One Last Kiss

A (long) while back I remember writing that Sam's bedtime routine always ended with the "four kisses," one for each sentence—Good night. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams. I love you. Since then, the ritual has grown, with Sam adding another sentence and kiss from time to time. Over many months, we gradually climbed up to 12 good night kisses.

Good night (kiss)
Sleep tight (kiss)
Sweet dreams (kiss)
I love you (kiss)
Really (kiss)
Actually really (kiss)
I should have said more than "actually really" (kiss)
I mean it (kiss)
For real (kiss)
I'm not just kidding (kiss)
Eleven kisses! (kiss)
One last kiss (kiss)

You'd think we'd laugh through the whole thing, but it's serious business. So engrained in the good night routine, it's like a secret handshake—all quick choreography and whispered passwords. No one could copy it.

More than the usual time has elapsed since the last addition, and I sense that Sam wants to add to the ritual, but there's something quite final about "one last kiss" that stops him. And twelve bedtime kisses (after 20 minutes of reading and three songs) is probably more than enough! But I happily engage in the ritual now and commit it to blog memory, knowing that as crazy as it is to consider skipping them even once these days, the day will comes when the bedtime kisses stop altogether.

Of Mommies and Mummies

Jeremy had to get some work done this weekend, so he dropped Sam and me at the Museum of Civilization on his way to INAC. I'd wondered if Sam would lose interest before our day was done. He'd seen the Children's Museum a few times before, but he's never been let loose in the other areas. Four hours later he had to be pulled out of the Journey through Canada's Past in order to be ready for pick-up. I shouldn't have been surprised to find that he loved it all.

We started with the IMAX film, "Deep Sea," which was absolutely astonishing (and narrated by Pirate Captain Jack). We huddled in our reclined seats, head to head, whispering about the jellyfish, octupuses, crabs, sharks, anenomes, and sea turtles. Sam started out declaring "I wish nothing had to eat anything else in the sea," but became so caught up in a starfish's hapless quest for food that he revised that position, "It's sad that things get eaten, but it's sadder to be hungry!" Ahhh, the circle of life. That's a tough one.

We spent the next hour in the Children' Museum, hitting all the interactive highlights: loading cargo onto a ship, performing shadow puppetry, building a brick wall, shopping for baguettes, spelling our names in heiroglyphics, making "photos" of ourselves at the ocean. We took a break from the hectic faux marketplace to enjoy a picnic (a March picnic!), taking advantage of a sheltered spot on the stairway to soak up some sunshine and chat about what to see and do next.

After lunch, we headed for the mummies exhibit, which was tucked away in the lower level. Sam ran ahead to ask for directions of a boutique operator: "Is this the way to the Tombs of Maternity?" He suppressed a smile in answering, "Yes, the Tombs of Eternity" are right around the corner. We zipped through some of the early rooms, featuring bits of pieces of the tomb's architecture and artifacts. Sam was there for the dead people. We slowed to take in the display of jewellry, clothing and the like, but the show stopper was the room containing the sarcophagi and the mummies themselves. Sam was fascinated. He did the Disney double-check ("They're not going to walk or move or anything, right?") before moving in close to have a look. When we stepped back into the hallway, he looked about and said "I don't think this is part of the exhibit..." When I explained that we'd done the whole thing, he turned on his heel, declaring "Well, I'm not done." So we went back in through the out door to watch the educational film about archeology and re-examine the highlights.

Then it was on to the Great Hall and the First Nations exhibits. Sam was in his glory. "Will..you..take..a..look..at..this," he breathed, when we came across a room of carved masks. A good deal of the exhibit is presented in child-friendly dioramas, so it felt like being on a west coast reserve, which made Sam want to step into the action. He set off a number of motion sensors, but no one came running. We worked our way up to the top floor and wandered through hundreds of years of Canadian history, several actors stopping Sam to ask if he'd like to join the lumberjacks for dinner or if he owned the fancy house in Toronto. He played along gamely, then (once out of earshot) confirmed "They're just kidding, right?"

