Four (generations) on the Floor

The family converged on Barrie this weekend to celebrate Janey’s 37th birthday chez Fowler, and then to check out Grandma & Grandpa’s new ride and KOA accommodations. Sam loved it all (with the possible exception of two sad facts: grown-ups don’t hand out goodie bags at their birthday parties, and “grandpa & grandpa” don’t actually live in a giant playground now).

It’s always fun to get the four boy cousins together and watch them pretty much spin in continuous circles until we load the protesting Ottawa half in the car for departure. They splashed in pools, climbed rocks and trees, bounded on the trampoline, monkeyed around on three playstructures, ran with sticks (we can’t watch them all the time), played Spiderman videogames, staged not-so-stealthy “wake up sleepy parents” operations, dressed in costumes, chased bad guys, and stopped every now and then to wolf down everything on the table. We expect it’ll go this way for another decade or so. By then, some of them should be able to get a basketball through the hoop, so the games may change but I imagine the intensity of the reunion won’t.

As for getting the four sisters together, well we may not spin per se, but we can talk circles around any takers, so we spent the weekend catching up on each other’s stories, enjoying good food and wine, losing and finding the family dog, and marvelling at how big the kids are getting. Factor in “the girls” (Savannah, Jasmyn, and Anabel), Jeremy and Darren, Grandma & Grandpa, and four special guests — John & Barbara, and Fantastic Granddad (he’s not just Great) & Dorothy — and there was a four-generation full house to sing Brett in with the birthday cake. It was a lot of noisy and yummy fun that carried on around the dinner table until midnight.

Day 2 at the nearby KOA campground was the first of many such stops for Grandma & Grandpa, who have traded in their bumpy fifth wheel for the smooth (and sumptuous) ride of a beautiful Magellan motor home. The whole family piled in for a look-see. It’s astonishingly large: somebody (Jacquie) can go ahead and “get more kids,” as Sam terms it. They’ll fit! From the soft white leather couch, Sam called out to Charlie: “This is just like a house, hey? Only it has seatbelts!” The campground was an even bigger revelation: people can live like this? Pools. Playgrounds. Giant checkerboard sets. A picnic for every meal. Sam was impressed. And Carter’s face nearly fell right off in shocked despair when we told him it was time to pack up. I think he felt we’d moved in to Paradise (we had brought suitcases…). So we may be in the market for a tent trailer next summer.

Somewhere in the fun family chaos, Babybel took her first assisted steps down the length of the coffee table (we baited her with Cheerios). She’ll be tearing off in the direction of the playground with the big boys in no time. With cousins a-plenty, there'll never be a dull moment! (On a sidenote, we got Janey a full Nordic spa day with her sisters. Apparently, there's no admittance to anyone under 18. We barely noticed that when we picked it out.... ;-)

Sam-san, "Crotty" Kid

Sam is now officially a force to be reckoned with, the newest “crotty" kid on the block. He signed up and suited up at the Bergeron Karate Centre last night, where Carter has been a member for a few months. Sam had to mull it over, weighing the pros and cons of involving himself in an activity that is simultaneously cool art, cool sport and cool self-defence. In the end, his worries crystallized thusly: “What if everyone else has an outfit, and I don’t?” I thought he might be concerned about performing for his sensei or not keeping up with the tip-earning progress of the Little Dragons group. On the contrary, he needed to know he’d fit in fashion-wise…

So there he is in his cool “gi,” looking the part. The class started while he was still trying to tie the thing up in 4 places, but he came scampering out of the change room to join the “courtesy, discipline, respect” bows-in-progress with an air of such entitlement and capability that I was teary with pride before he even introduced himself to the instructor. From the get-go, he was unusually (for him) engrossed in the training: he didn’t so much as glance at us for at least 20 minutes … and we were sitting 5 feet away. After that, he shot us only occasional looks of happy self-satisfaction, a smile that seemed to say: “I’m nailing the high block, hey?”

Our son was, in fact, almost unrecognizable. Where’s the boy who hangs back from the group and loses interest within minutes, finally wandering away to do something on his own? Sam-san is clearly here to learn. He wasn’t fazed in the least by being the only newbie. He half-fumbled his way through most of the stretch exercises and the motions of ready position (instead of quickly crossing his arms across his body before firing them out and down, he pounds his chest like a dominant ape - it’s pretty cute). He never lost confidence, even mouthing along while the boys around him counted off their sit-ups in Japanese. And his comfort level with the instructors was made obvious by the fact that when it was his turn to walk the circle in “Ninja, Ninja, Turtle” (the ancient Chinese equivalent of “Duck, Duck, Goose”) he turtled his sensei and raced him back to his seat.

At times, his supreme efforts to mimic the sensei made us giggle. When the boys were posed together in a faux photograph and asked to stay perfectly still for 10 seconds (an exercise in discipline) the group was a stony tableau, right up until the instructor slowly raised an imaginary camera to his face to take the picture. Kneeling in the disciplined front row, Sam mirrored his actions precisely, lifting his own camera to his face. You could see the cogs working: “Copy the tall one. Copy the tall one..”

