she gets it from. Not that I would ever throw myself around the house bellowing a tune. Not me.

Spilly said, "What did I get from Daddy?"

"You inherited your singing from Daddy," I told her. "You're just like Daddy."

By now, my husband was rolling his eyes at the useless pair of us.

"I'm not Daddy! Daddy, I'm not you. I'm a YOUNG WOMAN."

Oh no, it's spreading!

So, my hubby tells me that a strange thing occurred at the school bus stop today, on the second day of school. There he was with Spilly and a gazillion other small kindergarten-type people, waiting for the school bus.

The previous day, they'd all stood quite passively, nervous about what lay ahead, and not knowing each other. Today, though, it was different. Today, the tiny boys and girls were throwing themselves around. And as they ran, they were all shouting, "I'm coming to get you, Sanjaya!"

And, "Look out, Sanjaya!"

And, "Oh no, Sanjaya, run! It's the monster!"

The other parents looked a little puzzled.

Not my hubby. He was too busy alternating between guilt and trying not to laugh. Looks like the Spills wasted no time at school yesterday in bringing the other kindergartners up to speed on the Cult of the Mighty One.

Things Overheard During Dinner Outside

1. If I touch this pea I will turn into a princess and this backyard will be my kingdom.

2. I like you better than the water tower. No, I LOVE you better than the water tower.

3. Do you know who won't be around during the winter? Butterflies. But not snowy owls, because they like the snow.

4. Oops, I sneezed my rice.

5. I can make my voice bumpy like Sanjaya. See? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

6. Is Atlantis in Italy? Did it get covered by water? How did the water get on top of it?

7. Can we go to Atlantis?

8. Has Sanjaya ever gone under the water?

9. I think that bird was an EAGLE. Or maybe it was a vulture.

10. I AM eating my zucchini. I like zucchini. There are only two things I don't like - onions and black pepper. Oh, there are three things I don't like. I also don't like Jack and Jill cold medicine.

Nocturnal Creatures

Spilly said to me yesterday, "I know something about Mr. Thomas. He's nocturnal."

After I finished laughing, I said, "Do you know what nocturnal means?"

"Yes, I do. It means they sleep in the day and they stay up all night to hunt. Like raccoons and possums and bats and Mr. Thomas."

"Mr. Thomas stays up all night to hunt? Are you sure?"

"He hunts for fires."

"Ohh," I said.

It's true. Our neighbour is a fireman. And sometimes he works at night.

I said teasingly, "Maybe when you grow up you can be nocturnal too."

"No. I'm going to be a kindergarten teacher. And they have to get a lot of sleep at night."

Back to School Time

This was the Best Summer Ever. This summer took us camping, to a cottage, to New York City, to Salem, Massachusetts, to Bar Harbor, Maine, and to Halifax. We swam and laughed and saw a Broadway show (Mary Poppins).

But this week was back to the grind. I headed into my classroom on Monday and have been outfitting it all week, preparing lesson plans. Same ritual every year.

Except that Spilly is old enough now to Help. And so she asked if she could join me today. I hummed and hawed, and then thought about how I needed a whole lot of pencils sharpened, books put on desks, etc. So I said, "Well...yes, I think I could use some help."

"Yahoo!" And she began pelting up the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to put on my teacher clothes."

Her teacher clothes consisted of a red t-shirt and jeans. Apparently this is what teachers wear. This week, anyway. We might spiff up a bit for the first day of school and all.

When we got to school, she met my teaching partner, who immediately laid some more pencils on her. He also told her that it was currently 9:36, and he'd like the pencils back by 9:39. It took her a minute to realize he was joking! Then she got to it, while I began doing some of the nine thousand things on my list.

After a few minutes: "Mommy."

"Yes."

"My hand is tired."

"Your hand is tired of holding a pencil in an electric pencil sharpener?"

"Yes."

"What are we going to do about that?" I said, wondering how I was going to entertain her for the full day.

"I think I'd better draw a picture."

She was in the right place, of course. My classroom is nothing if not art-ready. We pulled out brand new pencil crayons and paper and set her up at a desk. Some time later, she brought the picture to me.

"It's very nice! What is it?"

Slightly miffed, she said, "Mount St. Helen's."

"Oh, yes, of course it is."

"Let's give it to that other teacher."

"Won't he be wondering where his pencils are?"

"We'll tell him his pencils are almost ready."

"Right."

The other teacher was very pleased with his picture and put it up on his wall. Then he and Spilly discussed Vesuvius in quite a bit of detail. And Barack Obama.

Back to the classroom.

"Do you want to do some more pencils?"

"No, I think I'm tired of that."

"Hmm. Do you want to put some books on desks?"

"YES!!!"

So I continued with my list of nine thousand things.

A few minutes later: "Mommy."

"Yes?"

"How many more books do I have to put out?"

"Well, there are 21 kids right now, and they all need a book. And that's just the yellow notebook. There's also a blue notebook, and a pink notebook, and...."

"Aaaaaaah," said Spilly.

"How about we go and photocopy some things?" I said.

"YES!!!"

So we photocopied things. Then we printed some stuff and went to the library to pick it up. While in the library, we couldn't help but notice all the books. So we read, "My Baby Brother is an Alien," and "Olivia Prepares for Christmas." Then we headed back to Mommy's classroom.

On the way, we ran into the principal. Spilly and she had an extended discussion about the state of Mommy's room. Spilly said there was a lot to do and she hoped her teacher would be ready for Tuesday.

I do too. The poor woman doesn't know what's about to hit her.

The Ladies Who Lunch

So yesterday Spills and I took ourselves on a girls' outing, while Daddy worked. I believe we had the better end of the deal.

We started by buying books at Chapters -- a bunch of gifts for her cousins, who we'll be seeing this weekend. Then we found a pile of beginning readers for Spills herself, as well as a sticker book. Spilly is a sucker for all kinds of stickers. And I am a sucker for the silence that falls whenever Spills works on a sticker book.

Next, we headed to Wal-Mart for a few boring necessities. We also fell into the delightful conversation that all parents look forward to wholeheartedly:

"Mommy, can I buy that?"

"No."

Occasionally, she'd experiment with mind-games: "Mommy, I think we really need that for your gardening. We could put those stickers on sticks beside each of your flowers. Wouldn't that look nice?"

"No."

Or else she'd play the grief card: "I have asked and I have asked, and you have always said no. Are you going to say yes this time, about this [insert the name of wonderful thing here]????"

"No."

Then we took ourselves out for lunch, just the two of us, to Kelsey's. We NEVER have lunch in a restaurant with just the two of us. Spills thought it was marvellous. She was excellent company, too. Our discussions ranged from how to create secondary colours (we experimented using the three primary-coloured crayons given to us) to how the dinosaurs died. Spills would like to see the crater left behind by the asteroid. She is disappointed to learn that it is under water.

The best part was heading home afterwards to try to read some of our books. She got into a rhythm: first she would read a book, and then she would leap around the living room, yelling, "And now, an American Idol CELEBRATION!!"

And I sat there thinking about what good company she was, on the whole, and what a lucky Mommy I was to be mentally exhausted all the time.

Catch-Up!!

Well, yes, it's been awhile since the last Spilly post. Frankly, sad things were happening in our lives and I just didn't feel particularly like celebrating funny/happy aspects of Spills' childhood. But I'm starting to get to the point where I realize that because sad things are happening, it's important to celebrate funny and happy things....

So, with that in mind, here is a whirlwind tour through the last couple of months:

1. We learned that whenever we go camping, it is absolutely guaranteed that there will be a thunderstorm, that our tent will leak, and that we will leave all of the wood out beside the campfire where it will turn into pulp. However, we have also learned that there is nothing better than staring at a tree, and that camp fires have the kind of smell that cuts through time and takes you back to how your earliest ancestors must have felt. And we have discovered that we really love to bike through a provincial park, especially if there is ice cream available somewhere along the route.

2. We discovered that Spills has been reading for quite some time. It is now a problem, as we are having trouble doing the parent-spells-the-word-instead-of-saying-it-so-
the-kid-has-no-idea-what-anyone-is-talking-about game. And tonight she wandered into my room and began loudly reading over my shoulder: "Sound...of...Music....tickets....book....your....tickets....now....." Then she started leaping around the room, yelling, "Sound of Music!! Book your tickets!!! Mommy, are we going? Are you booking your tickets now?????" Sigh. So much for birthday surprises.

3. Spills has developed an interest in dictators and unfair regimes. In the last month we have had a lot of talk about Nazis (largely due to the Sound of Music, which we watched on DVD a little while ago). Then, when we watched the concert for Nelson Mandela's 90th birthday, she had a whole pile of questions about apartheid. Today she became quite interested in Juan Peron, and wanted to know all about Argentinian history. We did our crafts on the back deck while listening to Evita.

4. Sanjaya likes to swim wherever Spills is swimming. Spills and I have done our share of family swims in a whole bunch of places this summer, and surprisingly Sanjaya is always there. I'm not sure how he is always so well informed about where she's going to be. And when she has to do something scary and new like kicking while she floats or something, she and Sanjaya will talk each other through it. "It's okay, Sanjaya. You just put your feet out like this, and you kick...." Then when she accomplishes whatever it is, she and Sanjaya burst into song together. It often rhymes.

5. We learned that it's GREAT to be able to run out the door of your cottage, across a meadow, and directly through the door of your buddy Simon's cottage. When our two families each rented a cottage at the same resort in early July, the kids quickly forgot any rules relating to privacy, decency, etc., and just barged in at all hours. For a city kid like Spills, it was wonderful not to always have a parent escort.

6. Spills discovered the joys of gardening. The little garden that we planted a month or two ago is starting to produce vegetables. Tonight we ate our first zucchini, and it was AMAZING. We had our first turnip at lunch a little while ago. And I keep bringing Spills baby carrots in various stages of growth. At first they were the merest hints of roots; then they were thicker spindly roots that could or could not have been orange; and now they are quite definitely carrot shaped (still spindly though) and definitely orange. I have to be more patient, though, or I will have pulled them all up before they've matured.

