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.

Ring Bearer

A year ago today, Sam suited up in his fanciest duds ever and served as a ring bearer in Jacquie and Brent's wedding. He, Carter and Anabel made terrific attendants, adding just the right cute factor without doing anything overshadowingly worthy of America's Funniest Home Videos. Well, Carter split his chin open on the hotel's waterslide stairway a few hours before the ceremony, and hospital staff had to be pleaded with to sneak his stitches in promptly without angering the sick-and-injured droves in the waiting room and without Tracey fainting... but that all happened out of sight of the guests.

The wedding itself was a lovely affair, held in a beautiful white wooden church... and that's on account of Hurricane Juan bearing down on the Atlantic, which made the move to the indoor venue seem wise. Stitches and a hurricane—there was little chance of Sam, even at his most theatrical, stealing the bride's (or the storm's) thunder! The week's run-up to the Big Day was filled with the this and that and the other thing of prepping for a wedding. The boys helped to make sugar cookies for the post-ceremony tea, but for the most part they simply steered clear of the grown-ups and their To Do lists, opting for such things as coating themselves head to foot in red clay and running down hills with sticks. We were happy they were happy.

At the wedding rehearsal, however, the boys paid careful attention to their important roles. Without the rings, the whole thing was moot, really. They practiced their ceremonial walk, learned where to stand, got a feel for what kind of attention they'd get. "What if I forget what to do?" Sam worried. "Just carry that box up the aisle," I answered. "Brent will reach for it when you get close." As it turns out, the reverand reached for it and Sam shot a quick, terrified look over his shoulder, searching for me in the pews. Someone must have given him a smiling "all clear" before he spotted me, because he visibly relaxed and then paid as much attention to the ceremony as he could. The stained glass windows were a real attention grabber. All the while, however, he kept the same expression on his face: a comically-subdued happiness, as though a full blown smile would be inappropriate while people were talking about love being patient and kind.

The reception was a huge hit! After a delicious buffet dinner (and does it get any better than 25 feet of pick-and-choose yummies?) the tables were shuffled aside and the DJ got spinning. It took some of the guests a few warm-up songs before they hit the dance floor, but the 5-and-under set got their groove on right from the get-go. It was hilarious watching their musical interpretations—somehow channeling the breakdancing and robotic stylings of their mothers' youth. Hilarious. 22-month old Anabel's ruby red slippers and helium balloon tied to the wrist gave her wings to run the length of the hall and back until midnight. I zoomed in too far for this "between dances" close-up, but I had to include it—for Sam's arm slung over Carter's chair, for Carter's loosened tie...

Of course, I can't blog about Jacquie's wedding on the date of her 1st anniversary without including a shot of the ceremony. My camera caught much first-pew and wedding party action and bald spots, but it also records the last moment's of Jake's (Babe's!) single life. We're so happy to have been part of this special occasion. Thank you, Jacq, for including Sam: it really meant the world to him.

Grade Schooler

Who knows how this happened, but it would seem that we have a son in Grade One. There he is on the front porch with his Sens backpack, his balanced school day double lunch, and money for a math book and an agenda. He's a full-fledged "school-aged kid" and we're pretty darned proud of him. He's excited about the whole thing, too.

When the bell rang, Jeremy and I joined the back of the grade one line forming at the playground door of Carleton Heights. Sam was graciously tolerant of our beaming smiles, photo snapping and "you'll love it and you're gonna do great" waves. Probably because most other kids had similar fans in the wings. It's a big classroom, jam-packed with a universe of topics to explore—a really great place to be. We reluctantly pulled ourselves away once all the kids were settled on the carpet, where they begin the day. We wished we could have stayed for the whole thing and watched him discover grade school. If only just the once.

At pick-up time, Sam reported that he liked his teacher (Allison Cathcart is wonderful), liked his seat assignment (with Sai, up front), liked the activities and stories (esp. French), liked the idea of going to the gym three times a week, and liked eating lunch in the classroom. He did have one (unintentionally) funny story which may resonate through his whole academic career. It went something like this:

"When it's time for nutrition break, there isn't a bell—we just have to watch the clock. Well, I think our classroom clock is broken. Cuz when the teacher was talking and we were doing our activities, the big hand didn't move hardly at all. But when it was finally time for a break, I took only one bite of my sandwich and the minute hand went straight up to the 12 just like that!"


