Ricky's House

So it's kind of surreal to walk into a strange house in Regina for the first time to find framed photos of Sam on the fridge, the mantelpiece, the dining room hutch, and side tables... There are more photos of Sam in his movie house than in his real one! I'm not sure if any of them were caught on camera, but I snapped a few before we left for the last time. I didn't take any of the house, really - but I wish I had. It's incredible what a difference lighting and the camera frame make.

The house is for sale and my first impression was that it needed quite a bit of work - new kitchen, repaired floors, new windows, and more. The rooms are small and cluttered in a "we're moving soon" kind of way, but it's cozy and has a century-home charm. Depending on which room was being used or was "hot" (could be seen on camera), Jeremy and I tucked into a corner of the living room or dining room. We sit for hours at a time, so there is a lot of opportunity to look around.

On day two, we flipped from the den/living room scenes to shoot a few dinner table shots in the dining room. We came back from lunch at the CBC Soundstage to find the dining room all set up. It already looked different with a dressed scene - plants, table set, nice lighting. But when I stepped around to look at the shot in the monitor, I couldn't believe how beautiful the room looked. The pale yellow stucco walls were glowing softly, and the wooden trim, sconces, and recessed bookshelves looked like shiny, rich mahogany. Remarkable. Look one way and see normal house; look at the monitor and see movie house. It really is almost magical. And I think I understand why 90% of time on set is spent doing exactly this ...

(whoops - sideways video. But you get the idea. Camera angles and lighting. And lighting. And lighting :) 

Working with Kim Coates

It's Sam again! Yesterday, I finally remembered to bring my vest back from tutoring. I was very proud of myself. The production wants to pull us out of tutoring as quick as possible, but we usually manage to convince them to let us have 5 more minutes so we can count our time. But one time when we couldn't, we had to do high knees all the way to set, and still had time to do 5 push-ups before the shot to count as P.E. We got our time in. But tutoring isn't what I'm going to talk about today. Today, I'm going to talk about working with another actor in The Adventure Club.

Kim Coates is awesome. When we first got here,and looked at the cast wall, we noticed a character was missing. The director told us they hadn't cast him yet. He had a fairly big role in the movie, and we were only 5 days from shooting! So the producer got a list of stars they had in mind, and found out who they could grab. They found Kim Coates, known for his role in Sons of Anarchy. He wanted to meet us before the shoot. So he came over and talked to us, then watched us do a scene. He's a really nice guy. He was really enthusiastic. He had to leave, but the next day, we had a full day of shooting with him.

He told us that he changed lines all the time, but our cue lines would stay the same. We were off to turtoring when we were saved by Kim, who wanted to run lines with us. So we switched them up a bit. They still got the same idea across, only better. We learned from him that sometimes, if it feels more natural a different way, you can change your line. But since we're only kids, we ask the director first. He often says yes. I think Kim's a really smart guy. Like Geoff said, he is a seasoned veteran in the ways of acting.

We all noticed that during the scene, he'd just pick something up from his desk and start tinkering with it while talking, which worked really well with his character. It was always something different. And when he did the scene, it was never the same. He said something different all the time. He said whatever was natural to him. Sometimes, when we had to laugh a bit, he'd change the line so it was funnier. And when we had to be scared, he'd change the line so it was scarier.

Before every shot, Kim got into character. He'd be talking to us even before the camera was rolling, and acting like he was his character. He was talking like we were still in the last scene. So when the cameras started rolling, it was like it was one continous scene, and we were all in character.

I found that he is very good at improvising. Sometimes, he would start a sentence without even knowing where he was going with it. But that just made it more realistic when he was searching for words. So he just made that sentence flow into the sentence from the actual script.

Kim gave us some good advice about acting. He told us as long as you listen, really listen, that's the only trick to it. He told us that acting is listening.

So, I'm running out of things to say here, and I got stuff to do. Gotta go now, but this isn't the last you'll hear from me.

Learning and Forgetting

Working on The Adventure Club has been a blast. You've heard about what it's like on set.  You've heard all about some of the other actors, and about how to prepare for scenes. But you've heard about all of this from a mother's perspective. It's me this time. The one you've been hearing about all along. It's Sam.

I am still yet to read the blog, but that won't stop me from writing in it. Don't worry, you'll still hear from the master blogger, my mom. But every now and then you might hear from me. I'm something like a guest writer.

Anyways, like I said, shooting this thing has been awesome. It's by far my favorite shoot. And one thing you haven't heard about is tutoring. Since I am still just a kid, I need to keep up my schoolwork here in Regina. So, a tutor is on set for me and the other kids. Her name is Kathy, and she's great. We need to have minimum 10 hours a week of tutoring. So we can just pop in and do 10 minutes of work every now and then, right? Nope. The rules say we need to be working at least 30 minutes to count our time, though we count anything more than 25 minutes as half and hour (Shhh!).

Because we can't do all of our tutoring during shooting, we have to "bank" hours. That means we do tutoring beforehand, so we don't have to do it later. I'm in a lot of the scenes, so I don't get as much tutoring as the others do. I've been a bit behind, but by the time I'm done writing this, I'll be caught up. We're in the suite right now. Back to tutoring.

The tutor has her own trailer, but shares the room next to her with some production room. While tutoring, we often get thrown around, because the trailer shakes whenever a guy gets on or off. Jakob is always looking for ways to skip school work. He'll stall as much as he can. He's been trying to convince production to let us count riding our bikes in the movie as physical education. No luck so far. I doubt he'll give up anytime soon.

And for some reason, I manage to lose my vest in the tutor trailer every single time I leave that place. I take it off when I get in because of the heat, and I'm so rushed to get back to set that i just hop out. Luckily, the second assistant director, Taylor, is always quick to remind me. I once left the trailer, crossed the street, and walked into the set, forgetting the whole time I'd left my vest back in the trailer. They needed me for blocking (figuring out where I would walk, stop, and walk again), so the poor wardrobe lady had to run back and get it for me!