7. We are up to our ears in crafts. We are attempting to make Cinderella a red night gown at the moment out of felt; we have learned how to cork; we are making suncatchers for all of the relatives; we are doing paint by numbers. And none of our projects are finished. They are all fully on display all over the house, trailing thread and paint brushes and cellophane wrapping.

8. The nighttime rituals are getting more complex. Now it is not enough to have a story followed by "questions" (she, her two best stuffed animals and her nighttime water cup all ask me a question before bed, and then I ask each of them a question) and "Harry" (we still dance around and sing, "I'm just wild about Harry....Harry's just wild about me"), but now there is a whole Sandman addendum. Two seconds after her door has been closed for the night, she comes traipsing out all smiles, saying, "I can't sleep. I need the Sandman." Then I go in and, using my squeaky Sandman voice, tell her I'm putting magic sand on her eyes. When the Sandman leaves, there is a whooshing sound. Spills always waits a minute, and then says, "HOW DOES HE DO THAT?????"

There's more, I'm sure, but I believe that's what I have in me for the moment!

Performance Day

So my class performed their musical yesterday for parents and the grades one, two, three and four in our school. The Principal and Vice Principal were there too, by invitation. So were Spills and her Daddy and the camcorder-that-died-right-before-the-show-started-so-Mommy-couldn't-have-a-record-of-her-kids'-great-
performance-for-posterity.

It was a fabulous show. It was my kids' highest point in a year in which I have tried every way I could think of to convince them that they have worth and potential. They are not accustomed to successes, and hardly knew what to do with themselves when the applause started. After the show, all the kids in the audience had questions for them, and my students were blushingly delighted to answer everything. And my principal said to me privately, "I do not know how you got that out of them." I do: they started to think that they could actually do it. The rest was (relatively) simple.

And Spills fell utterly in love with the lot of them. I believe she now thinks her calling lies upon the stage. She was particularly proud of the fact that her plastic vegetables and her Dora tablecloth were part of the props.

After the show was over, her Daddy went back to work, and she came to my classroom to partake in the cast party. She and I had walked to the grocery store the night before to buy goodies, and she proudly took the floor to hand them out.

"Everyone. Listen. I have treats for you. And they are...." (with a flourish, reaching into the bag) "Gummy Nemo candies!!!"

Yes, she had felt my young adolescents would particularly appreciate gummy candies in the shape of characters from Finding Nemo. And never underestimate the power of a four and a half year old to charm the bluster and cool right off a twelve-year-old kid. My entire class expressed great delight over their gummy candies. And they really, really liked the ice cream bars when they appeared.

Then Spills presented them with a difficult choice. "I brought you MOVIES. You can watch either THIS--" which was Finding Nemo-- "or THIS--" which was a collection of Mickey Mouse cartoons.

They almost unanimously selected Finding Nemo, in honour of the gummy candies. Spills was ushered with ceremony to a seat beside one of my nicest boys, and he proceeded to have a most in-depth discussion with her about what was going on. And I sat at the back and looked at my little collection of souls and thought that, once in awhile, everything seems to converge the way that it should.

The Circle of Life

So, today was our eleventh anniversary. To celebrate, we headed to Niagara Falls, where Spills had never been. We walked along the parkway to the falls, marvelling at the rapids and the falls themselves. Then we headed up the crazy Clifton Hill, past Ripley and Guinness and all the rest. We decided to have lunch at the Rainforest Cafe, a spot that was new to all of us.

Inside the cafe, we were quite enjoying the I-spy game of finding animals amid the foliage, when Spilly suddenly said, "Mommy, I don't want to die."

She has been watching Charlotte's Web, and we have been talking about it.

"I know," I said gently after a minute. There was really nothing else to say, besides pointing out that we all hoped she wouldn't die for awhile.

Her Daddy talked about how Charlotte's Web was all about the cycle of life, kind of like in the Lion King. People are born, they live awhile, and they die, making way for new people.

"The circle of life," Spilly corrected him. (She later sang the song all the way home in the car, quite loudly.)

We were all quiet for awhile.

Then Spills said, "You know what?"

"What?" we said.

"To the people who aren't born yet, we're like the Ancient Romans."

We've also been talking about ancient Rome lately.

"I love you," I said.

Our Latest Wildlife Encounter

Well, we took off on another biking odyssey today, this time from the town of Erin to the town of Hillsborough. Along the way, we stopped for some water. While we were enjoying the frigid temperatures and shivering blossoms, Spills suddenly said, "What's that bird doing?"

We all looked. It was sashaying across the road, stopping every few minutes to do disco-like moves.

"Is it looking for food?" Spilly asked.

Daddy said, "I think it's looking for love."

It did seem to be doing some kind of ritualized dance, bobbing up and down rakishly before hopping ahead a little, then shimmying some more.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend on the other side," I said.

"Maybe she likes dancing," Spills said.

And we all laughed at a girlfriend bird who liked her boyfriend to dance.

But it got me to thinking about my hubby and his own courtship of me (since it's our eleventh anniversary next week). How much sillier was it for him to lure me into playing Poohsticks off the bridge at the University of Western Ontario, to name a church "The Church of the Bouncing Brushes" because we had been going by it when a truck zoomed past with brushes bouncing off the back, or to lavish unusual snacks on me ("I call it a cheese and bacon nibble") or to write me multiple silly letters a day--some that were "scratch and sniff"--while I was in England with my parents?

These foolish boys, they will do anything to catch a girl.

Looking Into the Future

So we had the world's most wonderful bike ride on the weekend. The weather was perfect--literally not a cloud in the sky. We rode along an abandoned rail line, next to wildflowers and fields. The blossoms were out on the trees.

At the end I said to Spilly, "I hope you remember this day even when you're grown up. I hope you'll remember how great it was to go bike riding with your Mommy and Daddy in the country with the sun shining in the spring time."

"I don't need to remember it."

"Oh." I was slightly surprised. "Really?"

"Do you know WHY I don't need to remember it, Mommy?"

"Why?"

"Because I will STILL be bike riding with you. And I will be living next door to you, and we will get together every day to do crafts. And you know what we'll say when we go bike riding or do crafts?"

"What?"

"LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

An overheard conversation

Spilly: Mommy, did you know that Saint Patrick is still alive?

Mommy: Really? No, I didn't know that.

Spilly: Well, it's true.

Mommy: What's he up to these days?

Spilly: He's in Mexico right now.

Our Visit to the United States of Ohio

So we took Spills south of the border to Ohio this weekend, to visit my brother and his family. Spills was beside herself to be seeing her cousin, and told everyone we met along the way about where she was going. "I am four and a half years old, and we are going to the United States of Ohio to see my cousin for the weekend. And we're going to eat ice cream and play with Buster and Nosey, and I'm going to a soccer game."

It was a wonderful visit. The ice-cream was from Handel's, an institution in their town. Nosey, the hamster, lived up to his name. We met Freakboy the fish. And Spills and her cousin had a monumental play all around the large, leafy property with Buster, the long-suffering family dog. I caught the cousin whispering a couple of times, "Ask your Mom and Dad if you can have a dog for your next birthday!"

On at least one of those occasions, Spilly whispered back, "Daddy says we can't have a dog if we're going to TRAVEL."

My favourite part of the weekend though, was when they discovered the movie-making feature on the digital camera. What followed were several indy flicks, the best of which was entitled, "Sanjaya is Running Away from the Monsters." Spills was Sanjaya. The entire movie was of her running along hallways, looking behind herself in terror, shouting, "Oh, oh, there are the monsters! What will I do?"

Today we are home again, and life is drab for Spills. We have had tears and low feelings. We have made a special invitation for our cousin to come up here to visit, maybe in July. Fingers are crossed. And Spills has already decided all of the things we will be doing, the most important of which, apparently, will be Family Swim. Hope her cousin packs her bathing suit.

Spills' Prescription for Sadness

Every so often, Spills says or does something that takes my breath away, because it is often exactly what is needed at that moment, and at those times she seems so tapped into something life-affirming and good.

Tonight, we were saying our goodnights.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," she said, then made her customary parrot noise.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," I repeated.

"And Mommy, if you feel sad tomorrow morning, here's what you need to do."

"Oh?" I said. "What do I need to do?"

"You need to look at the picture on your desk of Daddy and me and that will make you feel better. And if you hear a knock at the door of your portable right after that, it will be me, coming to give you a hug."

Mother's Day

So Spills showed up at my bedside at around 6:30 this morning.

"Mommy. Mommy. MOMMY."

"...Yes?"

"I've got something for you."

She proceeded to sneeze all over me, explosively and with feeling.

"Thanks," I said.

"Happy Mother's Day, Mommy."

"Thank you."

"Now you have to get up, because I have your surprises laid out, and you have to come and turn them over."

"Does it have to be this minute?"

"Yes."

So after some more coaxing and coercing, she got me out of the bed. Her Daddy and I stumbled into her bedroom. There on her bench by the window she had several papers laid out.

"Turn the first one over, Mommy."

I did. It had flowers and a horseshoe on it. It said, "Happy Mother's Day."

"Beautiful printing!" I said. "And I love the flowers and the horseshoe!"

"It's not a horseshoe," Spills said, looking very displeased.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What is it?"

"It's YOU."

"Oh!" I said, looking closer. "Oh, yes, now I see. It's my hair, isn't it?"

"It's ALL of you."

"Yes, so it is."

The other cards were lovely too, some in French and some in English. And there was a book mark, and a lone tea bag.

"Oh, good," I said. "Now I can have a peaceful cup of tea."

"Do you want it right now?"

"Well, maybe not right now. I think I need some coffee first."

"The tea bag smells very good," said Spills. She held it up to her nose. Then, because her nose was dripping, she wiped her nose with it.

"I bet it does."

"Want to smell it?"

"Maybe later," I said.

"Come on, Mommy! Come with me!" She grabbed my hand. "I have to show you your other presents."