Yes. The broken clock. I think some of my classrooms had those, too. Well, with any luck, time will soon fly when he's learning just as fast as it does when he's eating. I know it's flying from our perspective...

Another scurvy dog

This is to record that on August 30 in the year two thousand and nine, young Spencer Robert Webb gained entrance to Captain Sam Ashe Arnold's pirate room and did serve as junior navigator therein. He may or may not have plundered the Captain's treasure box and/or chewed on various and sundry items. Now he knows what fascinating adventures lay at the headwaters of the Great Stair Waterfall... Things shall never be the same.

General Knowledge

I have no idea how I got to be the mother of a six-year-old boy living in Nepean without knowing that there was a ginormous outdoor pool nestled away just 0.5 kilometres off the beaten track that is Meadowlands drive. It was only when a daytrip to General Burns Park & Pool came up on the summer field trip schedule at Carleton Heights for the third summer in a row did I ask any questions. So what kind of "pool" are we talking about? A wading pool? "Oh, no—it's huge" says Amanda. "They have three diving boards."

Seriously?

That day, Sam (and everyone in the JK-SK group except Carter—props to Carts!) failed the swim test that would allow them access to the diving boards. Sam was despondant later, explaining that he only paused "druring" his test because people were calling him in another direction and he got confused. Though he had a splashy fun time, the call of the elusive diving board (so close and yet so far!) prompted me to pile the boys in the car two days later and head out to this so-called "huge pool."

It was, in a word, huge. Maximum number of bathers? 394. That's almost four hundred. This ain't no wading pool (oh, but they have a wading pool, too, for infants and toddlers, separately fenced and with a Little Tykes slide set up in the middle of it). I understand why Sam might not have mentioned this pool as a four year old, given his take on scary bodies of water you can see 10 feet down into. But after spending the week in the pool during our Key West visit, he was a transformed boy at 5 when it came to swimming. I can only surmise that he didn't ask if we could go to General Burns because it didn't occur to him that mere families could show up at pools that seemed to be populated entirely by field trip kids. Like it was in another dimension that moms couldn't access.

Well, now we know. We spent 2 hours in the water together—quite a feat for this mom, but the rules demanded it ... swimmers under the age of 8 must stay within arm's reach of a grown-up regardless of swimming ability. The boys didn't seem to mind the supervision at all (see: huge pool) and they spent more than half the time lining up for their turn on the diving boards anyways. I treaded water alongside the ladder to cheer them on and to keep an eye on the shenanigans of the bigger kids. Me and 10 lifeguards.

I was proud of the two of them for their confidence in the company of kids twice their age. Sam was shorter by at least a foot than the average diving board user, but he marched up there with the rest of them and did his cute little 180 degree turns while they did spectacular backflips and sommersaults, egging each other on to ever crazier feats. Brave Carter took his first three jumps off the X-metre board (I don't know from measurements. It was high. See top photo.), but he was drawn to the hijinx of the older boys and came back to join Sam in his line. I should have seen the spectacular bellyflop coming. I'm not sure if he was planning to flip and pulled out, or what, but he did the swan dive opening without the swan dive finish. We took a little breather after that. So he could breathe.

It was a record-breaking hot and humid day, so Red Chest didn't want to sit out for long. After another 20-minute round, though, we packed it in and headed for Baskin Robbins. A waffle cone to cap the first of what are sure to become many, many trips to General Burns pool. Here's a portrait of the cousins from Trip One.

In the backyard

How fitting that the brand new back patio should be inaugurated in this way. With a few hours of Arnold sister chatter, singing and guitar performances by Savannah & Jasmyn followed by Sam & Carter (with accompanying interpretive dance by Anabel), Jeremy BBQing for the kids, and then settling in for a yummy grown-up meal of shrimp-stuffed summer squash picked fresh from the garden? Oh, plus Janey brought fudge.

A perfect summer evening and just what the patio was built for...

Rite of passage

Sam picked out his first "big kid bike" this weekend—a Canadian Tire SuperCycle. That, the Sens shirt, and breakfast at Tim Horton's and there's no denying he's the quintessential Canadian Boy.

Sam-a-bel

Just a few days after Sam and I returned from Nova Scotia, Tracey, Carter and Anabel took their (longer) turn, enjoying 10 awesome days out there. With our staggered vacation schedule, the kids spent just 3 days in 21 together. We've come nowhere near that kind of separation since their births. Now Sam’s such an in-the-moment child that he made it most of the way through the full week in child care before saying anything about it. Then, two days before their return, he mentioned that he really wanted to show Carter and Anabel his alien craft, pausing just a second before adding “I miss my cousins.”