My parents were in the movie! In a scene where my friends and I bike up to the science museum, they are walking down the sidewalk in the background. My dad took off his glasses and zipped up his coat so he could be another extra again if they needed him. The other parents got to walk out the front doors as we went in. Little did these two know, by volunteering for this job, they would have to do it over and over because we could still see them in the next shot. My parents, on the other hand, could happily sit and observe while enjoying a nice cup of coffee.

I have to go off to tutoring shortly, but I'll be writing more soon!

Making My Son Cry

Sam's ability to produce free-flowing tears on demand won him the leads in The Adventure Club and Winter Hymns. Not because those characters have to cry all the time, but when they do, it really has to work. These are not scaredy-cat, cry-baby tears that make you want to give the boy a shake. These are tears of pain and heartbreak that make you want to give the boy a hug. Both directors made a point of saying "you got us with the tears..."

Well, it's one thing to cry on tape or in a small audition room. There aren't many people around. You have to do it once, maybe twice, and you're done. And you have nothing to lose, really.

It's something else entirely to cry on cue when you are surrounded by a crew of 10 or more plus the director (and often one or more of the producers) ... not to mention the other actor in the scene, who are all counting on you to get this done. And then you've got to run it over and over. Scene 10. Scene 10A. Scene 10B. Scene 10C. .. each from a different point of view. Wide shots, tracking shots, "coverage" (close ups), over the shoulder reverse-angle shots. And who knows how many takes for each. We had to dump a take yesterday because emergency response vehicles screamed up the street all the way through it: "Still rolling: take it again from the top..." {cue fresh tears}

Fortunately, Sam had great training ground in Winter Hymns. He cries in the opening and closing sequence of that short film - first, tears of embarrassment and disappointment, and then tears of fear and sadness. Those scenes, totalling maybe seven minutes of film time, took more than seven hours to shoot. Both times, Sam ran dry in the first hour. So he called me in to make him cry.

We'd duck into the bathroom (or in the case of the last scene, in which he wasn't allowed to move between takes for continuity's sake, I'd crouch on the floor next to him), and we'd whisper about scary and sad things that make us both emotional. Like losing him at the Dragonboat Festival or losing Grandpa Ashe. He'd hold back tears and then I would duck away (or into the closet in the bedroom scene) just as the cameras rolled. It made me cry every time, too. By the end of the day, I was wrung out like I'd cried for a week. Partly because it goes against my instinct to make my boy cry. But it worked.

So when Sam prepped for the emotional scene yesterday, he had the "mom trick" in his back pocket. He kind of hoped that he would just have to get glassy-eyed when he tells his mom how much he misses his grandpa and asks if she thinks he could ever be like him. Up they went to "grandpa's den" for rehearsals while Jeremy and I set up a vantage point behind the monitors in the living room. A few minutes later, I could hear "Sam's mom?" rippling through the crew. "Where's Angie?" Yup. Big tears required.

I ducked into a small spare bedroom with Sam, who asked for a knock at the one-minute warning. I could hear them lighting the scene and then clearing out non-essential crew to give him some privacy. I reminded Sam that he nailed this himself in the audition and he told me what he was going to think about - how he couldn't imagine losing us, never seeing his parents again, how sad he feels for Jeremy, who doesn't have his dad or see his mom. He made me cry while he stored it all up and then took a deep breath and took his place at grandpa's desk, old photo in hand.

And blew everyone away.

I was watching on the director's monitor in the hallway and was crying myself! (And Jeremy could feel crew eyes on him as he fought tears downstairs.) You could hear a pin drop when Geoff called cut .. and then Sam said, "Sorry for being late on the Science Museum line" and Geoff replied, "Are you kidding me? You. do. not. have. to. apologize. for. anything. WOW!" Gabrielle Miller (Corner Gas), who plays his mom, told him he performed "beautifully" and remarked that he was very talented. They did two takes of the two-shot, just one of Sam's close up, and a couple (fire trucks, camera angles) of Gabe's close-up.

Geoff said not to worry about tears for the over-his-shoulder angle, but Sam said he wanted his cry-voice to sound right and to do his best to help Gabe's performance (which she thought was the sweetest thing ever. Geoff said, "Well, I am not gonna say no to that..."). Sam popped back into the spare room with me each time to prime the well, but he really just needed to see me share in his own preparation - my emotions make him emotional, too. We're all that way about our mothers.

One day, Sam won't need to whisper-share his fears and sorrows with me to prepare for an emotional scene. He won't need me on set at all. I might shed a tear when that happens. But one thing is for sure: no matter who he is pretending to be, I will always cry when I see my son cry.

Day 1 of 15

This is our "Day 1" selfie. A new tradition.. :)

We get our "call sheets" at around 8:30 p.m. most days, which tell us when we'll be transported to set, what scenes are going to be shot and in which order, who all 60 people on set are and what they do, plus 1000 other points of interest -- such as the forecast, sunrise/sunset times, maps of the sets, where the nearest hospital is, and who is catering "lunch" (the hot meal is called lunch no matter when it's served - we had lunch at 10 p.m. this week!). We get a 1/4-page-sized booklet version every morning, but that drops the font down to what I call "Tinkerbell," so I keep my phone zoomed in on the doc and consult it a lot.

The only thing that's in bold all caps is what film day it is out of 15. Nobody speaks in days of the week and "company off" days don't have a number - it's like they press pause on Wednesdays and Thursdays and come back the "next day." So much so that when we arrived on set on Friday (the "start of the week"), people asked how our "weekend" was - fair enough - but also kept referring to the Tuesday shoot as "yesterday." Set time is warped. Which explains why the assistant directors actually have to remind the cast and crew to be quiet when shooting on residential streets after midnight! (What? We just ate lunch?)