The other presents turned out to be (in no particular order): the decorative table on the landing, a plastic container of jam that Spills pilfered from the restaurant yesterday, a Fisher-Price park, a bill still in the envelope on the hallway table, the hallway table, and the booster seat used for Robbie's younger sister the other day.

"Thank you," I said. "This is all too much."

"Did you want to have the jam on your toast this morning?"

"Well, I'll just have to decide about that."

"If you don't want it," Spills said, "I'll have it."

"You go ahead and have it."

She threw her arms around me with gratitude. "Oh, Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!"

Wildlife Up Close and Personal

So we headed out this morning for a bike ride on the Caledon Trail, despite the fact that Spills woke up with the world's runniest nose. "It's just allergies," she'd said.

"What are you allergic to?" I asked. I already knew what she'd answer.

"Worms."

"Right."

Out we went, in the early morning sunshine, surrounded by the soft green of buds opening up. All was silent and fragrant. Until Spills let out the most extraordinary sneeze known to humankind. Followed by another and another.

What happened next was unexpected, to say the least. From the greenery on one side, there was an explosion of feathers, and a grouse or a pheasant (it was a large bird of some kind anyway) shot up and then backward. Then, as if that wasn't enough, a DEER leapt up from nowhere and galloped away as fast and as loudly as it possibly could. We heard it crashing through the undergrowth for some time.

"Wow," said Daddy, after awhile. "Those are some sneezes you've got."

"Why did they run away?"

"I guess they didn't want to be near your cold."

"I know who wants to be near my cold."

"Who?"

"The doctor," Spills said sadly.

Sanjaya and Swimming Lessons

As I was in my room working, I heard Spills announce tonight in the bath, "I'm Sanjaya Malakar, and do you know how I swim in my swimming lessons?"

"No," her Daddy said.

"I kick my legs straight out LIKE THIS."

What followed sounded like a combination of a typhoon, a tsunami and the Nahani river.

"That's great, Sanjaya," said Daddy, sounding kind of muffled and damp.

"That's how I swim in my swimming lessons. Want me to show you again?"

"No, thanks."

Adventures in Gardening

Here are some things Spilly did while we attempted to dig a vegetable garden and generally clean up the yard.

1. Meticulously examined her play gym and loudly announced each defect in workmanship. "Mommy, this swing is CROOKED. Mommy. Mommy. MOMMY. Did you know this swing is CROOKED?"

2. Kept saying grimly, "I'm allergic to worms. Hey, guess what? I'm allergic. Do you know what I'm allergic to? WORMS."

3. Stood on the deck and sang a play-by-play of what was going on, complete with outrageous vibrato: "Weeee are in the garrrrdeeeeeennnnnnn...."

4. Named the new garden, "Seed Secrets."

5. Discovered a whole pile of bright-red lily beetles who, we're sure, are responsible for the swift demise of our day lilies last year.

6. Sneaked around the pine tree several times so as not to disturb the mourning dove in the nest.

7. Changed coats three times and changed mitts two times.

8. Helped poke holes for turnips. Was asked to poke them in a straight line. The line might be considered straight by a drunken person on a ship on a stormy night. Cheerfully poured forty seeds into each hole. The turnips will probably rise up in the night and massacre us in our beds.

9. Kept shouting, "Oh, I'm SO EXCITED!! WE'RE GARDENING!!!"

10. Lined up all the snails we found from smallest to largest and spoke to them tenderly: "Don't worry, little snails. It's okay. We're just making a vegetable garden."

First Piano Lesson

So today I had a medical appointment, and was off school. The appointment wasn't till late in the morning, so Spills and I spent some time together doing this and that.

I said to her at one point, "Hey, do you want to see how people write music?"

"Yeah!"

"They don't do it with letters and words. They do it with lines and circles instead."

So I drew her a staff and showed her "Mommy Treble Clef," who looks after the little note children. We met C, D, E, F and G. Then we met "Daddy Bass Clef" and got to know the kids he's looking after - C, B, A, G and F.

Then, on a roll, we took it all to the piano and we learned how to find C, D and E anywhere and everywhere on the keyboard. Spills was mightily pleased with herself. Our "lesson" concluded with Spilly singing "Are You Sleeping" while playing C and E at the same time, on the beat.

We were then SO pleased with ourselves that we called Grandma and Grandpa, so that Spills could play "Are You Sleeping" for each of them in turn. I could hear Grandpa emoting proudly on the other end of the line. Spills waited patiently till he was done. Then she said, "Yes, but Grandpa, didn't you think it was awesome or something like that?"

Spilly and the Fish

So tonight we had a little time before bath time, and I said, "How about a story?"

"Great!"

"What do you want?"

"Buddha."

We have a book called Kindness, which is a collection of stories about Buddha. So I chose the one about the blind men and the elephant, the one in which each man feels one part of the elephant and thinks that he knows about the whole animal. Then, of course, everyone argues about what an elephant is like, because their experiences are all limited and none of them recognizes the full picture.

"Why are they all mad at each other?" Spilly asked.

"Well, they can only see their little piece of the elephant. They think it's the whole elephant. They can't understand each other's point of view. Really, they are all touching the very same animal, but they don't know that. If they knew that, they wouldn't be fighting."

Spilly was silent for awhile. Then she hopped off the couch. She said, "Be RIGHT BACK."

A few moments later she returned, wearing her enormous fuzzy blue fish hat, the one with luscious lips and a tail that swishes when you shake your head.

She hopped up on the couch beside me, and said, "Feel my head. What do you think it is?"

I felt the tail. "This is definitely a fan."

Spilly felt one of the bulging eyeballs. "No, it's a ball for playing."

I felt the lips. "No, it's a rainbow."

She took it off her head, and waved it in front of me. "MOM!!! IT'S A FIIIISSSSHHHHH!!!!!"

The best laid plans of mice and men....

So Spilly hurled herself on the bed this morning, armed with books and questions about the words she had been deciphering by herself in her room, and that's how the day started. It progressed through oatmeal and sucanat and then turned into Biking Plans.

We are getting into biking, our little family. We all have bikes, and of course we also have the cool trail-a-bike thingy that turns an ordinary bike into a tandem bike. We now have a hitch for the van. So....we decided we would drive to the Elora Cataract Trailway (here it is: http://www.trailway.org/) and then enjoy a bike ride that would include a good look at the Elora Gorge.

With great high spirits we headed out. When we arrived at the trail, Spills and I got hats and things out and helped in our not-very-useful way to assemble the trail-a-bike. Then, while DH was putting the finishing touches on the assembly (which really means, doing most of it himself), we capered around and pretended we were on top of Mount Vesuvius. That's when Spills got the idea of taking the trail-a-bike flag (bright orange) and waving it at passing motorists, yelling, "I'm Sanjaya Malakar, and I'm going biking!" We did get a few honks. Crazy four-year-olds with bike helmets and orange flags who are shouting indecipherable things at passing cars do sometimes get attention.

So, after a lot of grunting and growling, hubby got us up and running. We headed off along the trail. We had a great time looking at the gorge. Then we started getting our speed up.

And the rain started, slowly at first, and then harder.

We ignored it for awhile, till it was actually obscuring the view up ahead. Finally hubby slowed down, stopped, and said, "Hmm."

"It's raining, I think," I said, dripping.

"Turn around," said hubby regretfully.

We turned around and began gloomily back along the trail.

The rain stopped. The sun peeked out.

"Did you notice it's not raining now?" I asked after awhile.

"I noticed."

"Turn around?"

"Turn around."

So we laboriously got the trail-a-bike turned around again, and we beamed at each other, and off we went.

And the rain started again. And the view disappeared again.

Hubby stopped again.

"It's raining," Spills said.

"Turn around," said hubby grimly.

We turned around. Off we went, back toward the car.

The rain stopped. The sun came out.

"It's sunny," I said.

"Till we turn around again," said Hubby.

"It might stay sunny."

"The question," said Hubby, "is if it will stay sunny if we go to Flapjacks for eggs?"

That, we realized, was the question that REALLY needed to be answered. So off we went for an early lunch.

Spaghetti and Chopsticks

We have been gradually building a friendship with the family of a little girl who rides the bus with Spilly. They've had her over after school several times, and often call an hour or so after she's gotten there, to ask if she can stay for dinner as well. So tonight we invited Spilly's friend (and the friend's older brother, who is a highly interesting seven-year-old Sarah Brightman and Titanic fanatic) to come over to our place after school and stay for dinner.

Hubby and I hung out in the kitchen, listening to them play in the backyard and smiling as the game got more and more elaborate. It was entitled, "Nature Trail," but we couldn't figure out exactly how that figured into people fainting and running around shouting, "Daddy, where are you?" It was a nature trail fraught with danger at any rate.

Supper was spaghetti. From the kitchen I called out, "Now, does everyone want me to cut up their spaghetti, or do they want to keep it long?"

"Long!" the friends said.

"Short!" said Spilly.

So out came the long and short spaghetti. One child began to eat. The other two looked somewhat gloomily at their plates.

At last, the older brother said, "Don't you have any chopsticks?"

Hubby jumped up and said, "Yes, we do!" Years ago, we had bought a pack of plastic chopsticks in Chinatown in Toronto. Out they came from the china cupboard.

"Can I have chopsticks too?" Spills asked.

In the end, we all had chopsticks. And let me tell you, spaghetti is very fun to eat in this way. It also allows you to make outrageous slurping noises. And it enables the new friends to laugh at our family that has never before eaten spaghetti with chopsticks.

This is clearly a friendship with great potential.

Near-Perfect Day

So the kid came to my school today and was treated like royalty. As a result, she is being a class A dunderhead at the moment.

She spent the first part of the afternoon in Mrs. S's room, where she made a lovely paper-bag robin and participated in a variety of bean-planting activities. Then it was off to the Charlotte Diamond concert which, by all accounts, was great. She was picked to go onstage to be the back part of a "walking bus" (Mrs. S was the front of it), and for that privilege received a signed thank-you card from Charlotte Diamond.