And just like that, four hours had evaporated and it was time to go. Passing a kiosk on the way out, Sam spotted jelly totems and floated his usual "but we're not allowed to have those. We're not here for treats. They probably cost too much dollars" thing he does as a way of sort of asking for something while acknowledging that he's well aware of the argument against sticks of stale sugar. I surprised him by giving him a $10 bill. He asked me to keep my distance, so he could line up and pay himself. He handed in the money and walked away, all proud of himself. I forgot to tell him about the change...

I'm liking this museum thing. It's fun to watch Sam's interests and vocabularly expand, his sense of history become a little more detailed (his look of surprise at the fact that Egyptians packed tombs with food and drink so that the mummies had something to munch on during the journey to the afterlife was priceless). And I enjoy being in the moment with him in a way I'm not when we're home together. Jeremy just walked by to ask what a membership costs. This might be the Museum Pass summer.

Clear and Present Mommy

After holing up for nearly three hours in the Child Care director's office on Friday afternoon to discuss the ins and outs of saving Sam's school from the spectre of closing, I claimed my weary son and got him packed and fed and ready for an overnight at Carter's. Since the office door has a large window in it, Sam had been aware of my presence at the centre: he and the other kids are used to seeing me in the halls a lot more lately, since the "accommodation review" has ramped up and certain alarming writing has been on the wall, so to speak. He's aware of it, and he's more than a little tired of it.

As chair of the Carleton Heights School Council and a member-at-large on the Board or Directors of the Child Care Centre, I'm chin deep in this process and it's taking over more and more of my time, my brain space. When I kissed Sam good bye and wished him a fun sleepover, he responded "And have a good time ... uh, working on the computer!" Yeaaahhh. Between the school issues, my job, Garnish projects, this blog, my upcoming presentatations at Ottawa U, and keeping in touch with friends (sort of), I sit here a lot. A LOT. So I resolved right there to carve out a chunk of time for giving Sam my undivided attention this weekend.

We spent it at the Museum of Nature with Tracey & Anabel and Debbie & Michael. It was a beautiful, warm Crustaceous morning (a direct quote from the short film called "What happened to the dinosaurs?" — a warm Crustaceous morning... in case any of you kids out there think this sort of extinction-level event can happen on just any sunny morning). I had to be pulled out of a two-hour morning meeting with the neighbours (to prep for a big meeting tomorrow night), but I was glad for the call to my cell. "Sorry, ladies, but I made a promise to my son." We zipped to the downtown with the moon roof open and the radio on and met up with the others in the gift shop.

We spent about an hour and a half touring three levels of the museum—taking in most of the dinosaur and mammal exhibits and hanging out in some of the kid zones, where they create climb-friendly installations, craft spaces, costumes and puppets. And I stayed right there with him. Not just physically there, murmuring "really?" and "mmmhmmm" in response to his endless monologues while keeping my own train of thought on track. Nope. I parked my own thoughts in the train yard and cleared my mind of anything but the museum moment unfolding right then and there.

And it was really, really nice.

When Mommy is the Editor

Sam and Carter can be cover models...

Beleaf it on not

As Sam was suiting up at his cubby to leave the child care centre last night, he was singing a rock song under his breath. The refrain “kids these dayyyys” was all I could make out, and it was unfamiliar. “What song is that?” I asked. He grinned shyly and said it was something he’d made up, his own song. It sounded pretty good. “It’s a maple leaf song,” he quickly added. Maple leaf? “What’s that mean? It’s an anthem? Something about Canada?” He chuckled about how far off the mark I was and simply restated the obvious, “It’s a maple leaf song.” Blank stare from Mom. “You know,” he says, filling in the blanks. “I made it up. It isn’t real. It’s maple leaf.” Ahhhhh, now I get it. “You made it up? So it’s make believe? “Oh, right. Ya, that. Make believe.” I think I have a new favourite phrase for pretending. “Let’s maple leaf that it’s pioneer times.”