I'm getting ahead of myself: this is a Day 1 of 15 summary. All the kids had an 8:45 p/u (pick up) for a 9:00 call on the clubhouse set. Gerard - transport coordinator (and sometimes executive producer) was out front in a minivan for the six of us. I suspect he's out there a while before p/u - his motto is "on time is late." He radioed ahead as we neared the set, which I thought was just so the two location guys at the gate were ready to let him through, but a lot of people are on that walkie-talkie frequency and they all apparently leap into motion when they get the news.

We pulled right into the "circus" - the collection of trailers and tents that include hair, makeup and wardrobe (HMW), production offices, tutor's trailer, craft services, washrooms (honeywagons), and more. The production assistant, Taylor, is the first and last person we see in a day. She keeps the timesheets. She opens the van doors, spells out the kids' instructions, and offers to "make a plate" (bring breakfast to the trailer). Sam has 10 minutes to get into wardrobe, move to hair, and then over to makeup and a quick photo by the continuity girl. Then he is actually transported to set. About 500 feet away. Production prefers that the talent goes "radio to radio" so there is always someone official who has "eyes on Sam." It's a well-oiled machine!

The kids each have a small private room complete with a nap couch and washroom in a large single trailer. "Ricky" is written on door number one. Very fun moment stepping into that first set trailer! The TV and stereo system aren't hooked up, but it turns out that Sam spends no time in there anyways. He's in so many scenes that any spare time that pops up is tutoring time (Crew says Sam is "In school" when they are setting up). So that's where he dresses and where we dump coats, bags, etc. in the morning. There's a space heater on in the morning (3 degrees) and an air conditioner on in the afternoon (22 degrees) - crazy October weather!

Sam started the shoot with about 25 trips up and down a lane-way on set - which is an out-of-service agricultural science station, full of old greenhouses and warehouses. There is a farm on one side and a private golf course on the other side. Really nice country views and big blue sky. I was a little worried because Sam was suffering the effects of a crappy cold and mild asthma and the whole film was beginning with an hour of bike riding -- but he was fine. They did pan shots, dolly shots, and (funnest), aerial drone shots of him zipping towards his clubhouse, where his friends were already waiting. By chance or design, it was the perfect way to warm up on set. Sam could get a feel for the director's style and the only thing he had to worry about was not biking faster than the dolly cam and remembering to glance towards the clubhouse a few times. No lines, no real blocking. Nailed it!

The rest of the 8-hour day (days are 8 or 10 hours, plus an hour for lunch) included a lot of lines and blocking, but every shot was rehearsed - first by the actors and then by actors and cameras. Everyone in the warehouse where the clubhouse is set up knows what's going on because the ADs all shout "Rehearsals up!" or "Cameras up!" or "Soundspeed, rolling!" No one has ever said "Quiet on set!" though occasionally we hear "Quiet, please!" when the first shout doesn't do the trick. The director did say, "I'm only going to say this once, but 'Let's do one for safety," which apparently is a cliche and means that the take was great but
you can't be too careful, let's go again.

There isn't much time between takes and scenes. Even when the cameras "swing around"  to set up for a reverse angle shot or to do the whole scene as a close-up on an actor (after the "wide shot," all three kids get a close-up cam for reaction shots), the camera guys are busy but the director wants to talk to the kids. Time is money, so hair and makeup do touch ups while others (or mothers) offer drinks or small snacks (or a neck massage, as was the case when Jakob had a heavy contraption on his head for hours). It's not hard to see how actors can start feeling like royalty, being waited on hand and foot. But it's pretty intense action. That's why there is often a half-eaten muffin on Sam's cast chair!

Sam loves working with Dalila and Jakob, who are so comfortable on set and very well prepared. And everyone seems thrilled with Sam's work (he is the cast "wild card," as the unknown actor). He nailed all of his lines and had great instincts about how to deliver them. When he did get direction, Geoff only had to say it once. Production wrapped at 6:00 on the nose, to everyone's delight! Jenn and Javier said "day 1" is always a little tense because it sets the tone for the rest of the shoot. I didn't notice any tension until I saw the smiles on everyone's faces as we wrapped for the day. So glad this is going well!

The Adventure Club

It's a funny coincidence that I last posted in this blog during the same week Sam first performed on the Ottawa International Children's Festival stage ... and loved it! The part I left out was that he quizzed us on the way home that day: "How do kids get to be on TV?" he began, and the back-and-forth led us to Googling AMTI, the Ottawa-based modelling and talent agency I knew about. We found ourselves at their open call a few weeks later.

We took our time doing the acting classes and audition training, finally registering him on Casting Workbook and Actors Access in January 2014. His first commercials, for Zoomer Dino and Dukoral, began airing about a year ago. Last December, he booked Winter Hymns, a short by Inflo Films -- who also cast him in the The Big Crunch in August. And he got the role of the classroom bully in a Lifetime TV feature called Mommy's Little Girl. Things seemed to be happening quickly, but we were surprised when he landed the main lead role in Trilight Entertainment's The Adventure Club!

We were flown in to Regina five days before shooting started so the young actors could get to know
each other and build some friendship chemistry, get their wardrobe sorted, and "front load" some tutoring (which is sometimes hard to work into a shooting day). It was a bit surreal that the driver who met us at the airport just bee-lined to Sam - he recognized him from his head shot which, it turns out, is pinned up in every production office of the CBC Soundstage! We had a day to settle into our suite, do a grocery run, and just relax. (Sidenote: Jenn and Javier - the other parents on set - are awesome and I am learning a ton about the business from them!)

From Sunday to Thursday, Sam hung out nearly nonstop with his The Adventure Club cast mates, Jakob Davies and Dalila Bela, playing a lot of Xbox, soaking in the terrace hot tub, hitting the arcade, and sharing meals. They were instant friends and have had a blast on set and in the suites! Director Geoff Anderson is clearly relieved. This movie just wouldn't work if the kids' relationships looked strained.