After the concert was over, she was escorted out to my portable by several of my students. Some of them ran ahead to tell me, "She doesn't want to come."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Well, she doesn't have to. If she wants to stay with the grade ones, that's okay."

"She won't leave the doorway."

"Really? Why not?"

"She's telling everyone, 'I made a picture, and then I got to go on the stage, and....'"

"Ah," I said. "She's too busy talking. I see. I think she'll come in a minute."

Sure enough, the remainder of my student emissaries arrived shortly thereafter with Spilly in tow. She made a grand entrance and then made a beeline for one of my students, Jamal, who is her favourite (he is very funny to her, but also an enigma because he does not like chocolate ice cream and she cannot understand how anyone cannot like chocolate ice cream). She sat beside him, and he fed her sour candies.

We were in the middle of a rehearsal for our class show (we've written our own musical version of Anne of Green Gables). She sang along with gusto, despite knowing none of the words. Whenever Jamal sang or stood, she did too. And she deeply enjoyed the accolades from all sides (grade six girls are very fond of tiny people).

Then it was back to Mrs. S's room after school for a debrief about it all. We hung out doing experiments for a bit (it is cool to watch air bubbles come up through soil, when you pour water on top of it) and listening to Charlotte Diamond's latest song on the CD player. While we were busy with these activities, the classroom phone rang. Charlotte Diamond was just leaving and wanted to say good bye. So the three of us trooped down to the foyer, and I got a chance to meet Charlotte Diamond! Very cool. She embraced Mrs. S (Mrs. S has this effect on people), and we all chatted for a few moments. I got to tell her that she has been a really big part of our family. Then off she went, and off we went.

Once we were home, we were convinced that we needed a walk in the glorious sunshine. So we took ourselves off to the convenience store that's about twenty-five minutes away, and Spilly got to choose an ice-cream treat!

Now she's in the bath, warbling away. I don't expect her to stay there for long though, as she's already gotten out twice to come and see what I am doing. This is utterly against the rules, but I have a feeling she thinks this is a day on which rules are suspended. Sigh.

Big Day Coming

There's no living with Spills tonight, and she's going to be worse tomorrow. She's been invited to partake in a very special treat. My wonderful colleague Mrs. S, who teaches grade one at my school, and who is surely one of the Great Teachers, has asked if Spilly would like to be in her class tomorrow afternoon. They will do a craft, and then they will all head to a concert in our gym by none other than one of Spilly's (and Mrs. S's, and my) favourite singers, Charlotte Diamond.

When I first broached the subject with Spills, some weeks ago, she began leaping around, yelling, "Mrs. S! Charlotte Diamond! Mrs. S! Charlotte Diamond!"

Mrs. S is as great a draw for Spilly as Charlotte Diamond (who is a huge draw). Mrs. S keeps snakes in her classroom and grows avocado trees and has a passion for bugs of all sorts. She also adores every kind of music you can imagine. Her students all tend to become junior scientists, out inspecting foliage for various things at recesses. She and Spilly are kindred spirits of a rare sort. Unlike those who showered Spills with princess paraphernalia at Christmas, Mrs. S gave her a book about volcanoes.

As for me, I will be pining away in my classroom tomorrow, wishing I could be at the concert too. Alas, I teach the really "big kids," and they are not going to be attending. They are, however, going to be as insufferable as Spills in their own way, as I've let slip that Spills will be in the school and they want her to spend the afternoon with them. One of my boys said, "She HAS to come meet us, because it's my birthday tomorrow!"

Now I just have to figure out how I can rip her in two, so she can be in two places at once.

Origins of Love

"Mommy," Spilly said tonight, "Did we start loving each other the minute I was born?"

"Actually," I said, "I started loving you long before you were born."

"I did too. Could you hear me saying, 'I love you, Mommy' in your tummy?"

"No," I said. "But I could certainly feel you wriggling around in there."

"That's when I was giving you a hug."

Goin' to the Chapel....

So after school the Spills frequently likes to engage in a little dress-up. Today she headed upstairs to the tickle trunk, and helped herself to some clothes. I could hear her humming away to herself, yanking things on.

All was well till the sobbing started. I ran to the bottom of the stairs.

"What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, weeping and shaking with despair, she held up the white skirt that was part of her bride outfit. It was ripped down the side. The damage happened some weeks ago when Spills' friend was over and tried the skirt on. Her friend is a few years older and consequently a little too big for the bride outfit. Spilly had been unaware of the damage, and I'd completely forgotten.

"I think we can fix it," I said, hoping I remembered how to use the sewing machine. It's been a long time since home economics.

We hauled the sewing machine out of the basement, threaded it somehow (it's amazing the things you remember), and managed to sew a seam that was sort of headed in the right direction. When we were done, Spilly put on her skirt and pranced around with great joy.

Then she said, "Mommy, does this look like YOUR wedding dress?"

"You've seen my wedding dress. It was big and poofy with yellow roses."

"Where is it?"

"Upstairs in the cedar chest."

And then you guessed it. The little minx talked me into going upstairs and hauling the thing out. Along with the world's largest and most in-your-face crinoline.

"Can you put it on, Mommy?"

"I...suppose it's possible I could," I said.

"Do it! Do it ! Do it!"


.....And thus it was that when Daddy came in from doing manly things in the garage with various tools, he found his two women sitting in front of the tv in their wedding dresses.

And he just sighed.

"I'll go get the camera."

Family Night

Spills is howling out a tune in the bath at the moment and banging on the side of the tub with what sound like playmobil toys (or, as we call them in our household, "Bordies"). She is in high spirits, having monopolized the meal of the people beside us, at the Japanese restaurant we ate at tonight.

She was very much egged on by the people at that table, who had a one-year-old daughter. I am willing to swear that the mom was a teacher just finishing up her maternity leave, because she spoke to Spills in that you-and-I-are-on-the-same-level way that some teachers are able to do. Also, they had a lengthy discussion about how great math was. At the end, there was a very tender farewell, with hugs all around. Sometimes I have difficulty remembering what it used to be like to go to restaurants and be anonymous. I think I liked it. Although there's something to be said for being the parent of the party animal.

After dinner, we headed off to Scholar's Choice to find a gift for Spilly's boyfriend Robbie, who is turning four tomorrow. We decided upon a cool snails board game and the book, "Harry the Dirty Dog." Spills wanted to also get him a miniature radio, some dolls and a flexible frog ring, but we decided against these in the end.

And now, I am hearing ominous splashes for the tub. Spills is yelling, "Rock and Roll" in her best vibrato. Think it may be time to draw this blog entry and the bath to a close. Good night!

Spring? Really??!!

So Spills has been sick as a dog but is back on the road to Healthville. To celebrate, she and I planned to go out after school with her big-girl two-wheeler. The one she is worried about riding, because she has not instantly become perfect at it.

Before we left, she said, "I think we're just going to walk around the block."

I said, "Oh no, I thought we were going to ride your two-wheeler."

"No, I think we're going to walk."

"Why?"

"Because I like to walk," Spills said with dignity.

We headed out the door and began to walk along the sidewalk. I said, "I guess you're too scared to ride your bike."

"I'm not!"

"I think you are."

"NOT!!!!"

This went back and forth for awhile and then I let up for a bit. Until I couldn't resist the urge to make chicken noises. She wasn't amused. I kept it up. And finally she turned around and started stamping away.

"Where are you going?" I said.

"TO!!! GET!!! MY!!! BIKE!!!!"

So a short while later, there we were merrily humming along the sidewalk, me at a brisk walk and she on the mighty two-wheeler. We made it midway around the block before running into a friend of hers from kindergarten who was on his way to the park with his Grandma. After we parted ways, it occurred to me that Spills had not yet ridden her bike all the way to the park.

I said to her, "Hey, wanna hear about something that is a VERY incredible challenge?"

"What is it?"

"I think I know a way we could ride your bike TO THE PARK."

"How? How?"

"I think if we cross the street over there and go along that road, we might get to the back entrance to the park. And your friend is going in the front entrance. So we might meet up with him over there!"

The whole way over, I kept commenting aloud about how great it was to be able to ride your bike to the park. After all, walking to the park takes forever and is very boring. Riding your bike to the park takes about two minutes and then you have more time for playing.

We made it just as her friend arrived. They proceeded to have a fabulous play for more than an hour. I had a great chat with his Grandma. Everywhere you looked in the park were joyful kids racing around, and crazed-looking adults who had been starved all winter for a good chin-wag amid greenery.

Spring. I think it might finally be here. I hesitate to say that too loudly though.

Sunny Sunday

We packed our day with sunshine and a lot of tramping around, by heading to the zoo first thing this morning. There we met with Spilly's good friend Simon and Simon's mother. It was "Teacher Day," so Simon's Mom and I got in free. Love getting into things free!

Spills hasn't been to the zoo in several months. It was interesting to see the change in her from the last time we were there. She and Simon roared around the place pretending to be orangutans and mandrills and gibbons. They clip-clopped back and forth in front of the grizzly bear's den, trying to make the sleeping bear think they were deer so it would wake up and try to eat them. They made blubbing sounds at the fish. They also insisted on jointly pulling the wagon that we'd brought along, which made us all wonder why we'd brought it in the first place.

After the zoo, it was home for bike riding in the beautiful late-afternoon sunshine. I took my bike around the neighbourhood, narrowly missing numerous street-hockey and soccer games. Spills and her Daddy set off with her new bike and had made it laboriously about three-quarters of the way around the block by the time I got back. I hung out with them the rest of the way.

When we went back inside, I got online and booked our camping weekends for the summer. We'll be going to three different provincial parks--Craigleith, Kilbear and Earl Rowe. Of the three, we've only been to Earl Rowe before, so it should be a fun new experience to try the other two parks.

All in all, a very peaceful family day. Which may well prove to have been the calm before the storm, as Spills has started sneezing explosively....

New Additions

Well, Spilly and I bought bikes today. Not just any bikes! These are fancy-schmancy swanky bikes. Spilly's is pink and white. Mine is a dusty blue. Spills has stars on hers and tassels and a wicker carrier at the front. Mine has a flower.

