Tis the Season

The holidays have zipped past in their usual way, leaving a blur of sweet memories. Seems best to capture the family moments like so many snapshots.

(1) Sammy is (to my mind) the star of the school's Holiday Concert, belting out "I Wanna Hippopotamus for Christmas" and miming through all the actions two full verses before his petrified classmates could move their limbs. A born performer :)

(2) Jeremy arrives home in the dead of night two days ahead of schedule and early the next morning, Sam flings himself onto his Daddy for "snowboarding" rides, laughing like a maniac for a minute or two before exclaiming "I know! Let's build something!"

(3) Sam's face lights up when he spots me crossing the street in the market to meet up with him and Daddy after their Christmas shopping. He seems so grown-up and also still so small amid the hustle and bustle of rush hour.

(4) The Morley presents Sam with the gifts he covets most ("The Search for Davy Jones's Locker" MegaBlox set), but Mr Born Performer plays it shy at the unwrapping: "just what I wanted," he mumbles. Once one of the ships is assembled, he hams up his happiness for the camera (above).

(5) We spend Christmas Eve at Tracey's, with Grandma and Grandpa. After dinner, we all sing Christmas carols, just like when we were young. Sam and Carter know all the words. Later, we check in with the NORAD web site to discover that the reindeer are in Panama and heading north (we didn't have that when I was a kid!)

(6) Sam snuggles in for sweet Merry Christmas hugs before asking if we can go downstairs to see if Santa left anything for him. He's more than happy with the Megatron the elves built from his "constructions." He's also quite proud of his involvement in picking out the mommy & daddy presents (almost everything Jeremy gets is hockey-related).

(7) Sam, Jeremy and I play our first game of Trouble after breakfast. Sam wins: "There's trouble in the bubble" becomes his new catch phrase. A few days later, he turns down an offer to play it again, reasoning "I've already won that game: I might lose next time, so no thanks."

(8) Grandpa & Grandma give us a Disney Memory Book, photo frame and spending money for the kids' first trip to Disney World next November. Sam's far more entranced by the Lego sets and Power Rangers, but that's because he can't possibly imagine what's in store for him ....

(9) While the kids revel in presents, the grown-ups play a fun afternoon game of Cranium. Tracey can't whistle, but she comes up with "ferris wheel" from a blob of clay. Grandpa can't act like Marilyn Munro but he jumps like a cheerleader. Grandma confuses Keanu Reeves with River Phoenix but can ID Castro from a high school photo. Jeremy can't draw with his eyes closed but he's Rainman spelling backwards. We have a hoot, and then we have a delicious roast beef dinner.

(10) Sam and Jeremy and I order pizza and watch The Swiss Family Robinson, enjoying a low-key Friday night together. Sam's lovin' having all this time with his mom & dad.

Record-breaker

So it seems I may have offended the Winter Warlock a few posts ago by complaining about the copious shovelling in Jeremy's absence. Yesterday, he sent snowdrifts clearly designed to eat up my young son and his trusty pet. We got somewhere between 31 and 37 cms, depending on the news source. Either way, it's record-breaking and darn near back-breaking. I dug out four times during the storm, trying to stay ahead of the accumulation, but it doesn't matter: the plows haven't shown in Courtland Park yet and it's well past noon on a Monday. We're snowed in. Again!

This morning, I considered tackling the back deck to give us easier access to the freezer and to provide a secondary escape route in an emergency. This is the scene that greeted me when I flung open the garage door: 4 feet of snow and no where to put it! So I closed the door, grabbed some additional supplies from the freezer and figured that--if worse came to worst--Sam and I could easily flee the house by simply walking out his half story window and directly into the hedgerows. It's that snowy. I'm reminded of a long-ago winter in the Red River valley when a drift swallowed our Volkswagon whole.