What struck me as especially sweet was that Sam factored Anabel in as an equal. Just like that, it seems, she’s stepped over a nearly imperceptible line. No longer an add-on baby cousin whose more an extension of Tracey than a real playmate, she’s become someone Sam can converse with about little three-eyed aliens named Ripper who are floating in a specimen jar filled with green water on the kitchen windowsill.

Of course, it’s been happening by degrees. As soon as she was barely capable of speech and stair climbing, Anabel was making her cheery way up to the boys’ rooms in the wake of their thundering excitement calling, “Don’t worry boys! I’m coming!” Back then, they barely registered her arrival, and any attention paid came in the form of steering her away from their pirate forts and towards something she might be happy taking downstairs with her. Alone. “ANA-BEL, NO!” we’d sometimes hear, just prior to a door being slammed and a rejected little girl bursting into tears. It’s tough being the baby sister, especially when it’s two against one.

But in the last couple of months, Anabel has become more sure on her feet and more articulate: she’s playing ball and hide-and-seek, and she can follow the pirate plot enough to act out some of Sam’s favourite books. “Let’s go to Sleepy Island!” is a common refrain right now as she angles in on the sailing adventure. It helps that she and Sam have had several solo playdates while Carter is out with his dad. The two of them get along like a house on fire, Anabel thrilled with Sam’s undivided attention and enthusiastic willingness to keep the game fun for her. So smitten with him is she that she’s been known to say that “Sammy is my best friend ebber-ebber-ebber!” We dubbed the happy pair "Sam-a-bel" on Sunday.

Add in summer playstructures and splash pads, where Anabel is just about as comfortable as the boys are, and the age gap between them is becoming less noticeable as the season wears on. These days, it's not so much "the boys and Anabel" as it is "the kids." At this pace, she'll be calling the shots next summer and Sam'n'Carter won't mind at all. Though there is some talk of a "No girls allowed" sign on the treehouse.

Hmmm. We'll see about that.

The Swing Day

Wednesday was a swing day—falling between the road trips of the first half of our vacation and the visit to Grandma & Grandpa's in Nova Scotia of the second half. We had some laundry and packing to do, but we didn't want to lose the holiday feeling (especially since Jeremy's Dublin plans fell through and he'd be heading back to work the next day). So we planned a nice in-city outing: our first ever family bowling game, lunch at St. Hubert's, and a matinee showing of Ice Age 3.

Now we'd heard that Sam is something of a natural at bowling. He went to the Walkley lanes with the Child Care Centre a few weeks ago and—after hesitating with ball in hand uttering "I can't do this" repeatedly—he went on to bowl an 83 and edge out the rest of "the seniors" (as the six-year-olds refer to themselves). Now, I know that 83 is a long way from setting any records, but I'll admit that it's a higher score than I got on our first Swing Day bowling game. Seriously, I demolish those pins. One. at. a. time. I seem to remember Jasmyn beating me at bowling ... when she was three. So I make the perfect competitor for newbies.

Nonetheless, Sam suffered a little "where's my beginner's luck?" jitters after the first couple of frames and more than a few gutter balls, and he tried to revert to his jokesy I'm-not-really-trying approach to sports and leisure activities. I'm afraid he inherited a little of his mother's If-I-can't-master-it-in-5-minutes-I'm-not-playing attitude to same. Funny thing, DNA. But Jeremy and I struck the right note (I think) between coaching a good game out of him and making sure he was still enjoying every step up to the line. We made a ritual out of whispering our nuggets of simple advice in his ear, making it fun: "Hold the puppy!" we'd say, to mean cradle the ball evenly in his hands; or "Eyes on the prize!" for lining up his shot down the middle. And we made sure to wildly cheer each other on, each of us trying to get a strike or a spare to see the funny scoreboard movie (and not just to trounce the other). After a short pout—I think he really wanted us to see how good he could be—he came around on the whole team spirit thing and we had a blast. (For the record, I tweaked my style for the second game. A whopping 137 is the score to beat next time. Go, Mama!)