The last time I bought a bike was 16 years ago. I was amazed to discover that bikes have come a long way in that time. For one thing, you no longer have to move a lever to switch gears, toggling it slowly back and forth until it finds the "sweet spot" of the next gear up or down (or, in the case of my 16-year-old bike, whatever gear the bike decided it wanted to shift into). Now there's a swanky switch I flick, and the bike INSTANTLY shifts gears. Who knew it could be that easy???? Also, they now have women's "comfort" bikes with amazing shock absorbers that make you feel like you're riding on buddah.

I was very impressed with the guy who helped us. He took lots of time to measure me and the bike and did all kinds of adjustments to the bike's height and the length from the seat to the handles, etc. Since I'm the world's shortest person, I am very used to bikes feeling way too big for me. But THIS bike...ahhhhhh....it is exactly the right length and height for me. I didn't know that such things existed.

Spills, as usual, won herself a new ally in the Spills-will-conquer-the-world campaign. She engaged our salesperson in a lengthy dialogue about a wide range of topics. He said, "You're something else," several times. The upshot: she left the store with a number of complimentary items, including the coolest ladybug bike bell I have ever seen (its wings actually open and close). I might note that I was not offered anything of a complimentary nature.

Morning Rituals

Much as I hate to leave my little family in the morning, I do enjoy the process of getting out the door. Because Spilly is a woman of habit, and her habits tend to be quite entertaining.

After breakfast, she helps me into my coat and hands me my lunch bag and purse. Then she pushes me bodily toward the garage door, while saying soothing things like, "It'll be okay, you don't have to worry, sweetie. You'll be home again in no time."

She's being me, you see, and I am supposed to be her. I have absolutely no idea how the game started, but it's ironclad.

"Okay, Mom," I say. "And will we play together after school?"

"Yes we will, sweetie."

"And will we have a snack?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"And will we sing songs and do crafts and have stories?"

Big sigh. "YES, sweetie, but you have to go now."

Massive push out the door.

"Good bye, sweetie. And sweetie--don't let the bed bugs bite!"

Slam.

The April Fool

Spilly is entranced by the idea of April Fool's Day. She thinks it's just great that people go around all day doing crazy things to each other. She thinks it's even better that people yell, "April Fool's!!" She practised a lot today. Here are some of her more noteworthy pranks:

1. Mommy, I'm going to put Daddy in the garbage. APRIL FOOL'S!!

2. I think there's a monster behind the piano. I think you should go and look. APRIL FOOL'S!!

3. [poking adult vigorously] APRIL FOOL'S!!

4. [leaning around the corner of the door wearing a fish hat] APRIL FOOL'S!!

5. Sidney is back in the bathroom. APRIL FOOL'S!! (Sidney is our resident spider. Mommy doesn't like Sidney very much.)

6. I'm full and I don't want any more supper. APRIL FOOL'S!!

7. Monty was telling Ribbon that from now on Ribbon is Monty's pet. APRIL FOOL'S!!

8. Let's sneak up behind Daddy and yell APRIL FOOL'S!! ....APRIL FOOL'S!!

9. We're not eating dinner right now, we're eating breakfast. APRIL FOOL'S!!

10. From now on, Daddy is Mommy and Mommy is Daddy. APRIL FOOL'S!!

....It's pretty clear to me who the fool is in our family.

Fingers in Ears

So today Spilly and I got to watch Beauty and the Beast for the first time. It was very exciting and required a lot of clutching of each other.

When it got to the scariest parts, Spills put her fingers in her ears.

"It's okay," I said to her. "You don't have to be scared."

"I'm not scared. I'm - I'm annoyed at this part. That's why my fingers are in my ears."

"Oh," I said, and decided it was wisest not to pursue the matter further.

Music and Atoms

Spilly and her Dad had a talk about atoms yesterday. She was amazed to think that all things are made up of tiny particles that we can't see. She also couldn't quite believe it was true.

"Is water made of atoms?"

"Yes."

"Is the table made of atoms?"

"Yes."

"I know one thing that isn't made of atoms."

"What's that?" her Daddy asked.

"Music. "

Lovin' the Spills in her Various Forms

I said to Spilly, "You know what I feel like when I'm driving home at night?"

"What?"

"I get a little bit happier, and then a little bit happier."

"Why?"

"Because I'm coming home to see you."

"And what do you say when you get in the driveway?"

"I say, 'Oh boy, I'm going to see her in a minute!'"

"And what do you say when you get to the door?"

"I say, 'Oh, I'm even more excited, because she's going to be on the other side of this door?'"

"And what do you say when you see me?"

"I say, 'YAHOO!'"

She thought for awhile. "But what if I was a cricket in an egg?"

"Um," I said. "Well, I'd love you in your little egg, and I'd say, 'Oh, I hope this cricket comes out to visit soon.'"

"And what would you say if I hatched out of my egg, but I couldn't talk yet. I could just go like this." Spills mouthed 'peep peep' without making a sound.

"I would say, 'Hello, little cricket! I will teach you to talk. It's very easy. Just do this.'"

Then followed a truly silly session of Peep School, as Spilly-the-cricket tried to learn how to do it properly.

"What if I was a teenager cricket?"

"I'd say, 'Hello, little teenager cricket! I love you!'"

The Teenager Cricket launched herself at me off a step-stool and shouted, "I love you too! PEEP PEEP!"

Fortunately I caught her.

Important Information

Spilly said to me this morning, "I know Sanjaya's first name."

I said, "Oh. Well, you know, though, I think his first name is Sanjaya."

"No, it's not."

"Really? What is it then?"

She leaned forward and whispered, "Mister."

Sanjaya Entertains the Patients

So we've just returned from a weekend with the grandparents. While we were there, Spilly and her Grandpa went off on a pilgrimage around the neighbourhood. They generally take the same route each time, and it usually culminates in a good romp behind the hospital, where there are ramps and squares and green spaces (not so green at the moment).

On this particular visit to the hospital grounds, Spilly decided one of the squares was a stage. In a voice loud enough to cheer up (or frighten) the patients within, she announced, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce....Sanjaya Malakar!!"

She then ran to the centre of the stage and began to sing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" with complex choreography.

When they got home, Grandpa dug out his DVD of "Standing in the Shadow of Motown." Together they watched Chaka Khan and Montel Jordan singing the same song.

Perhaps when Grandpa comes to our house next, we'll dig out our video of the Mighty S singing it. Grandpa and Spills can duke it out over which version's better.

Packing Again

Well, we're off to the grandparents for a couple of days, for Easter weekend. Seems like we just unpacked and washed everything!!

Spilly is insisting on taking some hand-me-down nightgowns (or goonies, as Grandma calls them) with her to show her grandparents that she is now big enough to wear them. They used to belong to her cousins. They've been hanging in the closet forever, and I've always thought of them as being about twice as long as Spills. Now she fits them perfectly. Sigh. She's delighted.

I said to her, "We've let you grow this much, but it has to stop now, because you have to stay as my little baby."

"Mommy, I am not a baby! I'm a little girl!"

"I know, but that's as far as it goes."

"Mommy, when I eat supper, I grow."

"No more supper for you then," I said.

Her mouth dropped open. "But if I don't eat supper, my eyes will dry out, and I might get some kind of an infection like pink-eye."

Exercising with Spills

So, I have just begun my post-Portuguese penance (all those sardines are still swimming around my tum). I put on an exercise DVD this evening, and foolishly asked Spilly if she'd like to join in.

She started well, gamely doing the walking and side-stepping and knee-raises beside me.

"Am I doing it right, Mommy?"

"You're doing great!" I said, trying not to walk on top of her.

"But I should take off my socks."

"Sure."

Once she had taken them off, she walked some more. Until: "I think I'm going to take my shirt off now."

"Why do you need to take your shirt off?"

"So I can just have my undershirt like those ladies."

It was true that the ladies all looked like they were wearing their undershirts.

"Well...all right," I said. Then a minute later, when the shirt was stuck half-on and half-off her head, I had to undo the button at the back, while still trying to march to the beat and swing my arms around.

Once properly attired, she did the steps for a moment longer. Then she noticed her yellow balloon (mine, actually, from my birthday a few weeks ago). She marched over, grabbed it, and began throwing it at me. She found this fun until, after the ninetieth time of telling her to stop, I got frustrated.

This led to her sobbing, "I'm going to go and live at Robbie's house!"

"Okay, see you," I said, still trying to do my kicks to the beat.

She sat on the stairs after that, muttering things. Then, she returned. More specifically, she sulked her way across the room in front of the TV screen, and threw herself into the armchair. And hurt her hand. And was comforted. And discovered the pillows.

"Mommy, I'm going to put the pillows under your feet so it will be soft for you."

"No," I said, doing double side-steps. "I don't want pillows under my feet."

"I'm going to do it!"

"No thank you."

"Why not?"

"Because I would lose my balance on them and fall down, and it would hurt."

"You wouldn't," she said. "See?" And she stepped on one of the pillows, lost her balance, and fell down.

After that, she began concentrating on my arms, which she felt were doing the wrong things. She began rearranging them for me. Then she got behind me and did the moves in the most obtrusive place possible. Following which, she tried to attach the yellow balloon to the TV so I couldn't see the screen.

....All of which, I realize, was a not-so-subtle reminder that my kid, who is just coming off a week of non-stop Mommy, is starved for a bit of parental interaction and willing to risk parental fury to get it.

Fortunately, the DVD finally ended, and we played "Mom's going to pop the balloon, so you'd better run."

This exercise thing is going to be an uphill battle.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

Well! We flew through the worst snow storm of all time, but made it to Europe, had a fabulous week, and lived to tell the tale! We are all jet-lagged at the moment. It's amazing, though, the amount of teaching you can do while your internal clock is entirely screwed up.