Sam was joyful and triumphant at the sight of the street this morning. He did a little "no plow" dance on the couch to jinx my hopes of taking him to school and then attending our office Christmas party at the Heart & Crown today. He back-peddled a little when I countered with my "pro plow" dance, explaining that he just didn't want to see me out there digging the end of the driveway out since it's been "too bad for you," as he puts it. Very sweet, but he immediately followed up with a request that I crawl into his dining room table tent fort and play Tic-tac-toe with him. We did that, as well as some pages in his Ready to Read activity book. He's watching movies now and eating his lunch straight out of his optimistically packed lunchkit. I'm wondering what we'll do for the rest of the day on this, our third day home alone together. The snow's too deep to walk in and we've been through all the usual games, activities, crafts, puzzles, movies, baking and more. It's been fun, but I'm worn out!

I don't know how home-schoolers do it.

Five Years Ago

On December 16, 2002, Daddy wrote these words in The Sammy Journal:

When I saw the portable play-pen that someone bought for you, it made me realize how excited I am to have you on the outside with us. Hurry up in there, will ya! Oh.. and another thing... As long as you are still in there, how's about you give me a kick in the chin when you hear my voice, hey? Thay's all I ask.

I'm glad you are going to have so many cousins and friends your age so close to you. You have 4 other cousins, but they all live out in B.C. Their names are Vanessa, Amanda, Marissa and Taylor and -- you guessed it! -- they're all girls. It's too bad that all my family lives so far away, but you will have plenty of lovin' from the Arnold side of the family, I'm sure.

I look foward to spending time on the benches or in the audience watching you with all the other parents while you play or do whatever sport or hobby or interest you choose to pursue. I love you Sammy. I look forward to holding you.

Love, daddy

Now, five years later, Jeremy is spending the weekend with his brother (it's been 3 years!) and will see Vanessa, who lives in Alberta now, too. And the full Arnold clan is in Innisfil enjoying an early Christmas celebration. We planned to make the trip yesterday morning, but called it off when the storm watch went into effect ("road travel will be next to impossible"). So, Sam and I have built a tent fort in the dining room, and we're hunkering down there for the duration—loved and missed by family, but, for the day at least, "secret agents" who've given all that up for the good of the country...

Baby's First Christmas

Watching Sam scamper around the aisles of Toys R Us today ranking the relative degrees of coolness among stacks of superheroes, villains, robots and wrestlers, I couldn't help but think back to his first Christmas and the search for the right toys for our 8-month old. We didn't find them at Toys R Us: we found them at Pet Smart.

Sam loved bouncy balls, and he loved to chew on things. So, yes, Sam's first Christmas presents were doggie chew toys. Oh, we tried to find soft, lightweight, durable sports balls everywhere else first, but who could top something a German Shepherd couldn't rip through? And the price was pretty good, too.

When Sam discovered his first gifts on Christmas morning, he stared lovingly at them for a moment, reached up and held them on top of his head (a sign of approval), and then promptly sunk his teeth into them. Perfect.

We spent the rest of the morning rolling them up and down the hall and giggle-crawling after them, both he and I .... so it was less like "fetch" than it may sound....

The Toy Maker

Because we're fan-tas-tic parents, we've managed to convince Sam that he can make any toy he wants and do a better job of it than the factories that crank out all of the advertised toys that viewers of Saturday morning cartoons covet the world over. Lately, he's been apprenticing as a ship builder, studying at the elbow of his accomplished father. His bedroom is overrun with a fleet of pirate vessels fashioned out of granola bar boxes, disposable dinnerware, straws, construction paper, styrofoam, duct tape and popsicle sticks. Sam designs each ship's "special features" and draws distinct Jolly Roger-style logos for their sails. The Bloody Eagle is still in dry-dock, awaiting the master builder's return.

What I couldn't figure out for the longest time was why he'd tape his ship "plans" up on the dining room wall for safe-keeping. Then it hit me one night while we were watching the Bugs Bunny & Tweety show together: Sylvester studies blueprints posted above a work bench whenever he's assembling some dastardly device or another designed to bring about Tweety's demise. Sam's following in Looney Toons footsteps. Now I find it especially funny to look at his two failed attempts to fit the name Ferocious Wolf across his first boat drawing. You can almost hear Porky Pig saying "Fero - .. Fero- ... Bad Wolf!"