The sharp learning curve aside, he’s already showing signs of sheer genius, of course. Just try to strike a super-slo-mo kitten blow to the side of his calf and watch the block, baby! (actually, the block is delivered in a relatively respectful and subdued manner; it’s the follow-up high five, powered by pride, that has the quality of agile attack). But who knows how far their initial interest will take Sam and Carter? For now, it’s a lot of fun to watch them jump into something so eagerly. And in such cute outfits.

It's All Greek to Sam

We live at the point of “high tide” for the annual Ottawa Greek Fest: if there are a row of cars parked out front on any given night, then it’s a full house up at the Hellenic Centre. The neighbourhood has been a crowded parking lot these last few days, and the whirling sounds of Greek festivities have been a Siren song through the open windows, inviting us to “live a day the Greek way.”

So we took the kids up there after dinner (have you seen the food tent line-ups?) and numbered ourselves among the 70,000 people who come out every year for the fun. With Trace and Anabel looking on, Sam and Carter and I joined the Greek folk dancing lesson. Easy-peasy: hold hands, head counter-clockwise and 1-2-3-left kick, right-kick, and again…1-2-3..” We’re dancing! The boys really wanted to join the large circle of grown-ups and big kids, but I knew that we’d end up in a pile on the ground when the music tempo picked up. So we spun around outside the official circle, Greek dancer wannabes tripping over each other and laughing to the beat of the music. Opa!

Then the organizers cleared the floor for the Cretan Association, who demostrated several national dances in colourful traditional dress that Carter roundly denounced as being “not real: that’s not how dancers dress.” Ain’t no MTV. After a minute or two of looking on, tho, he asked if he could run up and join them. When we explained that this part was a performance and not a lesson, he announced: “um, ya, I wanna go now.” “Me, too!” Sam piped up. Too loud for him suddenly. Just stand and watch? Bo-ring…

So we wound our way out of the crowd in time to meet up with Jeremy, Paul & Siobhan coming out of the food tents, trays laden down. We found seats near the blow-up bouncy castle jumper and 25 foot high slide ride and took turns lining up with the excited boys. Sam soothed his "younger" cousin's fears with the classic "I'll be right there with you, Carter." One trip and they were hooked. They repeatedly rope-climbed up the slide and came barrelling down the steep incline, shrieking. How marvellous of the Greeks to give us slide rides. Coins? Maps? Democracy? Shrug. The hypotenuse in slide form? Now that’s an impressive cultural achievement. Props to Pythagoras.

As the sun set, we all enjoyed some gargantuan baklava, let loose our grips on the blue Greek fest balloons, sending them soaring into the clouds, and then ambled home for bed with sleepy and satisfied kids. I think Plato had it wrong when he said that it is the good and beautiful things in life that are hard to attain; that was actually pretty easy. The trick now is getting Sam to go to sleep despite the tantalizing sounds of the not-so-distant festival drifting over the neighbourhood.

"Pay Sasso"

The other day I mentioned that Sam had recently given his original “castle” to Anabel. It’d had been in his bedroom closet for nearly a year, but he and his playmates still hauled it out on occasion, rummaging for extra props to bolster a game. He was less and less satisfied, tho, with the squat and cheery figures that represented the brave knight, the fire-breathing dragon, the stern king. In fact, the warm smiles and diminutive proportions of these “Little People” gave the lie to the death-defying feats he’d have them face.

So Sam’s pretty much stuck to the newer big boy castle on display in his room. It’s dragon has claws and teeth to be reckoned with, and the knights are so intent on the danger all around them that their visors cannot be pried up to reveal chipper grins. Perfect. Anabel can walk those other guys through the cute castle with its juicy chicken roasting on the spit and its bucket of crown jewels sparkling in unconscious display through the turret windows. That’s for babies...

Once upon a time, however, that fairy tale castle was the centre of Sam’s universe. It’s the only Christmas gift I clearly recall from 2004 — a present from Tracey. How fitting that she should have it back in her house now, sounding its never-to-be-forgotten nine-note accompaniment to the presentation of the king. I’d hum it here for posterity, but it’d come out only as “doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, DOO-DOO!” Captures little of its triumphant measure and sense of pomp and circumstance. Ironically, most of the 1001 times that Sam pressed the flags to sound the horns and light up the torches, no one occupied the throne that was simultaneously flung out on to the balcony for the benefit of the imagined subjects below. Absentis regius.

Sam’s king had more important things to do. Like host birthday parties. Endlessly identical “boeuf-day paahtees.” He’d gather the guests, bringing in Sally and Michael from the treehouse set and the firefighter and paramedic from the fire station set (okay, I called her a paramedic, but Jeremy’s nickname for her, “Nurse Betty” is the one that stuck). Then the King and Queen (Rex and Elizabeth) would haul the little wooden table out on to the grounds for a picnic. Happily, the table is permanently pre-set with meat, fruits, bread and cheeses. Everyone ate with gusto! The aforementioned chicken, as well as the pie cooling on the mantle and the bucket of apples from the stable, furnished additional courses. Then came the chase games, followed by the present: the unveiling of a beautiful horse named Bulls-eye (l’hommage à Toy Story). No matter who the guest of honour was, the party always unfolded in the same way. Sam loved it, time after time. After time.

