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...

Christmas Spirit

The most wonderful time of the year has been ... wonderful! It seemed especially important to me this year to be sure to practise all of our family traditions, to remind Sam as often as possible that Christmas is a time to be conscious of how lucky we are to be together, to be grateful for what we have, and to share our good fortune with others.

This year, I was able to tell Sam the real reason for the "Help Santa Toy Parade," which we've donated to every year, sometimes bringing a gift for the toy mountain float and sometimes dropping loonies and toonies into the boots of passing fireman (He's pictured here with a toonie headed for a boot!). Sam seemed especially pleased to know that we were helping to make Christmas morning brighter for families who cannot afford to place a Santa gift under the tree. We also shopped together for a gift for Stuart, an 8-year-old boy whose name I pulled from the Christmas Wish Cloud list at work. And we donated to the Food Bank through Carleton Heights, so that less fortunate families could be sure to enjoy a nice meal together.

Christmas tree decorating was lovely, too. First, we had our annual visit to Tracey's so that Sam can join the cousins in decorating their tree. Two weeks later, we hauled a strapping Norfolk Pine home from the market, laid out all the ornaments and recounted what things came from where as we (mostly Sam!) added them to the tree. Sipping egg nog and listening to carols, we agreed, as we always do, that this was the best tree yet. It's beautiful! We've also added a few nutcrackers to Sam's collection. He loves them, and can often be overheard lining them up for nutty adventures.

In the evenings since the tree went up, we've been reading Christmas stories together and watching classic Christmas movies. Sometimes Sam even reads to me while I make dinner—he read No Room at the Inn last night, while I made chicken quesadillas. "This is why we have an angel on the tree," he said. "It's part of the Christmas story." Right now, he's reading The Night Before Christmas to Jeremy. His stack of stories grows larger each year, and getting through them all before Christmas is part of the fun!

Jeremy and I squeezed into the back of the Carleton Heights gymnasium to watch Sam perform three songs during The Holiday Concert — "Catch a Falling Star," "This Little Light of Mine," and "Jouer au Hockey." While that was, of course, the highlight of the concert, the rest of the show wasn't too shabby either! We also saw the final performance of the Ottawa Little Theatre's Inspecting Carol, a farce about a small theatre company disastrously staging Dickens' classic. The ride home took us through the downtown core, which was alight with thousands of lights.

And we've enjoyed the company of friends, too: a big dinner party at the Morley in early December, an annual affair at the Yates' complete with a musical performance, a Cookie Exchange and party at Debbie's, and a Morley & dogs drop-in to give Sam his present and to bestow the traditional tins of delicious homemade chocolates and cookies.

That's not to say there's been no talk of presents, of course. We've enjoyed the whispered conversations, the secret wrapping, the discovery of just the right gift for one another. Sam's crawled right under the very boughs to inspect packages, wonder at their contents. (Always a cute sight.) But he talks as much about what he's giving as what he might be getting, and that makes me happy.

In short, it's been a wonderful month, and the long (and long-awaited) Christmas vacation together is just getting underway. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Magic

The Christmas Magic is different in Hudson House this year. Santa Claus—so tangible, so present for our little boy—has sublimated into a beautiful idea, a symbol of the joy of giving and receiving, of reaching out in the spirit of love and generosity to all the children of the world. He’s real in our hearts; but he’s not “real” real. Not this year.

I’d hoped to enjoy one more season of writing to Santa, of waiting in giddy anticipation for his, the last, float in the annual parade. One more night of watching Rudolph’s progress on Norad, of setting out milk and cookies, of straining hard for the sounds of sleigh bells. One more magical morning of discovering the special gift, the stocking full of just the right treats, the signs everywhere that Santa had been in our very house—The fireplace ornaments all asunder! Cookies gone! Reindeer paw marks in the snow!

But Sam showed niggling signs of doubt last year (and even the year before), raising all the tough questions about the logistics. I told plausible stories about department store Santa helpers and the like, but the fall back was always the same: it’s Christmas Magic. And that worked for a time. I read an article by a child psychologist just today who says that “Younger children engage in magical thinking: Santa can see children being bad or good; Santa can slide down all those chimneys because, well, he’s magic! At about age seven, however, children begin to be able to distinguish fantasy from reality. They are becoming concrete thinkers, more concerned with right and wrong, with what’s true and what’s a lie.”

Sam’s been flexing that concrete thinking brain for a while now. He often wanders into the kitchen and drops a subject on the table like a stone. A few weeks ago, he asked “So … cannibalism?” My goodness. I had no idea how the concept came across his radar, but he wanted some straight answers. We’ve had lots of talks about the world, about human history, about nature and more. He trusts me when I say there are things he doesn’t need to know yet … but he also trusts that what I do choose to tell him is true. And magic isn’t true. Not “true” true.

In late summer, Sam and I planned an afternoon together at Papanack Zoo. On the way out, he told me stories about the goings on in the Child Care Centre. He mentioned a magician who performed at a special event, noting that it was the same magician who comes every year. “I used to think that the magic was real,” he said. “But now I know it’s a trick. That’s why they call it a ‘magic trick’! And, anyways, it’s still lots of fun to wonder how they do it and to see all the kids who are still amazed and don’t know it’s a trick…” There was my opening.

As we toured the zoo, I turned the idea over and over in my mind. Do I talk about Christmas Magic now, on this bright sunny summer day? Or do I wait until winter and let the conversation take its course when Santa comes up? I decided it would be easier to hear now, when the spirit of the season wasn’t already building. So we sat down at a picnic table in the shade. I reminded Sam of his earlier remarks about how a magic show is still wonderful fun, even if the magic is an illusion. And then we talked about other kinds of magic. “There’s Disney Magic, too — right? The smallest kids at Chip ‘n Dale’s campfire don’t realize that those are giant costumes; but even though you do, it’s still fun to dance with those chipmunks and pose for photos.” Sam agreed and we talked about other ways that the shows, the rides, the decorations, and more all added up to a magical experience … without any real magic.

“There’s also Christmas Magic,” I ventured, trying to keep the sentimental tears out of my voice. “Can you think of some of the things that make Christmas Magic?” Sam didn’t hesitate. He didn’t speak in a questioning tone. It was a statement of fact: “Santa.” I nodded, explaining that thousands of years ago there was a Saint Nick—the patron saint of children and bringer of gifts—and that his story caught the imagination of many and became part of the modern Christmas story. That grown-ups keep the legend of Santa alive as part of the Christmas Magic … until their children are old enough to fully grasp the true meaning of Christmas and so become part of the magic themselves. "It's not a trick," I explained. "It's love."

Seeing the mommy-tears in my eyes, Sam came around the picnic table and climbed up on to my lap for a hug. "I don't feel sad," he said, "but I think I might cry a little." No doubt he saw that this conversation was harder on me than it was on him: he takes his growing up for granted, but it still has the capacity to take my breath away. And so we sat together wordlessly for a while on that warm summer day, watching the zebras, each of us thinking about how different the world seems now.