Spills made friends from all over, discovered the world's tiniest but most immaculately tiled cat door with the words "Casa Gato" on it, performed Sanjaya songs for a whole pile of bemused senior citizens, was proposed to by a retired British school teacher at the top of a mountain, walked the ramparts of her first real castle (in princess regalia), was knocked over by the Atlantic ocean, ate a lot of glorious Portuguese frozen goodies, made friends with every stray animal (and there were plenty), tried octopus, visited the site of Henry the Navigator's school, bartered with a street seller from Africa ("Make me your best offer, my dear!"), attended a real ancient Roman spa, and consumed a lot of yummy custard tarts.

Her marriage proposal took place at the end of a highly memorable lunch, during which she and the retired teacher in question (James) were in complete cahoots with each other, giggling away together shamelessly while their respective luncheon parties looked on and rolled their eyes. James was highly piqued when she turned him down with the explanation that she was going to marry Robbie.

James: "But does this Robbie fellow have any money?"

Spilly: [with energy] OH, YEAH!!!

James: But I haven't told you about my house in Manchester. Did you know it has fifteen rooms? And did you know my library has over ten thousand books in it? And did you know that I have three cars? Except that the Rolls is in the shop at the moment.

Spills: N-O spells NO.

James: Can he tell you jokes like I can? Does he know the name of every fish? Because I do. I know because the fish tell it to me. I go right up to the edge of the aquarium like this, and I put my face close, and I say, "What's your name?" And do you know what they all say?

Spills: [in a hushed tone] What?

James: They all say, "Bob."

Nothing he tried could sway her, but he did give us his card and ask that we come to stay with him in England. And then he slipped her a 5 Euro bill, as if to seal the deal. Amazing the doors that a Spills can open.

As for Mommy and Daddy, we had an excellent time sampling the cuisine of the region. I am a definite fan of sardine paste, olives, cheese, and chewy Portuguese bread. I also like vino branco, and can order white coffee with the best of them.

The Snow Maker

Yep, another winter storm is headed our way. A weatherman called it "The Snow Maker" today. Up to 40 centimetres, potentially. Which would ordinarily delight me, as I could sit cozily inside my house with my family, drink hot chocolate, and say things like, "Wow, look at that snow! It's really coming down out there! Sure glad we're inside!"

Except that we are supposed to be flying to Portugal tomorrow. And we are certain to be delayed. The Weather Network is providing helpful tips to parents stranded at the airport with young children. That's a bad sign.

Spills' spirits refuse to be dampened, though. She has not stopped talking since she got up this morning. And we're not sure exactly when she got up. I was in the kitchen quietly humming "Twist and Shout" while making my lunch, quite sure she was fast asleep.

Me: Well, shake it up baby now

Unseen Echo on the Landing: [Very softly] Shake it up baby

Me: [surprised, but flexible] Twist and shout

Echo: [Gaining momentum] Twist and shout

Me: Come on come on come on come on baby now

Echo: [with gusto, dancing into view down the stairs resplendent in her red flannels] Come on baby, come on and WORK IT ON OUT! WORK IT ON OUT! WORK IT ON OU-OU-OU-OUT!!!!!!

....You get the idea. Man, it's going to be a long night tomorrow.

Snowbound

Yet another freezing rain onslaught last night, coupled with mountains of snow (the snow on each side of the driveway is again taller than me--taller than hubby as well, actually). The good news was, the buses for our schools were cancelled. I decided to take a "family responsibility day" and stayed home with a delighted Spills.

We didn't make custard. We did make corn chowder from scratch, and had it for lunch. Spilly is getting better and better at measuring things out and pouring them. She has also discovered that she does not like raw potato.

We practised writing things. We took a ballet class led by me (no mean feat, considering I don't know the first thing about ballet). We watched Finding Nemo for the first time and talked a lot about the death of Nemo's mother.

At lunch, while being Sanjaya, Spilly treated me to an extended musical lecture about the solar system, sung from beginning to end in an American Idol style. Never has the solar system sounded so hip and current. I kept a solemn face throughout, even when it morphed in the last few minutes into the song "Hollywood." Technically Hollywood is in the solar system so I guess it fit the song.

The highlight of the day by far was the marathon reading session, broken into palatable chunks. We dug out one of the original Raggedy Ann stories by Johnny Gruelle (I think that's his name), first published in 1918. It took a few hours to get through the whole thing, especially when you factor in questions and commentary from Spills. It was delightful sitting together on the couch with the fire roaring, and the snowstorm roaring, and having a small person nestled in close. And when we had finally finished, we went and found Spilly's own Raggedy Ann and Andy, handmade for her by her Grandma (complete with the embroidered "I Love You" on the heart) and presented to me at my baby shower.

Spills held them with some awe and asked softly, "Do you think that toys really come to life when kids are sleeping?"

"I have never been quick enough to catch them," I said. "But I keep trying."

"I keep trying too."

Another Storm Rolling In

Fingers are crossed for another snow day tomorrow around here. Looks promising - lots of freezing rain and up to 25 cm of snow forecast.

If buses are cancelled tomorrow, Spills has planned the day's agenda for us. Apparently she and I are going to make custard. And she is going to perform selections from The Little Mermaid for me. Then I guess we'll eat the custard.

Only a few days until we leave for Portugal! Can't wait!!

Sunday Funday

Things that happened today:

1. I was woken by a voice saying, "Mommy, I am going to give you a beard." Then I heard the sound of scotch tape, and sure enough, someone was taping a beard on my mouth. The beard was actually a Magic Bag. It didn't stay on when I sat up.

2. We went skating at our favourite little arena, and for the first time Spilly skated without her trainer-thingy. This was mostly because Simon had just skated without his for the first time, and we were all making an excited fuss. The spirit of competition is alive and well in Spillsville.

3. We saw a deer run right across the highway in front of us. Luckily it narrowly missed several cars. It then jumped unbelievably high over a fence and vanished into the woods on the other side.

4. Spilly held a "Martin Luther King ceremony" in her bedroom this afternoon. We weren't allowed in until it was ready. There was a sign taped on the door that read, "CULOSD." When she finally let us in, every toy she had was marshalled in neat rows on the floor. Monty and Ribbon were both wearing hair accessories. She said a few solemn words. Then she asked that we take pictures.

5. Spilly cracked the eggs for the custard this evening, and they went into the bowl.

6. After her Daddy had carefully removed several outgrown items of clothing from Spilly's drawers, and put them in the discard pile, Spilly came upon them and was highly distressed. We later discovered them all back in the drawers. When asked about this, she explained she had done it for Donna. When asked who Donna was, she said, "My daughter, of course." Apparently Donna is going to wear Spilly's old underwear. I pointed out that it's customary not to share underwear, but Spills told me she was going to put it into the freezer until Donna used it, and it would be FINE.

7. Spilly informed me that Monty and Ribbon are husband and wife, but used to be brother and sister.

8. Daddy and Spilly had a difference of opinion about putting stickers on walls. Daddy finally said, "Now, who owns this house, anyway?"

"I do," Spilly said.

Daddy explained that in fact she didn't own the house; she just lived here.

A few minutes later, Spills came stamping down the stairs with twenty dollars given to her by her grandmother. She gave it to Daddy.

"NOW I OWN THE HOUSE."

Busy Day

Saturdays are supposed to be lazy days. This one started offensively early, though, when Spills climbed into our bed and said, "I'm going to make your hair look like a boy." (This consisted of scraping every strand of my hair behind the back of my head, so I looked like I was wearing the world's tightest bun. Attractive. Kind of painful.)

Once she had us up -- it didn't take as long as you'd think -- we wolfed down breakfast, started cleaning frantically, then threw on clothes and headed out to buy something that might resemble a decent lunch for my parents and brother, who would be arriving late morning. My brother, who lives in B.C., is here this week for a conference. We hardly ever see him, so having him for lunch today was a big deal.

Spilly knows him best as the guy who was here when she fell down the stairs. He didn't mean for it to happen, and he certainly didn't initiate it. She was about a year old. Nobody knew she could climb stairs, and nobody was watching at that particular split-second. (Bad us.)

No sooner was he in the door today, then she said severely, "Uncle David, do you remember when I fell down the stairs?"

"Yes, I do," he said.

"And what did you say?" This is Spills' favourite question at the moment.

"I said, 'Oh no, she's fallen down the stairs.'"

"And what did I say?"

"You said, 'Waaaaahhhhh.'"

We had a wonderful visit, all too short, policed by Spills. And after everyone was gone, we began the Fashion Show. We are off to Portugal (the Algarve) very soon for a one-week holiday, and Spills has been growing a surprising amount since the last time she wore shorts. So we tried everything on, discarding most of what we'd hoped would fit.

Then, we piled into the car and headed to the shopping mall to see what we could find for her. Much angst later, she has several suitable items, and I have new capri pants. Whee!

And this trip will come not a moment too soon. Yet another storm watch is in effect for our area. And here I was thinking that we'd gone almost a week without one, and wondering if someone was asleep at the controls. Apparently not.

Some Warmth amid the Cold

It was the mother of all rotten drives home tonight. The snow hit out of nowhere, and the roads got greasy beyond all expectations. Even the tailgaters backed off. And the huge Mac trucks crawled along, trying to stay in their lane. There's nothing more fun than wondering if the mac truck coming toward you is completely in control or not.

And I should have felt absolutely horrible. But, you know, I've been nursing a very happy little secret for a couple of days, and it has really helped to colour the bleak world around me.

And what is that secret, you ask? You'll never guess. Okay, I'll tell you. This week, completely out of the blue, I received a couple of very special emails. And they came from someone I never expected in a million years to be emailing me. And who do you think it was?

Sanjaya's mother!!!

And I am touched beyond words at the kindness she has shown toward my Spilly. The child has been on a bender ever since. And so have I, feeling like I'm in the twilight zone. I really can honestly say I never expected to be typing, "So how's Sanjaya doing these days?" and to be receiving an answer...

Spilly is particularly delighted at the fact that "Sanjaya's Mommy" mentioned she would like to hear Spilly sing. Spills' immediate can-do response was, "Then let's make a recording for her RIGHT AWAY."

"Maybe later," I said.

A lot later.