Some months later, he swapped up the scenario to detail an exciting rescue of a number of rogue animals from the battlements. You never knew what kind of dangerous beast you might encounter on the rooftop. Actually, that’s not quite true. You knew exactly who was up there. It was the usual suspects every single time. Sam didn’t take well to variations from his script. So whenever I heard his hopeful and enthusiastic proposal, “pay sasso…!?”, I knew how things would run for the next hour or so. It was sweet fun. It was also often exhausting, and so for reasons that the un-childed could never understand, all those hours of castle play rank high on the “Things That Make Us Good Parents” List. It’s not about the diaper changing and the sleepless nights: it’s about ignoring the muscle cramps, the tantalizing whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, and the piles of laundry you’re going to have to do late that night and smiling instead through the 14th round of your son’s favourite game.

Much older and wiser, Sam now loves to hear this story of his obsession with that particular toy and his cute invitation to come “pay sasso”. But I realize, writing this, that while his plots are certainly more varied and extended now, his tolerance for a little adlibbing on the part of the supporting players hasn’t changed that much at all. It’s still his narrative and you’d best do what you’re told when you’re handed the blue knight. The curse of an only child. It’s something we’re subtly working on with him. Cuz we’re good parents, and we want Sam’s friends to happily join in his games, whatever version “sasso” takes from here.

9 months

Anabel (stinkerbell, ana-belly, babybel) is already 9 months old. As long "on the outside" as she was "on the inside." She's Tarzan-walking now, on all fours, and she's "talking" Arnold-girl style, sort of endlessly and loudly and with an excited exuberance when there's a good story to share. She's still doing it with her mouth full, but we're giving her a little time :) She's eating everything she can get her hands on, which includes the fluff and string she finds when she flips up the edges of our area rugs. And she's starting to play games: "monkey-in-the-middle" ball games with her mom and brother, "where's the baby" peek-a-boo with anyone at all. Sam is graciously, though with thorough and deliberate consideration, slowly handing his baby and toddler toys down to her. The Playskool castle went last week. The soft stacking fishie containers are in the front hall closet, the last of the three-part process of seeing them go out the door.

It's hard to believe how quickly the months have passed (of course, I've never been up in the night with her...). Noting the date, I had to call up a photo of the boys' first 5 minutes with Baby Anabel. I love that picture: the reverance in their faces is priceless, as if—at the age of 3 — they already appreciate what a miracle she is. Now that she's hanging around at the bottom of the stairs, considering the climb up in to the boys' bedrooms to see what's going on, Anabel may soon be entering a phase of being not so tenderly regarded. She's about to get in the way. To topple carefully constructed pirate worlds, to rip pages from treasured books. She's what we now call "a growing concern." I imagine we'll hear quite a bit of "ANA-BEL!" over the next few months. Perhaps years. But something tells me that Carter and Sam will always be caring and careful older brothers (Sam won't use the word "cousin" for Anabel: he's her "brudder"...). In more ways than one, she's a lucky girl.

Boyz 2 Men

Sam and Carter marked a milestone together this weekend. Quite literally together. After considerable hesitation at the threshold and more than a few changes of heart, the two of them steeled themselves for a march into a public washroom on their own. Like men. Like men who pee in a men's room. Like men who pee in a men's room without a parent in there with them.

The boys have had enough of being ushered by their mothers past that univeral icon, Woman in Dress. Of lining up to wash at sinks crowded with ladies who smile indulgently at them during make-up touch-ups. Of squeezing past laden-down mothers plopping newborns on the baby changer. Clearly this is not the domain of big boys: big boys who command the water canon on the splash pad, who call for the spaceship swing to go higher and higher, who conquer the zip cord and who are thinking about trying the monkey bars. When nature calls to boys such as these, surely they seek out that other universal icon, Man in Pants.

So after three hours of play and picnic at Brewer Park, Sam and Carter found themselves facing that uncomfortable dilemma: the ladies' room with mom or the men's room on their own. The park facilities have a staggered entry rather than a door, so it wasn't too daunting a proposition to run in and run out. They'd taken a few tester steps towards the divide when a very well-intentioned man stepping past them sized up the situation and offered to accompany them. Hhhm. More or less the embodiment of their half-formed fears (not to mention ours) right there. Nice, but Stranger in Pants set the whole decision back about 5 minutes. Looked like it would be the Powder Room once more.

Finally, wiggly with a dangerously full bladder, Sam suddenly bolted for the stalls leaving a stunned Carter at the entry: "Sam!? Where did you go?" From inside, Sam replied: "I'm in this one!" And that was it. Carter ran in to join him. They came flying out 60 seconds later and had to be about-faced for handwashing, but they were obviously proud of themselves. The men's room. But wasn't it just yesterday that we were the mothers strapping our little bundles onto those Koala change tables, practically heedless of the fact that there were boy parts in those diapers?

For now, I think I'll call it The Little Boy's Room. Little boy in pants...