It is official. My little guy, who insists that he is a “big kid” is enrolled in school. I tried not to think too much about it, because I do not want to get all weepy, but I still remember the days when school was a distant event not even worth thinking too much about. I have time to get used to the idea, of course. It’s only the end of February, and he won’t be starting school until September, but it just seems like it’s all happened far.too.quickly.
When did this little guy grow up? He recognizes letters and numbers (although he’s only really solid at knowing the letter B); he has an amazing imagination and tells me the funniest stories, some of which are likely partly true. Maybe. It’s hard to verify facts with a 3(and a half )-year-old.
I’d like time to just pause for a few days once in a while so that I can stop and just enjoy the best parts of him…his giggles and hugs, and watching him run sprints up and down the upstairs hallway, usually in nothing but a pair of tiny briefs.
One night last summer I told Nate a bedtime story about two brothers – Tom and Joe. He likely didn’t notice, but the story bore a strong resemblance to the busy day we’d all had, which included taking the ferry over to Toronto Island. The main difference is that they two brothers in the story were on a search for a buried treasure, and not with their parents. That same night, I told Brendan the same story (they go to sleep at separate times so it was brand new to him). That night, the “Tom & Joe” series of stories was born.
Almost every night since, the husband and I have been forced requested by Brendan to “tell a story about Tom and Joe”. In the early days, we would make it up based on a recent activity, like going to the zoo or the park. Some of the best stories were based on the weekend when we rented a small cottage that was right on a beach and the boys spent two days playing in the sand and catching frogs. We all spent a lot of time outside last summer, so had a lot of material to draw from, and our stories were always a hit. When we’re asked to repeat a specific story, that’s where it gets tricky. Nothing has been written down, and there are many nights when I have to guess the details of a story that Daddy had told the night before. Other times, Brendan will request that the story contain very specific details – like “Tom and Joe playing with power guys in the deep, dark woods”. [Definition: Power Guys – action figures. Specifically old He-Man action figures that were purchased on eBay long before we had kids.] Also, the reference to the “deep, dark woods” is from my new favourite kid’s show – Peep and the Big Wide World.
We’ve recently toyed with the idea of writing down a few of the popular stories, possibly even getting some books printed with the stories. The more I think about it, the better I like the idea.
In fact, as soon as I get my butt in gear, I’m going to do it. A tangible piece of evidence of the stories we shared would be a fantastic keepsake. Something I can read to the boys over and over again; something that we can look at years from now that offers a small glimpse into the kind of boys they were, and the types of things they enjoyed.
…ok, maybe I personally don’t think that snow balls are the greatest thing ever. For example, I am currently addicted to this salad by Summer Fresh. It’s the seven grain salad, and I get it in a pre-packaged bento box with hummus and pita. It even comes with almonds and dried fruit to add to the salad. THAT is the best thing ever.
To others, though, snow balls are where it’s at.
Yesterday afternoon everyone at my house was getting a little bit squirrelly, and by that I mean that I was in a bad mood, ready to snap at whomever looked at me cross-eyed, and the two little guys were acting as if all the words I spoke were in an ancient dialect of gibberish. The husband was taking a well-deserved (and brief) nap. Post-nap, someone had the brilliant idea that we all go outside. There was lots of snow, it wasn’t cold, and the hope was that getting out of our small house would improve everyone’s moods.
Like a magic spell, it worked. The boys were surprisingly cooperative in getting into their snow gear, and minutes after getting outside all the crankiness was gone.
I credit the change, in large part, to snow balls. The husband is an expert snow ball maker, partly because he grew up in Northern Ontario where the winters are longer and colder than they are in the South. Nate (yup…I’ve moved to their real names) loves nothing more than to walk around holding a snow ball, acting as if he’s going to throw it, but rarely ever following through.
Brendan is into throwing them up in the air and watching the snow ball crash and explode on the ground. Complete with sound effects. In case you are curious, the proper sound to make when a snow ball explodes on the ground is “Kabooom!!”
We were having so much fun, that we practically had to drag them back into the house. Oh, and I also had to go for a wagon ride.
[We never did get our sled out of storage. What can be seen here is the most snow we’ve had all year. And now it’s pretty much all gone.]
….a nice cup of tea is exactly what I need. This is my new fave from Majesteas on Queen East in Leslieville. So good.
That’s right. Today I took a vacation day from work. The main reason was to sit at home and relax while waiting for a new bed for Joe to be delivered. Trevor decided to take the day off too, so it was going to be a lovely relaxing day doing absolutely nothing.
Then I woke up to the reality that my house is on the verge of chaos at all times. The monthly cleaning lady does miracles in 4.5 hours, but the rest of the month it’s up to us to keep it under control. So I have spent my morning cleaning floors, sorting through toys, doing laundry and ignoring the sink full of breakfast dishes.
Now that the bed is delivered, I will leave the house and continue to ignore the breakfast dishes.
Then Trevor and I have to put the bed together. Sadly, the nice people from Sears only deliver; they do not assemble. They did bring the box upstairs, though.
You may not have noticed me, but I was the one in the blue car, driving the speed limit through a residential area. I was right in front of you; until, of course, you passed me at a solid yellow line and then sped through two stop signs.
You may not have noticed, but we were not on the highway. As I mentioned, this was a residential street…you know, where it’s common for people to walk around, even try to cross the street at stop signs. Luckily, no one was trying to cross the street because something tells me that you wouldn’t have stopped.
It’s entirely possible that you didn’t see me, or the stop signs, or the guy trying to turn left who had to swerve out of the way as you raced down the road. It’s possible that you took a wrong turn and thought you were on the highway. After all, it’s pretty hard to see the road when the entire driver’s side of your windscreen is cracked and shattered like it was.
I wonder where you were going in such a hurry? Maybe you were going to hang out with the guy who nearly caused an accident with me last week when he decided that to turn left at high speed when I was in the middle of the intersection. Are you guys friends?
the woman in the car who doesn’t care if you get mad when I honk at you.