On the way out to the car, we stopped to play a Dirty Harry pinball game. Now Sam's never shown much interest in video games, beyond watching Daddy or Carter sink pirate ships or quest for something or other in the land of might & magic or whatever (ya, I don't pay much attention), but he has the makings of being a Pinball Wizard. He was entranced by the silver ball and made a few awesome shots (How do you think he does it? I don't know..). The role of luck in the whole thing appeals, I suspect. There are no "bad bounces" in X-box. Or maybe he was just born late, our little bowler /pinball player.

Chicken, yummy. Movie, funny. Then we hauled out the lilac suitcase and got to packing!

Monopoly

In the last month or so of school, we’d often arrive in the child care centre for pick up to find Sam playing Connect 4 or Battleship with his friends or one of the staff (depending on how late we were). Given that his interests in family-friendly games was growing, we figured it was a good time to add to our rather small collection and to make an effort to sit down more often to play with him. We’ve had Trouble, Perfection, and Cariboo for years—and we’ve pretty much played those out.

Yesterday, I picked up the Disney-Pixar version of Monopoly. Sure, the concepts of mortgaging yourself out of debt, raising the rents on improved properties, and calculating insurance premiums on demand are a little beyond his capabilities. But then, so is simply reading the name of the property he’d landed on. So we figure we’ll lend him a hand with the reading, math and money management this year and he’ll kick our butts next year.

As it turns out, by the time we called it a night on his first ever Monopoly game, Sam was well in the lead. He held 10 properties, had double safety cone “houses” on the orange lot—The Eiffel Tower, Gusteau’s Restaurant, and the Sewers of Paris—and had hundreds in the bank. He rolled doubles for extra turns like he was playing with his own loaded dice, and he was quick to demand his rent when his rent was due. It was so much fun to see him catch on to the object of the game and the spirit of the competition. Early on, after picking up his first two properties while his folks were either in jail or paying speeding fines, he graciously turned down the chance to buy Tow Mater’s Junk Yard. “No thanks!” he reasoned. “I don’t want to spend my money on junk.” The second time he had to hand me cash for landing there, he realized his missed opportunity. Junk pays.

Having sat down for a short demo following an evening of yard work, we ended up playing well past Sam’s bedtime. And his first question this morning was whether or not there’d be time enough to squeeze a game in today. After all, he didn’t get a chance to set up any Al’s Toy Barn “hotels” on his properties. He’s a Monopoly mogul in the making for sure. A chip off the Ashe block.

Here’s the mini album!

Sam's photo is the best of the bunch—a shot of my playing piece (Sully & Boo) passing by jail.

Sam buys his first property, the Parr (Incredible) Family home, from Banker Daddy. And he collects his first rent from Mommy...

A Loose Tooth

Sam's got a loose tooth. The adult teeth are coming! And we all know it takes a good 10 years before those big chicklets look like they belong to the face they pop up in far, far too early. Luckily, he's not that interested in hastening the process. I had to ask him to wiggle his tooth for the camera and haven't seen him do it since.

And he's avoiding hard foods, asking things like "When you have a loose tooth, is there anything against apples?" So I figure I've got a few weeks or so. Time enough to snap a bunch more photos of his cute grin.

Like this one from the top of the Ferris Wheel at the Victoria Day Fair at Dow's Lake.

I hope he keeps the dimples.

Now and Then

Right now, Sam is eating his cereal inside his couch fort and watching Teletoon. After breakfast, we're going to take the bike & trailer out and ride along the canal on Colonel By Drive, which closes to traffic on Sunday mornings so throngs of happy, healthy families (or so they seem from a distance) can enjoy some time together on one of the most beautiful cycling routes in Canada. That's the Now of July 5.

But I want to talk about the Then of April 10-12. We spent the Easter weekend at Mont Tremblant, a ski resort and village on the Quebec side. There are few things Sam takes more delight in than exploring hotels, and this gorgeous château—with its zigzag hallways, private balconies, games room, indoor pool and outdoor hot tubs—was especially fun. And his folks liked it, too. It's been a busy winter, and it felt good to take some time to smell the snow melt.

Most of Sam's exploring took the form of swimming: he must have clocked 6 hours during our short stay. Often we had the small pool to ourselves, since many guests were there to get in some spring skiiing. But, as much as he appreciated our attempts to play along (well, mostly Daddy's attempts: I enjoyed the games from the sidelines, nestled in a cedar deck chair beneath the glow of the heat lamps), Sam liked it best when other kids arrived to put on cannonball clinics or races, or to join in his shipwrecked pirates game. Since many kids spoke French, Sam was a little shier than usual. My fave moment was when he swam up to a mother trailing her 18-month old boy through the water and asked "Is he 'je suis trés excité' to be in the pool?" She looked confused for a moment and then laughed and answered yes, and they struck up quite a conversation (in English).