He also got a tour of the CBC Soundstage, where they were creating the clubhouse (which is just so cool..) as well as building some other set pieces for the Science Museum scenes. Geoff offered him his pick of the BMX bikes they club uses to get all around town, and he got to see the go-kart (Penelope) that "Bill" loves with all his heart. Then it was on to wardrobe, where they pulled together six outfits that work for "Ricky" and that Sam feels comfortable in. He really likes the clothes (and he gets to keep them - bonus!)

Of course, the run-up days were also all about running lines and talking through the scenes. It was especially important to Sam that he was well prepared and could nail his scenes - given that the other two actors have dozens of major film and television credits under their belts. They've been doing this since they were 5 years old! (Momager pride: Sam has been totally solid with his lines and has taken direction like a pro).

Hard to believe we're here, but Sam is taking it all in stride - like this is just the way he planned it...

To Sam, Who is 10 Years Old

Happy double-digit birthday, Sam! This is a big one. 10.

Sam, you are still everything these blog stories have always portrayed--bright, fun, imaginative, happy, considerate, affectionate, and creative--in an ever more mature (and growing!) package. You are an avid reader of all sorts of books, from the Wimpy Kid illustrated series to Sherlock Holmes and other classics. You absolutely love movies and have plastered your room with the posters for Raiders of the Lost Ark, Lord of the Rings, The Matrix, Pirates of the Caribbean, Mission Impossible, and Star Wars. Action and adventure movies are obviously your favourite--you and Carter even made one (The Agency) with an ipod and Apple software last summer. And now you're taking classes at the Ottawa School of Speech and Drama. In fact, this weekend you were asked to join a troupe of 15- to 17-year-olds to perform a dramatic reading at the Ottawa International Children's Festival. Stories are your passion and it's so much fun sharing that with you.

Not surprisingly, "Writing" and "Gym Class" are your favourite school subjects, but you take it all seriously and are a straight A student. Well, you got B+ in Music and Visual Arts, admitting you didn't love the recorder (and we didn't insist you practice...!) or enjoy the early art units. You vowed to bring those grades up on the student response form and we vowed to punish you if you didn't. Kidding! We're thrilled with your efforts and your conscientious attempts to improve. We help you study spelling and puzzle out your math "Problem of the Week," but otherwise you're taking care of business yourself and are excelling at it. Sure, you still forget hats, gloves, jackets, water bottles and more on the bus or in your class, but you've been kicking yourself for forgetfulness lately, so we try not to make too big a deal out of it.

Your best friends at school this year (besides Carter, of course) are Miki, Michael, Connor (all from preschool), Owen, and Carson. And there's a new group on Hudson that's really changed things around here. Jacob and Paolo moved in across the street and have a whack of cousins and Catholic-school friends who come around a lot (and the age gap with Lucas is finally moot), so suddenly there's quite the posse of 10- to 12-year-old boys buzzing around on bikes, playing street hockey, and shooting baskets. You'd still rather spend the entire day running as fast as you can (Manhunt is a favourite--neighbourhood-wide tag), but you'll play ball if that's what the group wants to do.

You have a breezy, agreeable attitude towards life that makes you nice to be around--and rather easy to parent. You've definitively got your opinions, but you're never obstinate, never rude. Sometimes we wonder if you might be bottling up unspoken worries, anger or resentment--that maybe we've set our expectations too high and you're quietly labouring to live up to them. But I don't think so. Sure, you have an easy-going personality and a rather high tolerance for annoyance, but you'll blow up at Carter from time to time to clear the air (not nearly so often as before--you two have worked out a more mature and cajoling way of getting along). And at the end of the day, you're always looking for big bedtime hugs (the kisses were retired at New Years) and some wrap-up conversation about what's going on and what's coming up. You always end those tuck-ins with an "I love you soooo much..."

You are still our Bub, our Boy-o, our Samster and Smashe. And now you're already 10 and we find we're the ones telling new parents, "Enjoy it while it lasts because it goes by so fast..."

And we are. We really are.

Happy birthday, Sam. We love you.
Xoxo

Day to day

So it’s been a really (really, really) long time since I’ve captured your stories in this blog, Sam. So much happens that I want to get in here—first grown-up-free trip to the movies with Carter, first week at Quin-Mo-Lac, first acting lesson. But time is tight and the truth is that I’d rather spend our leisure time hanging out with you than squirrel away in the basement writing at the end of the day.


Still, it occurred to me this week that it’s not just the “firsts” I’d like you to remember: it’s the day-to-day activities of your 9-year-old self that make up the bigger part of your “happy childhood” and that you may recall only in fleeting bits and pieces. When I woke up early this morning, I decided to tiptoe down to the computer and cast a week or so of your daily life into the memory book. This is what we do…

Sunday
Every second or third Sunday or so, we head to Elgin Street Diner for breakfast together. You always get the kids’ pancakes with bacon or sausage and choose a chocolate milk or hot chocolate depending on the season. We chat and draw on the paper menu and plan the rest of the day. Two Sundays ago, Trevor and Bec met us at the diner—Bec was curious and was ticking things off her “baby is still in the belly” list. When she ordered a milkshake, you sat up a little straighter and shot surprised glances around the table that read, “Could it be that I had that option all these years?!” You just about made yourself sick on a thick chocolate shake—had to walk it off!—but you loved it.

Then we bundled up and headed to Jacques Cartier Park on the Quebec side to take in some Winterlude fun. We had time for three or four trips down the ice slides (Dad got stuck in his non-slippy jeans!), a bit of a gander at the snow sculptures, and some fest-must beavertails and fresh maple taffy made on snow. Then we headed home in time for Miki’s arrival – the two of you spent the afternoon playing video games and making movies out in the snow.