Running the Show

So Spills received her little award today, and hubby says it was a very nice assembly. There was a choir with a soloist, and a presentation about Martin Luther King, and all of the kids getting certificates were called up one by one on the stage.

I asked Spilly this evening, "What did it feel like when they called your name?"

She said, "I jumped up like a Smarty out of a box!"

"Did you have a feeling of excitement?"

"No," she said in her are-you-crazy voice. "I had a feeling of PEACE."

"Oh. I see."

"And do you know what my certificate was FOR?"

"What was it for?"

"It said that I got to be the little-girl Principal for a day."

"Oh really? And what kinds of things did you get to do?"

"I got to say, SSSHHHHHHH to everybody who was talking."

Her Daddy says he missed this part of the assembly entirely.

The Other Side of the Fence

Spilly is getting a little award in her school assembly tomorrow. It's for "showing responsibility." She doesn't know. Her teacher sent us a note home last week telling us about it, inviting us, and asking us not to tell her.

It's funny--I've been giving out awards like these for years. And I've always enjoyed seeing parents get sentimental about them, had fun watching them tape the whole thing for posterity. But I don't think I've ever really understood how they felt. I would give anything to be able to be there tomorrow. I know I'd get all mushy and teary, seeing my own little crazy one walk up to the front of the student body and be given a certificate that represents something I love to think she possesses in her own four-year-old way.

I've gone back and forth in my mind about ditching school for the day so I could be there. I almost called in sick this evening. But, ironically enough, I have to give out my own certificates tomorrow. Mine are for "showing care for your school environment." They're being given to kids who haven't had a lot of experience at getting certificates, kids who have never found school easy but are amazing citizens of the classroom. Their parents were given cards earlier in the week, inviting them. I have no doubt they'll be sitting in the audience tomorrow, getting all mushy and teary, proud of their own babies.

Sometimes as a teacher-parent, it's a very tough call. There are no first-day-of-school rituals with your own one, because you're providing part of that ritual for other people's little ones. You have to miss assemblies. On the other hand, you have a unique perspective on the experiences your child will have in her classroom. Maybe you're uniquely ready to provide a sympathetic ear, the right kind of inspiration when needed. And maybe that's a kind of compensation.

Highlights of the Weekend

It was my birthday on Sunday, and in typical style our family celebrated most of the weekend.

On Saturday morning, Spilly presented me with some beautiful yellow flowers she had picked out (yellow is my favourite colour). She says that they are sunflowers, although I believe they are a bit too small and delicate for that. They are living in the dining room in a vase.

She and her Daddy took me out to a lovely restaurant on Saturday night. There Spilly tasted her first mussels, which caused her to retch repeatedly and nearly throw up, just at the moment when the waiter came to ask, "How is everything?"

We all went skating on Sunday morning at an indoor arena. Spills began skating two weeks ago (something my back still remembers not-so-fondly), and has made quite a bit of progress in fourteen days. The backyard rink has given her a place to practise. Yesterday she and her Daddy (who also basically started skating a couple of weeks ago) made it all around the arena together, hand in hand. Spills says she is going to be a hockey player.

We had lunch with our friends at Swiss Chalet, where Spilly announced that she planned to marry Robbie but have Simon as her boyfriend too. A very liberated perspective, I think. Not sure where Sanjaya fits into that scenario.

We had tomato soup and cake for supper, in the most remarkably decorated dining room imaginable. Spills even insisted upon a Dora tablecloth to celebrate my step closer to death. On the wall was a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game, and there were streamers and balloons.

And to cap it all off, the Oscars were on that evening, so Spills and I watched the fancy dresses, etc., until it was time for her to go to bed.

A good time, all around!

Incredible Music

So Spilly had her little Friday music class again. Apparently Mr. Fantastic was there. He was wearing a Spiderman shirt.

Hubby asked him, "Are you Mr. Fantastic?"

"No," he said, with some scorn. "I'm Mr. INCREDIBLE. See?" And he shot off along the hallway in a really incredible run.

We like his style.

After-School Concert

It was a grim, stressful day. Not enough sun, temperatures far too frigid, kids crazy, report cards looming, marking pile threatening to fall over and smother me. And an EQAO meeting after school, as if there wasn't enough on the old plate.

When I got home, there was no sign of hubby or Spills. So I took my bad mood up for a quick bubble bath. By the end of it--and a hair wash--I was ready to face the world again.

I heard the door open, and voices in the hallway. As I headed downstairs, I could hear Spills saying, "But why isn't Mommy HERE?"

"She'll be here soon," her daddy told her.

"Until she gets here, I'm going to pretend I have an imaginary Mommy," Spills was saying gloomily. At that moment, I leapt out into view.

"MOMMY!" my kid shrieked. There were many hugs. Then she added, "You look like Sanjaya."

"I do? Really?"

"You have a hat like him. Can I wear it now?"

I still was wearing the towel around my head from my hair-wash. "Well, it's drying my hair right now, so I don't think you should," I said.

"When you're done, can I?"

"Maybe we'll get you a dry one right now."

Moments later, we were on my bed, and she was dressed in full princess regalia (gown, slippers, scepter), with a towel wrapped around her head.

"And now I'm going to do a concert for you."

"Great!" I said, perched against the pillows.

She left the room. A great silence followed. Then she burst through the door, singing the entire song, "Ain't no mountain high enough..." It went on and on. It involved elaborate dance moves.
At the end, she began to climb onto the bed. I clapped enthusiastically.

"Mommy! I'm NOT DONE YET. I'm just climbing up the mountain."

"Oh, sorry," I said.

"But it's not high enough. DON'T LAUGH."

The After-School Joy of it All

So I arrived home after a long teaching day followed by a slog through report cards. They're due next week. The pressure's on.

I was greeted at the door by a frenetic Grassy the Ant. Grassy said in a high falsetto, "I'm Grassy the Ant! I've made a traffic light! Come and see!"

Sure enough, a large play dough traffic light was squished onto the wall, with all the right colours in all the right places. Clear evidence that the energy was a-scattered.

"Oh!" I said. "That's a traffic light, all right."

We managed to remove the play dough and tidy up slightly, and then Grassy and Mommy read together and began to watch a bit of Alice in Wonderland. Mommy actually began to unwind from her day.

Then Grassy was unexpectedly replaced by Child From Hades, who suddenly realized that when she hadn't been looking, Daddy had set the table. Apparently this had been the divine ordained right of CFH, although nobody is sure exactly when the honour was bestowed upon her from on high.

She began by shouting with terrible outrage, "You said I COULD DO IT!" Then she stamped her little self into the dining room and began forcibly removing all of the silverware. I went into the kitchen at this point. The way I saw it, if she wanted to remove everything and replace it, that was fine.

And it would have been fine, had she actually replaced everything. Instead, she meticulously put it all away in the silverware drawer, grumbling and growling all the while. Then she closed the drawer.

"So," I said after a minute. "Are you planning to set the table?"

"We....ll," she said. "Now I don't think I want to set it anymore."

So I began to give her a lecture about how you can't take everything off the table and put it in the drawer and not replace it.

Midway through, she decided she would set the table.

"Good," I said. "I'll be back in a bit."

I went out to the living room and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally I went back into the kitchen. Spilly was fingering all of the forks peacefully.

"Are you going to set the table?" I said.

"Yes!" She jumped. Apparently she had been lost in thought. She began grabbing silverware again. In the meantime, I poured milk for everyone, and put it out on the table (Spills is not allowed to carry the glasses around).

Next thing I knew, from the kitchen I could hear grunting sounds, as if someone was lugging something cumbersome.

"What are you doing?" I called.

No answer.

Out to the dining room I went. There she was dragging glasses off the table, liquid sloshing here and there, a mulish expression on her face.

"You are spilling the milk!"

Daddy showed up at this point, less than satisfied. Turns out, good chunks of his day with Spills had been less than satisfying--tantrums over zippers, refusal to put on outer clothing, etc.

Let's just say the whole thing ended in tears. And words. And more tears. Tears throughout dinner. The tears of a tired and frustrated small person, who would like to be a good deal more autonomous than she is. And who had a supply teacher today and sat through a boring RRSP meeting at the bank. And whose Mommy came home late because she was wrestling with report cards.

We worked it all out during dinner. And at last Spilly's tears dried, and she became philosophical.

"Mommy, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Well," I said. "I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, when I was about your age."

"And you AREN'T."

"Well, I'm a grade six teacher. And I wanted to write a book, and I did. And I wanted a little girl exactly like you."

"And you got me!" she said with great satisfaction.

"And I wanted to marry someone like Daddy, and I did."

After awhile she said, "Mommy, I'm not going to work when I grow up."

"Really?" I said. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to stay at home and look after you."

And suddenly the day seemed a lot less dark and a lot less gruelling.

What did Spills do when she got home from her grandparents' house, you ask?

1. rang the doorbell at least twenty times because it's funny

2. took a walk around the block with Daddy to refamiliarize herself with where everything is

3. ran full-tilt into the glass coffee-table and had a good sob until Mommy showed her Mommy's bruise from yesterday, when Mommy ploughed into a row of chairs at the movie theatre

4. devised several methods of getting Mommy and Daddy out of the kitchen so she could try to sneak another of the gingerbread heart-shaped cookies she and Grandma made

5. showed off her very full tummy after dinner, saying, "I've got a baby in there, and her name is Rebecca."

6. had a first-class argument with Grandpa over the lyrics to Sergeant Pepper, insisting they go, "It's Sergeant Pepper's only heart slum band."

7. threw her clothes into as many rooms as possible while ostensibly getting ready for her bath

8. sang reassuringly to her bulgur at dinner, "Don't worry, little bulgur, I'm going to eat you."

9. treated everyone to multiple versions of "I don't know how to make my parents love me."

10. processed into the living room dressed up in princess attire, complete with crown and high-heeled shoes, and then gave everyone in turn a sternly stiff-handed royal wave

Silence

Well, Spilly has gone to visit her grandparents for a couple of days. It's very quiet around here--no belting out rocker tunes, no "you be me and I'll be you" games, no Constant Communicating.