We spent a fun afternoon up in the village at the foot of the mountain. There was a goofy race going on, in which competitors had to dress up in fun costumes, ski the mountain—trying to clear a small 'lake' at the end of the run—then snap off their skiis and run in the boots down through the village. Sam got a high five from one guy dressed like Barney. We grabbed some hot dogs and sat for a while in the crowded outdoor ampitheatre, taking in a rock performance by a good cover band ("Proud Mary" was a hit!) and then took a peek into a few of the village stores. The sunshiney blue skies and festive atmosphere had everyone smiling. Beautiful day!

We also enjoyed a walking tour of a nearby town, some nice chillax' time together watching movies in the evenings, and a very successful Easter egg hunt (Sam had left a note at home ☺). All in all, it was a wonderful weekend away. Sam took this picture of us in the village: his first ever portrait of his parents. The smiles on the ski mice say it all.

Hockey Day in Canada

Sam is a five-year-old boy living in the capital city of Hockey Nation—it's high time he strapped on the blades. Actually, it's been high time for about a year, but he tends to edge slowly towards such athletic endeavors, trying the idea rather than the equipment on for size. Then came Hockey Day in Canada, and Jeremy decided to get himself suited up for a return to the sport. Sam went along on the shopping trip, agreeing to a new helmet since he was thinking maybe he'd consider walking on the outdoor ice rink in his boots. Something magical happened at Play it Again Sports, however, and he came home with the helmet and elbow pads and shin pads and a new pair of cool hockey skates. And a big smile.

On a gorgeously sunny afternoon, Sam laced up his first pair of skates for the first time and crawled to his feet at the edge of a snow-dusted rink in McGregor Easson park. Carter, who's been taking lessons this season, confidently made his way across the ice, step-gliding its length and tossing back pointers. Sam was initially reluctant to field too many instructions from his cousin and his parents, pleading in his characteristic way "Can I do the lesson later? I just want to skate!" But he was far less frustrated than I expected him to be, picking himself up from falls, never complaining that it was too difficult simply to keep his balance nevermind put one foot in front of the other. I knew he had an Alfredson-inspired vision of himself making effortless loops of the rink, but he didn't seem to be disappointed by these baby step towards the NHL.

On the contrary, Sam was happy to hold on tight to Daddy as he gradually got a feel for the ice and a sense of how to move on it. Then he watched from a sideline snowbank while Jeremy "put on a hockey show," as Sam put it, marvelling at his fancy footwork, backwards skating and quick stops. That's when Trace and Anabel and I made our way back to the house. The boys spent another hour on the rink together, like good Canadians.

Check out the video!

Bonne Time

And just like that, we are a camping family. We camp. In campgrounds. We get up with the sun, we cook delicious picnic meals over a charcoal bbq and a Coleman stove, we make friends with the forest critters (but don’t feed them), we explore dark pathways by flashlight, we fall into exhausted sleeping-bag sleep shortly after night fall. The three of us spent a beautiful long weekend in Bonnechere Provincial Park, and we’ll do it again. In fact, we’ve already scoped out our favourite sites—close to the comfort station, the beach, the water supply, the additional vehicle parking. Close, but not too close: forest and river in the foreground and amenities just out of sight. Perfect.

I don’t remember much about the planning and the packing and the set-up and the tear-down and the busyness of the this-and-that when thinking back to the summer camping trips of my childhood. Mom and Dad somehow managed all that without catching our notice, calling us in from sandcastles and air mattresses, from card games and random play when it was time to eat or sleep or climb back in the car. I’m not sure how they pulled it off, to be honest. Perhaps they had the routine down pat by the time I was old enough to form memories of our trips to Kilbear, Balsalm Lake and, later, Sable Beach. Or perhaps we didn’t hover at their elbows asking if it was time yet to head to the beach, finally giving up and throwing a casual “meet you there!” over our shoulders as we sauntered down a woodland path at 8:30 in the morning.