Monday
Monday night is—and has been for at least five years—our family “Dinner and a Movie” night. Barring extraordinary circumstances, we plan to eat in front of the TV while watching something from our growing collection or ordering a movie on demand. We started this tradition way back when you found the school day to be gruelling – 8:00 to 5:30, once we added child care. Mondays were always tough on you after the fun of the weekend. So we started the day with waffles and ended it with a movie—things to look forward at the start and end of that 10-hour day.

This particular week, we changed it up a little. I had a chicken chili in the slow cooker ready to serve at 5:00; Dad came home for an early dinner; then we headed up to South Keys to see Warm Bodies (the “zom-com” as they’re calling it), which was a lot of fun. And we even had time enough for you to play some arcade games with Dad first.

Tuesday
The next morning, you walked into the kitchen to find a large trifold brochure on your table announcing that “The boys are back!” The owners of the Greek Souvlaki House – which had shocked us by suddenly closing up shop at the corner about two years ago – had reopened on Riverside. Brilliant! I scoped it out that day to discover that they’d scaled way down to a delivery business, so delivery we got. We met up with Mike & Kari and Trace & the kids at Paul & Siobhan’s and feasted on lamb souvlaki platters like no other, pita and tzatziki, and baklava. Then you and Carter played Rock Band on the big screen while the boys watched hockey at the bar and the girls chatted in the living room. As always, we packed it up at the end of the first period (Dad and Huddie stayed on) and tucked in for school-night bedtime of 9:30. The Morley is a home away from home for you--and their cottage north of Hunstville is your favourite getaway (we're heading up for a winter weekend at the end of the month, and we're traditionally there for Canada Day and Labour Day weekend, too.)

Wednesday
You really like your “hump day.” On Wednesdays, I wake you up at 7:00 (you usually stagger down for a morning hug at 7:30) and we get ready quickly in an effort to make it to the Carleton Heights Child Care Centre just as the doors are being unlocked. Occasionally we stop for a Tim’s breakfast, but I usually have a homemade breakfast sandwich on the go while I’m packing your lunch (in this case: chili, a buttered roll, red grapes, and orange wedges). You spend 90 minutes before school and two hours after school hanging out with your child care friends (especially Connor and Michael, who aren’t in your class). You had the option as of September 2011 to quit the centre entirely, but you just couldn’t imagine not ever climbing up into the loft again – you’d been part of that wonderful place since you were three and a half!

Dad usually picks you up for a quick dinner – a sub, some pizza, or a shawarma – and drops you at Corona Gymnastics for an hour and a half of boys’ gymnastics. You tried a summer camp week late last August and liked it enough to join. You do boot-camp style rotations on the vault, beam (just running across it!), high bar, pummel horse, parallel bars, rings, and – your favourite – trampoline. It’s a lot of “calisthenics,” so you’re getting quite strong. You love the challenge of it. We usually try to get there to watch the tail end of the class, but in this case, Dad stayed for the whole thing and I came over from the club for the second half. So fun to see you out there trying so hard to improve…

Thursday
Thursday was the last day of school this week because Friday was a PA Day –making it a four-day weekend for Family Day. You played with Carter for a few hours after school: these days, you’re especially loving Minecraft (which we like a lot, too: it’s creative and smart – and the developers chose a near spa-like musical score, which is a blessed relief from the rat-tat-tat of endless zombie shooting). After dinner, we read a chapter of the latest book in the Percy Jackson series. If it was Dad’s turn, you’d have read some of The Two Towers in the Lord of the Rings series. We’ve been reading to you since you were a fetus and love that you still like to be read to even though you’re a voracious reader yourself and always follow up these chapters with about half an hour of your own reading in bed. One of these days, I’ll try to estimate how many pages I’ve read to you in 10 years… There are something like 3,000 - 4,000 pages in the seven Harry Potter books alone!

Friday
You forgot about the PD Day and got yourself ready for school before I even noticed you were up and brushing your teeth—a happy surprise! You spent the day with Carter and Anabel, bouncing back and forth between the two houses but mostly skating at the Carleton Heights Community Centre (where you were suddenly hooked by a class outing two days before). You boys logged so many hours playing hockey on Friday and Saturday that you ended up with bloody blisters up the sides of your ankles! That night, we planned for you and Carter to hang out here while Anabel was set up for a sleepover with Hailey Yates, but Madysen and Kennedy wanted to see you guys so you ended up going there instead and spending most of the night making a movie (“I guess it’s sort of a love story: they wanted us to make a movie of us fighting over one of them…”). You really love it at the Yates--they've got a big kid-friendly house in Barhaven and we've tagged along with Tracey for years to their annual Halloween and Christmas bashes. Now that we know the Yates better, you've often been invited over for games (and sometimes hottubbing, which you love). You crashed at Tracey’s at about 11. You spend most Friday nights over there: it’s your big video game extravaganza night, as you don’t really play during the busy week. It's a fun way to kick off the weekend.

Saturday
So most Saturday mornings, you come flying in the door around 9:50 to take a quick shower and grab your script so we make it to acting class at The Ottawa School of Speech & Drama. You tried a camp there last summer, too (along with a paddling camp and QML) and it was totally your element. So this year you’ve been doing “Page to Stage” for 90 minutes on Saturdays. Last fall, your group worked on various ways to bring small scenes to life with creative use of small props and risers. This semester, you’re doing The Last Brontosaurus and you play the part of a wise-cracking southern hunter named Jim (you’re drawing on Foghorn Leghorn for your accent). You’re so into drama that even when you’re just telling me a story, you’re acting it out with your whole body as well as your voice. Born to it…

After lunch, you headed back to the rink with Carter and Jacob. It was Tracey’s birthday, so the girls planned Thai dinner here that night. You, Dad, and Carter played videogames over pizza before heading over to Tracey’s for birthday cake and a night of games with “Debbie’s Michael.” Later that night, you crawled into bed with me, Daddy and Huddie (who needs doggie stairs to get in now) to watch the end of the hockey game and then announced, “I’m just going to crash here.” You’d given up the nighttime kisses and the morning cuddles (mostly) as of New Year’s, but you’ll occasionally sleep between us. You try to kick the covers off and sometimes talk and fling your arms into faces as you sleep, but despite that we like the small reminders of our little boy ... who's growing up so fast.

