Where I'm From

2008. The year Sam will turn 5. When I search my memory bank for my earliest solid memories—for more than the nickles and dimes of mere impression—I find that the deposits begin at five. My kindergarden classes, the playground near our apartment, our summer vacations with family, playing with my baby sister, visiting my grandparents. For Christmas, I wrote a poem for my mom & dad that calls on the sweetest memories of my youth to describe where I'm from.

It occured to me that if Sam were to do the same thing 35 years from now, he might reach back to these days—just barely—to describe where he's from. That the time we spend with him now is more than an intangible investment in his character; we're paying into Sam's memory bank. We're already sketching out the special events in the year to come, but I know very well that the enduring memories of childhood are tied up in the routines of the day, the landscapes of play, and all the jokes and lessons and traditions that add up somehow to the feeling of home. Though we get bogged down sometimes in the daily grind, we try our best to be aware of this fact. If we do it right, Sam will (as I do) look back with warm fondness on rich childhood memories, have a solid sense of who he is, and feel lucky to have grown up in this family.

Where I'm From

I am from Red Rose tea figurines, from Jell-O parfaits and from skipping double dutch till the street lights come on (two-four, shut the door, run out).

I am from the soft slope to the Old Woolen Mill, from the shadow of the Golden Ears, from the snowy expanse of the Red River Valley. I am from Fleetwood Mac on Saturday mornings, from home-baked fruit drop cookies in a blue plastic lunchkit, from arena hot chocolate after Sunday public skating.

I am from the hills and trails of Caledon, from the cedar-lined shores of Simcoe, and from high atop the Niagara escarpment where the porch swing carries me over sails and seagulls, white flecks on blue. I am from Quin-Mo-Lac and couldn’t be prouder: if you can’t hear me now, I’ll shout a little louder…

I am from Santa hats and carols and new pajamas on Christmas Eve, from family gin rummy after sundown in the campground, from Daszko and O’Driscoll, whose gentle hearts and smiles shine through in my son’s.

I am from the same voice as my Sisty Uglers, from the “dull roar” of exuberant conversation, from the punna-bunna and the salad balls and I always pay on a Tuesday, so put that away. I am from laughter.

From be the best blade of grass on the hill, and from you can’t be everything to everyone. I am from The Golden Rule. From share and be nice, from please and thank you. From the power of the butterfly’s wings and what goes around comes around.

I am from Whitevale and White Russia and the White Cliffs of Dover, from hand-pinched perogies at Easter and fluffy Yorkshire pudding served with Sunday roast beef. From two kinds of pie on Nan’s counter, always.

I am from the teenaged drummer who picked out the prettiest girl at the dance and fell in love because she was also smart and funny and kind. From the Key to Bala, from the Florida Keys.

I am from dozens of dining rooms, where we’ve gathered to share stories and laughter, to tease playfully, to raise a glass in celebration, to live and relive our family history.

I am from love.

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.