It wasn't so quiet before she left. She wanted to pack her own suitcase, so I let her (I added a few little things later). Lots of clinking sounds and lugging of items. I ignored them.

Then she came to me, quite worried. "Mommy, I found something that isn't fair."

"What is it?"

"Well, I have antlers for me and Grandma, but I can't find the antlers for Grandpa."

"Oh," I said. "Let's take a look."

We searched high and low, and finally found Grandpa's antlers (the ones with the jingly bells) at the bottom of the tickle trunk. They went into the suitcase immediately, and I had my first glimpse of what else was in there.

1. Most of the bookcase, including picture frames and ceramics

2. A wiggles DVD

3. Monty

4. Ribbon

5. Purple socks with hearts on them

6. A princess outfit

7. Antlers

I made a point of telling Grandma about the search for the antlers, wanting to make sure that she and Grandpa would recognize that it was important to Spills that they be actually put on the head.

Grandma said, "I think we'll wear them for dinner tonight."

So, while my Hubby and I went to see Oscar-nominated movies, I took pleasure in imagining Grandma, Grandpa and Spills sitting down to their salmon dinner in their special headgear.

Spills will be back on Monday night.

Sweet, Sweet Music....

Today I got to chaperone a middle school dance. If you offered me the choice between being repeatedly clubbed in the head or chaperoning a middle school dance, I would be hard-pressed to choose (but the clubbing might have a slight edge). At least my tour of duty was only an hour long; but by the end of it, my head was pounding, and my eyes were sore from squinting through near-total darkness in the school gym (there were some laser-y kinds of things dancing around the ceiling, but they didn't provide much illumination to those of us below).

Spilly enjoyed some music today too. She attends a little music class on Fridays with her friend Robbie. Today was extra-special, apparently. She told her Daddy afterward, "There's a new boy in our class!"

"Oh?" said her Daddy. "What's his name?"

"Mr. Fantastic!"

Daddy was slightly taken aback. "What's his real name?" he asked.

Spilly glared at him. "Mister. Fan. Tas. Tic."

"Did you see Mr. Fantastic?" I asked Daddy later.

"I actually did, for a minute."

"And did he look fantastic?"

"Well--kind of," said Daddy, after thinking about it.

Sounds like Robbie, Spilly's current main squeeze, is going to have a run for his money.

Valentine's Day

I was greeted this morning by my student saying to me, "H V D, Mrs. C."

To which, of course, I said, "H V D, B."

It has been a day of high spirits and adolescent hormones firing. We had a party this afternoon that was really, mostly, a language lesson (we have been studying Bridge to Terabithia, and wrapped up the unit today by watching the movie, while making a Venn diagram comparing similarities and differences between the movie and the book--oh, and while eating a whole lot of junky food and giggling over the Valentines we had received).

Later on, after school had ended, Mommy and Daddy and Spilly put on their best duds and headed to the fancy Italian restaurant. There we met the best waiters ever, who plied Spilly with never-ending maraschino cherries and heart-shaped pasta, and paid her the kinds of compliments to which she feels she should become accustomed.

She held forth on the subject of love, giving it her own unique twist. Tenderly she said, "Mommy, I love you more than this whole building."

"I love you more than this whole building too," I said, feeling all sentimental.

Then the mood turned.

With unexpected menace, she muttered, "Not for long."

Not sure what to expect in the near future. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

For now.

The Fabulous New Word

Well, Spilly learned the word "nincompoop" today. She thinks it's great. As I write this, she is singing, "I'm just wild about nincompoop, and nincompoop's wild about me."

Don't know who the nincompoop is, but he should really run, run as fast as he can.

Tomorrow night, speaking of people being "wild" about each other, we are all going out for a romantic dinner for three, at the new Italian restaurant near us. We were there once before, when they first opened. Tomorrow, they are having a special Valentine's Day menu, and the helpful person on the phone is planning to arrange a special kid's menu for Spilly. We shall see what it is, but I bet it will be nice. Just hope she doesn't call the waiter a nincompoop.

Where's My Family??

So more crummy weather in our neck of the woods. Snow blowing in off the lake, coupled with the snow we were supposed to get anyway. And something out of Ohio that they're talking about hitting us now. Oh, and something bad is supposed to move in on Thursday night.

Today's weather warnings started, of course, once I'd made it to school. They were forecasting a really unpleasant drive home, with whiteouts and visibility less than a kilometre. So, in my wimpy way, I started trying to call my hubby from my classroom phone during recess. He's such a very good driver, and I'm such a very bad driver. My cowardly reasoning was, my little car could sit in the school parking lot overnight, and my family could come to get me.

But there was no answer at home. Very bad news indeed.

So I had to drive home, and it was as rotten as forecast. It was made even more rotten by the jerk in the huge Mac truck behind me, who didn't feel I was going nearly fast enough, and wanted to give me a big kiss in through the back window.

I got home shaking. Hubby was shovelling the driveway.

"I thought maybe you'd call for a ride," he said, quite surprised I'd made it home.

"I TRIED!"

"Oh!" He frowned. "Well...I guess we were out skating for awhile."

It took a second for this to register.

"On our rink?"

He nodded.

"Is it ice now?"

"Oh, yeah!" He proceeded to emote at length about our magnum opus, the backyard rink to end all rinks, that slopes sharply down toward the back fence, like the mother of all luge runs.

"How was Spilly on the ice?"

"Much better!" He described stumping around in his boots, holding on to a cackling Spills who had coined her variety of skating as "bottom ballet."

And I realized that the bad news was also good news. It was almost (almost) worth a rotten drive home if it meant that our little family had taken its first collective steps toward a wonderful new active hobby together. The rink has arrived!!

Let me Count the Ways....

I said to Spilly today, "I love you a little bit, you know."

"Just a little bit?" she said.

"Well, I love you a lot bit."

She thought for awhile. "Do you love me...thirty-seven pounds?"

I got down on her level so we could see eye to eye. "I love you THIRTY-SEVEN POUNDS."

"Good." She smiled, perfectly satisfied.

How to While Away a Drowsy Sunday

So. Last night we made plans to meet with friends of ours at 10:30 this morning, some 45 minutes away. Before that time, we were going to quickly pick up for Spilly a pair of skates, a helmet, and a push-along-the-ice thing to help her with balance. We thought we might also get Daddy a pair of skates, as he also doesn't know how. Then we and our friends would head to an ice rink near their home for the Family Skate at eleven o'clock.

We were at the doors of Canadian Tire just as they opened at nine o'clock. Off we trotted to the Sports department, filled with purpose. And the skate shelves were nearly bare. No skates, no helmets, no pushy things. But a lot of spring stuff, in the middle of February.

So off we raced to another Canadian tire. There we found a helmet, and skates for Spilly and Daddy. Oh, and skate guards. By now it was too late to make it to our friends' place by 10:30. Plus there were some wicked squalls coming in off the lake, and the winds were up to nearly 100 km/hr.

So we called the friends. They suggested we all reschedule for the following week. We agreed, then determined we would find our own Family Skate in our town.

Then we sat in the car and thought, where else can we look for a push-on-the-ice thing? We headed to a couple more sports stores, while Hubby, behind the wheel, squinting through the white-outs, began saying gritted-teeth things like, "This is starting not to be fun."

There were no pushy-ice things anywhere. So we went home, in time for hubby to go out and be an icicle in the backyard with the hose, on our "rink" that is one in name only because it is a kind of spongey crust at the moment (just so you know, I did offer to go out, more than once, but he nobly refused, and I cheerfully accepted his refusal).

While he was out there, I got the bright idea of calling sports stores. And I ended up speaking with a lovely young man who may or may not have been entranced by my currently husky voice (thank you, influenza), because he began actively searching online himself. And he found me a push-ice thing in the next town to ours.

Well!

I shouted the good news to my half-frozen hubby, who said weakly, "Oh, great."

So after a hearty lunch and some warm white tea, we all piled yet again in the car and headed to the next town over. I don't know how you describe white-outs that are getting more intense than the previous white-outs, but that's what we faced the whole way. We got there in one piece, and in we went to the Canadian Tire, where they were holding our ice-pusher at the Hockey Desk.

Home we went in high spirits to research whether there would be Family Skates anywhere. Turned out the only one left was already going on, and would end in just over an hour and a half.

Not a problem! Hubby opened the ice-push box, to find that the "easy assembly" was going to be slightly less easy than advertised. Particularly with Spilly wandering away with pieces that she kept turning into other things. "This is my telescope!"

Half an hour later, though, it was assembled, and we were throwing skates, helmets, etc., into a carry bag. More slithering in white outs.

We got to the arena, and the girl behind the desk said, "Did you know it's ending in half an hour?"

"Yes," we said. "We know."

She waved us in.

And what followed can best be described with a good old-fashioned Charlie Brown "Aauugh." No sooner had we gotten on the ice than a power mother shot up to us (with excellent balance, I might add), bellowing, "They're not going to let you have that on the ice."

Yes, the ice-pushy thing. Not allowed on the ice.

Several other moms were quite interested in it, though. "Where did you get that?"

"Canadian Tire," we said grimly.

"Oh, really? I've never seen it there."

"No, it's not at every location."

So the two of us--me with my minimal skating skills, and hubby with his nonexistent skating skills--tried to hold Spilly up between us while she undulated back and forth, her feet flying up backward and forward. Children half her size whizzed past us in all directions.

After about five minutes, she sat down on the ice. "My feet hurt."

"Oh, no!" I said breezily. "We just got here! Let's just do a little more!"

So for the next twenty minutes or so, we laboriously inched back and forth along the boards, while Spilly moaned about how horrible it all was, and my back began to seriously consider snapping just above my waist.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of Family Skate, I felt we had had more than enough for our first experience.

All the way home in the car, though, Spilly kept up a running monologue: "I love skating! When are we going skating again? Can we go tomorrow? Daddy, will they let us take the holder on the ice tomorrow? Daddy, can we go skating on our rink tonight....?"

Hubby was silent, very silent.