And then it’s Sunday morning again.

Bus Kid

The summer re-cap is to follow, but — for now — here's a picture worth a thousand words. It's also been 1,825 days coming. Sam's been a "drop-off" kid at CHCCC/CHPS since September 2006. Today, he became a "bus kid." He climbed aboard at 8:44 this morning, and I'll meet him back there at 3:35 this afternoon. That's the new world order every day but Wednesday, which will be (at his request) his day to connect with child care friends.

We've all been looking forward to this day for years ("When can I be a bus kid?" was a common refrain when he was wiped out by the 9 hour+ days at school). Still, change is hard. When he woke up this morning, Sam placed a hand on his chest and said, "I feel a little uncomfortable here" — nervous about riding the bus and finding the right one after school. But it'll be old hat for him by this time next week. I know the extra time at home will be good for him—especially in the dead of winter, when coming home from school in the dark feels so wrong. It's a bit of a leap for us, this work-from-home plan of mine, but I've got a really good feeling about it.

First day of grade 3. First day of my new working life. Happy, happy day.

Spring Falls

And there goes the snow. Just like that, winter loosens its icy grip and the waters rage through Hog's Back Falls once again ... nearly cresting the "hog's back" itself — that ridge of limestone you can see from the river. We glance at these Falls from the car maybe a dozen times a week all year round. But we park and get out to look just once. On a sunny weekend morning in late March or early April, we walk the length of pathway around the rapids, and we marvel at the volume and power of the spring run-off. Sam says, "I could stand and watch this all day..." Amazing.

Spilled Paint

One thing few people notice about me is that I have heterochromia. More specifically, central and sectoral heterochromia. It's not serious, but it does make it hard to fill in that little box on a driver's licence that asks "Eye colour." It would seem that during this particular genetic struggle, my mom's brown eyes lost the war, but they won a few battles.

And so I have dad's green eyes, but with several haphazard brown freckles (as I've always thought of them) and a brown ring around the pupil. It's apparently uncommon in humans, but vets see a lot of this sort of variegated iris pattern. Hmm. I've always gone with "hazel"—but I've since learned I'm a fraud and should have been saying "green" all along. The secondary colour in heterochromia is reportedly beside the point. Sorry, Mom.

Anyways, my odd eyes are noticeable only after a really good cry or when I stare into the sun, which I enjoy equally rarely. So it's no surprise that Sam just recently became aware of my genetic mutation and close eyeball relation to Border Collies, Turkish Angoras, and palomino horses. Sitting together on the couch on a bright winter morning, he suddenly caught my face in his hands to still my movement, leaned in close and asked, "What is that in your eyes!?" Geneology, baby.

Sam's got Jeremy's green eyes straight up, and they're gorgeous. I tried to think of a way to describe them ("Like the sea after a storm...") and told him he was lucky to have such big beautiful eyes. He tried to return the compliment, saying "Your eyes are nice, too. They look like, well, green eyes... but like somebody accidentally spilled some brown paint in there." Clean up in Iris Two.

It could be worse. This is partial heterochromia. If it had been complete, I'd have one fully brown eye and one fully green eye. And that's just spiders-from-mars freaky. For now, we're having fun coming up with new descriptions of my mixed eye colour. My fave so far: "Time-to-clean-the-fish-tank green."

Spider Tale

The other night, Sam was taking a long, hot tub before bed, happily playing with action figures and minding his own business, when he spotted a spider on the ceiling.

“Mommy or daddy”, he called out, in a calm voice, just reporting in. “There’s a spider in the bathroom!” Jeremy was watching hockey all the way upstairs and I was creating an online photo album all the way downstairs. So, between us, we were unconcerned. And busy. We simply answered, “Okay!”

A little more splashing and then Sam calls out again, this time not so breezily, “I think it’s a Daddy Long Legs. And it’s crawling onto the pile of towels!” Again, his distracted parents answer, “That’s alright! He’s not hurting anyone!” or something along those lines.

A little more splashing and then Sam calls out, this time with some measure of agitation, “I’m actually not that comfortable with being in the bathroom with a spider!”

This is enough to jolt me from the mesmerizing task at hand. Of course! Doesn’t the spider come washing out of the water spout in the children’s song? Who wants to be in the vicinity for that? Gives me the willies now that I'm thinking about it.

“I’m on my way, Sam!” I call out, climbing the stairs, adding “I understand exactly how you feel!”

But then he offers this additional confession, which shows we’re not quite on the same page after all. “It’s just that I’m afraid that when I use the toilet, the spider might get up my bum. Then I’d have a spider inside of me…”

Oh.

Shame that Mr. Daddy Long Legs had taken advantage of the ample opportunity to escape. Now we don’t know where that creepy spider is...

Breathe

Breathe. Breathe, Sam. Breathe. Please. I can’t believe how hard your heart is pounding. And how fast. Too fast. Is this okay? Should we wake you up, bundle you off to the hospital? You need to breathe. Real breaths. You’re panting, panting like a petrified rabbit - an image that keeps coming to mind. I want to calm you down, but you’re sleeping. Somehow you’re sleeping. I’m the one who can’t. Just breathe, Sam. Come on … please.

I’m counting again. Fifty breaths a minute. Fifty to my twelve. That can’t be right, can it? I want to do something to help – but you’re sleeping. You’re sleeping and your heart is beating 120 times a minute. So hard, so fast, I can see your pulse in your neck, your temple. I can feel your labouring heart pounding against my hand – my hand that I cannot lift from your chest. Not for hours now. I have this idea that somehow – by strength of will – I can slow your pulse, can deepen your breathing – that by wishing it hard enough I can make your body stop this, stop it – stop. Please breathe, Sam. Please.