The only downside to encouraging Sam's efforts to make better toys than he can possibly find anywhere else is that his imagination is running wild in all toy-related endeavours. Check out this picture of him proudly displaying his letter to Santa this year. In it, he asks for a Megatron transformer... but not just any Megatron transformer. He'd like Santa to fashion one that shoots cannonballs out of its head. If Sam can envision it, Santa can surely do it. Hhhm. I recall asking for Thumbalina and Spiral Graph and Digger the Dawg--all without special North Pole modifications. Never occured to me to invent a toy to test the talents of Santa's elves. Some fancy footwork will be required to dance around this one...

In the meantime, it's pretty sweet to hear him talk so enthusiastically about how he's "full of good ideas" about how to build robots and action figures and pirate boats and forts. I love his confidence, his imagination and the little foot to foot dance he does as we haul out the craft supplies to get to work on another project.

Baby, Please Come Home...

Okay, so far my three work-week stint as a single parent has included a late diagnosis of Sam's 2nd ever asthma attack, a 4-hour vigil beside "the bucket" while he vomited uncontrollably, and more freakin' snow shovelling than I care to do in three winters. In addition, I've made just one meal that comes close to resembling a proper dinner, the laundry is piling up, the garbage & recycling didn't go out this week, the dog hasn't seen the end of the driveway nevermind been walked (mind you, the dog isn't complaining - see "snow" above). I'm surprised I haven't been fired, I'm nervous that I haven't done my Christmas shopping or cards, I'm flabbergasted that we're running low on groceries (see "proper dinner" above), I'm waiting for the odd-shaped yellow light illuminated on the Jetta's dashboard to start blinking red, and I have a vague sense that cheques may be bouncing. In short, I'm not exactly holding down the fort. The fort is in serious shambles.

And yet, Sam is (when not wheezing and vomiting) the happiest of little boys. When he was feeling his ol' self this afternoon, he asked if I wanted to take a break from my work to come dance to the music that his new race car plays. We rocked it out in the family room. That part, I'm doing right. And that's all that really matters. So Fort Hudson is snowed under and filling with refuse. We're dancing, we're singling carols, we're reading Captain Jack Sparrow stories. The rest of it can slide a bit till Daddy is back.

Well, maybe not the shovelling...

The 12 Days of Christmas

It's the first morning of Jeremy's 12-day business trip and we miss him already: it's just not right when Daddy's not home. Sam and I had a practice run last week, with a Sunday-Friday Daddy absence, but this count is much longer. The happy news is that he'll offset his long trip with 12 days of holidays when he returns, taking us right through Christmas and New Year's. So Sam knows that these next two school weeks are banked against a Daddy Extravaganza that's all tied up with winter break and Santa bounty and Grandma & Grandpa's visit, and building snow forts and staying in pj's all day. This year, Daddy is Christmas. We can't wait ....

The Christmas Tree

We hauled the Christmas tree home this weekend with the 4-ways flashing (since we weren't sure we strapped it to the roof just right), and we fastened it in its new stand before cutting the ties that bound it—an improvement over last year's lack of foresight that had us uncermoniously shoving the expanding tree through the front door, leaving prematurely dropped needles in our wake. Then, much to Sam's chagrin, we let the new arrival relax for the afternoon so its snowy boughs would open and dry before we got to the night-time trimming. We passed those long hours by making and decorating gingerbread boys and girls at Tracey's.

However different the tree from year to year, and whatever adventures we have selecting it and getting it home and set up in its corner, the tree-trimming traditions remain unchanged. Its elements are lifted or adapted from my much-loved childhood memories. Mom would put the lights on herself, while we were out of the room. Then, when it was dark outside, we'd be called to come decorate. We'd listen to our favourite kids' Christmas carols and sip egg nog (the first taste in a short season) and take turns lifting the treasured ornaments out of the box, sharing the special significance of each piece with one another, though we all knew the stories by heart. When we were finished, we'd all bask in the soft glow for a while and affirm that this was the most beautiful tree ever.