I can’t stop it. I couldn’t all day. I gave you your puffers. I gave you cold medicine. I gave you drinks. I lay with you to watch Batman. And when you couldn’t chew your food at dinner time and began to panic, I gathered you onto my lap. I told you that – for your whole life – mommy’s hugs have always made you feel better. But not this time. This time you couldn’t quell the panic. Couldn’t get on top of the cough. Couldn’t take a big enough breathe to speak a full sentence. Time to go.

I had to carry you to the car. Your pounding heart hurts your chest – though maybe that’s the muscles that are pulled in tight around your ribcage. We drive. Drive in the cool and rainy winter night, trying to decide – is this an emergency? Do you need to go to the hospital? You’re breathing. Shallow and rapid, yes – but you’re breathing. Is this respiratory distress? You’ve eaten ice cream and now you’re sleepy. Can you be in distress and still enjoy Tiger Tail. Still fall asleep? Daddy and I exchange worried looks. We decide to wait. To let you sleep. To see if it gets any worse.

At midnight, you spike a fever, your skin suddenly hot to the touch, your hair soaked in sweat – your small body fighting off the virus that has caused this attack. My own worried heart beats a little harder, but you slumber on, your arm flung over my side, your shoulders rising and falling so fast. So fast. It’s a long, long night.

And then it’s sunrise and you’re using your inhaler. I’m counting again. Thirty-three breaths and 88 heart beats a minute. So much better. You’re going to be okay. You’ll stay home today and you’ll get better and better. And you’ll stay on your asthma meds this winter, so this can’t happen again. But if it does, you’re going to the hospital.

Your heart did just fine, but mine simply can’t take it.

Boy in the House: 1

Cabbage Roles

I spent part of Friday afternoon making cabbage rolls and thinking about Nan. It's her recipe book I use, and the delicious dish always brings childhood memories to mind. I found myself wishing that we could create little folds in the fabric of time that would allow Sam to walk right into 24 Rouge St. in 1975 to spend a day at Nan & Granddad's the way I did at his age.

Sam would love the yard, of course. The steep hill out back that ran down past the big vegetable garden and dipped into a conservation area—so perfect for exploring in summer and tobogganing in winter (oh that long walk back up!). The cemetery across the road with its imagination-fuelling tombstone tales. The pergola along one wall where grapes vines cast cool shadows on hot summer days. And the house was fun, too. An enclosed porch wrapped around from the kitchen door across the back as a high overhang above the walk-out basement below. It felt like a secret space full of neat things, and playing back there made you feel as though you were far away from the grown-ups—even though I'm sure they heard every word from the kitchen window.

Then there were the treats. In addition to the ever-present candy bowl in the living room, the kitchen cupboard were stocked with rows of "store bought cookies" and "sugar cereals" (as we called them), and the fridge was full of Pop Shoppe pop of every variety. Nan made yummy homemade meals and delicious pies, but she knew that those Oreos, Cocoa Puffs, and Cream Sodas were quite the draw for kids being raised on healthy food at home! A grandma's prerogative.

But the real excitement of a visit to Nan & Granddad's wasn't the fun yard and the cool house and the junk food. It was simply the way it felt to be there. As though we granddaughters were the most remarkable creatures to walk the face of the earth. So smart! So pretty! So talented! We spent many an hour in that living room performing songs and skits and gymnastics and anything else we were up to. Nan wasn't a captive audience; she was a captivated one. We couldn't have been more perfect to her and she made sure we knew it.

I'm sad sometimes that Sam came along a little too late to know Nan, but it makes my heart happy to tell him stories from my childhood and to explain that making cabbage rolls is part of our family story, one that connects him to his heritage.

When I first opened up Traditional Ukrainian Cookery, I found that the cabbage rolls recipe was bookmarked with a copy of "Footprints," the poem in which God assures the author that he never left him alone on his life's journey, that two sets of footprints dropped to one when God carried him through tough times. It's nice to think that Nan is following along on our journeys, too. Not leaving footprints in the snow from car to door anymore, but still leaving footprints in our hearts and lives. I snapped the photos for this post before sliding the cabbage rolls in the oven. And when I did, I whispered, "I love you, Nan." And I heard her answer clear as a bell: "I love you, too, darling."

Puzzled

We’ve not been puzzle doers to this point. Sure, Sam had one or two puzzles as a preschooler. Okay, one. A big puzzle of eight dinosaurs we did together rather often for a while there. Hey, turns out I have movie of that: Sam's first time finishing the dinosaur puzzle when he was three years old.

But that decidedly unchallenging (for me) activity clearly wasn’t enough to knock loose a long forgotten Angie truism: I love puzzles. So, too, it seems, does one Mr. Jeremy Ashe. This, I did not know until one Sunday afternoon in Langley, when we pulled a puzzle out from under a pile of other games in the living room cabinet at Grandma and Grandpa Ashe’s. It was the last full day of our summer vacation and we were looking for a little low-key fun to pass the time while Malcolm, Carolyn, Amanda and Marissa crossed the Rockies en route for Sunday dinner.

We clocked about four straight hours chatting around the coffee table, working against the clock to complete that teapot still life before the jeep pulled in the driveway. We turned that leisurely passtime into a competitive sport—“who’s king of the puzzle now?” And when we weren’t done by the time the company arrived, we beckoned them to pull up a cushion and lend a hand. I joked with Marissa, “Aren't you glad you came all this way for puzzle play?” But it was a nice introduction, building that sugar bowl and those lemon slices got us over the initial awkward small talk.

Then, during our Labour Day weekend at the Morley cottage, we found a puzzle in The Rustic of butterflies fluttering by in a mountain meadow. Nice way to pass a rainy afternoon (or two), though we made it only two-thirds of the way through and had to pack up in defeat. A completed puzzle is the triumph of order and beauty over chaos and fragmentation … but a partially completed puzzle is an enticing siren call that lures all my boatloads of productive intentions to smash on the treacherous shores of “one more piece, and then I’ll do the laundry.”

Which is why I was crazy to pick up a challenging 1000 piece puzzle a few months ago. We set it up on our coffee table, expecting to nail that baby together in a few sessions. It’s hard to tell from the photo, but that Napa Valley Wine Train painting is rather impressionistic. Is this part of the flower garden or somebody’s face? Hhhmm. It took some of the Christmas holidays (and a few record stints together), but we finally got’er done with Sam and Carter placing the last 4 pieces in triumph! That puzzle remained on the table top for longer than absolutely necessary… Nice, eh?

Then we speed-puzzled a 300-piecer that Sam got for Christmas (on Jeremy’s new puzzle mat). Took the three of us exactly an hour to slam this beauty together. It helped that the pieces were ginormous and the painting style relatively naïve, but we each had a job to do and we were flawless if frenzied in the execution: Sam worked on the paddlers, Jeremy worked from the sky down, and I sorted and passed pieces to keep the boys going. So much fun! Sam tapped in the final piece and we set the camera on timer to record the occasion.

Daddy missed his mark on the first try…

There we are. A puzzling family. So to speak...

Christmas Flashback 2005

'Tis the season of "do you remember?" as we recall the moments of Christmas past. That's had me searching through the video archives for snippets of Sam's first Christmas in this house, when he was two and a half. I wish I had hundreds more hours of clips like these!

Here are a few seconds of the boys tearing out of one of the boardrooms at the CRA, just before the kids' Christmas party began. I cut it short when they rounded the corner for the Parliamentary Affairs division ... The Hill staff do not brake for toddlers! This was the day Sam was introduced to Ben 10 action figures—an interest that endured for a few years, though it's faded now.

Next is a clip of Sam opening his present from "The Morley" in Paul & Siobhan's kitchen—his love of Star Wars toys having been born in that very house, where the classic ship and 1970s action figures have been (and continue to be!) Sam's happy distraction.

And, finally, we have the Christmas morning discovery of Batman in a tent—the gift from Santa. Jeremy had spent the wee hours repairing the Caped Crusader, whose snapped off leg wasn't apparent in the plastic packaging (he looked good as new). Sam's quirky humour is already apparent as he scootches out of the tent and out of the frame chanting, "ya... ya...ya!"

And here's lil' Sam asleep with his favourite new "guy"... one of many he'll collect in the coming years. The first of many Merry Christmases in Hudson House....

Bendy Santa

We've been enjoying a nice low-key Christmas vacation so far. Sam's played with his new toys and tucked into his new books wearing his new clothes and jams. We've played Rummoli together and are looking forward to Boggle games and starting the new puzzle. Sam and I are starting the Guardians of Ga'hoole trilogy tonight. Sam and Jeremy have been wrestling, playing XBox and Kinect games, and watching junior hockey — and they've also been to a Sens-Penguins game and played a some hockey themselves at the Annual Brennan Christmas Hockey Game. We've worked together on the master bedroom makeover, all three of us spending the day in our paint clothes on Boxing Day (watch for the Big Reveal post soon!).

We've had yummy Christmas dinner leftovers in three guises already, and we're working our way through the last of the chocolates, cookies, and egg nog. It's been a feast! We've seen Tron in 3D at the cinema and have dug out some favourites from the DVD collection — Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean. There isn't enough fresh snow to head to Mooney's Bay for tobogganing, which is one of the last things on the vacation activity wish list ... but we've got our fingers crossed.

And through it all, we've been playing a little game with Bendy Santa. That's a small Gumby-like figurine that Paula from the English Department secretariat gave to Sam when he was just a year and a half old. Every year, he's taken it up to his room as soon as it emerged from the box of Christmas decorations. But this year, I hung it from the top of the Eiffel Tower clock near the fireplace just for fun. When it was spotted, I suggested we take turns moving Santa when no one else was looking. A short time later, Sam squirreled the entire tower, Santa and all, up to his room! And the game began.

Over the last 10 days or so, we've been taking turns "hiding" Bendy Santa in plain view when no one else was looking—he's been hung off the bathroom door handle, the kitchen ceiling fan, the dining room light and more. We don't seek him out ... we just come across him in our daily movements about the house—and then it's time to move him again. Anabel and Carter took a turn on Christmas, hanging Bendy Santa from the shelf above Huddie's food or wrapping his arms around the banister.

It all reminds me of Hide the Smurf, a game that Tracey and Jacquie played with Dad maybe 27 years ago. I don't know how long it lasted, and I can't remember if Janey or I ever played along with our younger sisters, but Hide the Smurf became part of our family story as surely as trips to Florida and summer camping and Sunday dinners. It's hard to determine how that happens—how a silly little game finds an enduring place in one's childhood memories, but it sometimes does. And when I spot Bendy Santa in a new location and Sam exclaims victoriously, "It took you so long to find him!," I wonder if maybe these small moments of fun will form as much as part of his happy holiday memories as anything else we've done.

Christmas Morning

"One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas Day. Don't clean it up too quickly." — Andy Rooney

Christmas Eve

December 24, 8:30 p.m.

Last gifts have been wrapped and arranged under the tree.
Christmas cards have been hand-delivered on the street.
Home has been tidied for Christmas Day guests.

Turkey is thawing in a cold water sink.

Gingerbread house has been decked ... and then some!

Stocking has been hung by the chimney with care.

Final advent chocolate has been eaten.

Christmas tale has been read by Daddy.

New pj's were opened right after the bath.
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas realized he couldn't.

Grandparents have been wished a Merry Christmas Eve.

And Sam has just settled down for a long winter's nap...