I love passing those traditions on to Sam. Granted, he may have taken the reverent edge off of the annual review of our special ornaments by noisly slurping his egg nog through his Santa straw, but he seemed to enjoy the tales of where each item had come from. Grandma Arnold made this ceramic gingerbread boy, and Sam made this sand-paper gingerbread boy. Mommy gave this snowman to Sam, and he gave this snowman to Mommy. This is the first ornament Sam ever picked out, and this is the ornament that Mommy has had on every Christmas tree since she was born. These ornaments are gifts from Tracey, those ones are from Jillie and Lynnie and Kimmie and Missy. And these are from our Sandy Hill neighbours who loved Sam's smile. It's a story of love and friendship, the ornament review. It tells a family's history.

After hanging them all carefully on the fragrant branches, we fill in the empty spots with Christmas balls and berries and trinkets—things we'll need fewer of as the years go by and the ornament collection grows. In the end, it is indeed the most beautiful tree ever. I imagine the far-off day when we say the same thing of Sam's family tree, which I hope will display some of his favourite childhood ornaments, and perhaps one of two of mine. Nothing says Christmas to me quite like that pink rocking horse. This time, Sam gently rubbed its surface before handing it to me to hang, asking "why does it feel like sugar?" I'd forgotten, over the years, that this sweet piece was originally from a larger "sugar cookie" set. That finish gives it a sparkle that I've always loved.

Today, Jeremy and I (mostly Jeremy:) hung the outdoor lights across the house and up and around the huge spruce out front. Sam waited for us indoors, choosing a warm lunch and some Christmas specials over a refreshing hour in the snow with his parents. While we may marvel at how big the tree out front is getting (we needed the ladder and a hockey stick to hang the lights this year!), today's experience was a far cry from our first Christmas in Hudson House—just two years ago—when it would have been inconceivable to let Sam stay inside alone. He's growing up. Fast.

Later, after dark, when Sam and I pulled on our coats and boots to step outside and view the festive spectacle for the first time, he sighed in appreciation, saying "This is even more beautiful than last year." In the long run, Sam won't remember being three or four; in fact, chances are he won't have many solid memories of being five or six either. But I hope, somehow, that his heart will hold a collective memory of "Christmas" that delves back to his youngest years and includes fleeting impressions of happy moments like these.

Go Sens Go!

The whole family joined "The Morley" on Saturday afternoon to nearly fill a row of seats at Scotiabank Place, where we watched the Sens take on the Rangers. Our boys are on the skids at the moment (we're not worried), so it wasn't pretty--but Sam had a ball anyways. Here's the top five.

(1) Sam was seated right beside the loudest and most enthusiastic "Go Sens go!" guy in the place. So team spirit was pretty high in our section despite the 5-2 loss. Daddy loves the Sens.

(2) Those two goals were celebrated in high style, so Sam got to jump up and throw the big high fives and pull out the woo-hoo's. Well, he did that the second time. The first time, he may have cowered a little, a tiny bit afraid that the honkin' loud train whistle was an actual "clear the tracks" warning...

(3) We had great seats seven rows up at the face-off circle, which meant that we saw a good deal of face-smunching hits on the board right in front of us. Lots of opportunity to join in the "ohhaff!" sound the crowd makes in appreciation of a glass-jarring hit. Very fun.

(4) There were treats. Sam had french fries with ketchup for lunch and an ice cream drumstick for dessert. Hence the mucky face. They do it up right at the 'Bank.

(5) Spartacat is wicked cool. Sam crawled down to the aisle while he was in our section and the two of them became fast friends, with Sparty even sprawling backwards, cat-style, to lay across Sam's lap so the surrounding people could see the play. We went straight to the Senszone on 2nd intermission to get him his own Spartacat plush toy. He sleeps with it now.

We go again on March 1st. Between now and then, we're hoping for a whole lot of bell-ringing wins for the Sennies.