More likely it was the “we” that made the difference. Camping takes constant effort, but it’s not just keeping the site ordered and the meals coming; it’s keeping up with the Tasmanian Devil-like energy that bursts forth from an only child. Siblings spin towards one another, each bearing the brunt of the other’s “play with me” force. An excited only child on a camping trip — and a five-year-old boy, to boot — is practically unstoppable. We’d been parked at site 63 for all of two minutes when Sam finished his preliminary inspection and declared, “Yup! These are the right kind of woods! Who’s coming on a ninja hunt with me?” It was tough, but we held him off for long enough to throw up the dining tent in case of rain before tramping through the forest behind him, buying into each improbable sighting of Japanese feudal-era warrior spies in the foliage.

And so it carried on through the weekend. In and out of the cool (okay, cold) water, swimming out to “rescue” the buoys that mark the swim area, Sam riding on our backs for a good deal of the way. Over and back to the playground boat structures, playing Elizabeth and Gibbs to his Will Turner in an ongoing re-enactment of The Pirates of the Caribbean. Following a few strides behind as he scampers along the dark camp road tracking two different kinds of ghosts: the see-through kind and the ones with skeletons showing through their skin. Incidentally, they both leave shiny tracks that resemble bits of granite mixed in pavement.

That’s not to say Sam didn’t find shoreline playmates. He did. I loved watching him walk up to a little boy or girl playing near his or her parents and ask “How old are you?” before swapping names and agreeing to the terms of a game. Their age never actually mattered. He played as happily with two-and-a-half-year-old Janelle as he did with four-and-a-half-year-old Jake. Those interludes would seem to offer up a parent-play break, but instead they required a different kind of attention: overseeing the play from the sidelines, exchanging small-talk and knowing smiles with the other set of parents. We did manage to read maybe a chapter of our novels, but there simply ain’t no “put your feet up and relax” vacations at this stage of the parenting game. We were good and wiped when we got home!

Even still, it was really great to feel the full weekend as it unfolded—to let whim, inclination and appetite direct our movements—rather than to schedule as much as possible into those short days, planning for the moments when Sam would get our time and attention. He felt the difference right away. Snuggling in between us on Friday night, he sighed “What a great day!” and gave us both multiple “Good night, I love you” kisses, adding “you’re the best dad in the world.” Jeremy had gone for the firewood to make the s’mores. That was the title clincher, I’ll bet. In any event, I like to think that despite his privileged perspective from the centre of the universe (the rightful place of all small children), Sam appreciated our efforts to make this a fun family getaway, to indulge his existing interests and introduce him to new experiences.

Myself, I can't wait till next year.

A Little Piece of Navan

I’m always surprised by how quickly we find ourselves ‘in the middle of nowhere’ when we head off in search of some rural destination or another. Two quick rights from Tracey’s driveway and we’re soon skirting the boundaries of farm fields, marshes and forests—the cityscape fast disappearing in the rearview mirror. Ten minutes into the trip and we’ve slipped back in time to enjoy a little tour of pre-industrial Canada. Because once you’ve swung onto Leitrim Road and passed the community centre and the Canadian Forces station, there’s no there there. It’s countryside plain and simple, and it’s lovely.

Entering the nearby town of Navan last Saturday did little to destroy the time-travelling flavour of the drive. The welcome sign is carved in wood and proudly proclaims that the town was the site of the astounding “Fifty horse hitch.” Fifty horses on a single hitch, their lead reins nearly 170 feet long, were paraded down the quaint main street and into the world record books. In this very town. As we made our way towards the fair grounds, promising the boys that the heavy odour of fresh hay and fresher manure would subside, I realized that the past we had entered was my own.

This is Erin, circa 1982. The same small Irish village turning itself inside out to host a weekend fair, the same three long-time Lion’s Club members working the ticket booth, the same muddy assortment of John Deere and Massey Ferguson tractors lined up behind the agricultural buildings, the same cheesy glitz and laughter on the midway. Tracey felt it too, as she heaved Anabel’s stroller across the rough muddy tracks left by a horse trailer, jokingly calling the boys “city kids” as they screwed up their faces in disgust at having to pick around the ‘road apples.’ It’s a familiar scene to a pair of small town girls, but their children don’t know from rural fairs. We need to get them out of Centretown more often.

We let the boys have the run of the midway for an hour or so, following them from ferris wheel, to giant slide, to pirate den, to house of mirrors, to spinning strawberries. Carter even braved the Dragon Wagon rollercoaster, while Sam staunchly defended his right to sit out. They watched in slack-jawed awe as the big kids screeched their way through the startling drop zone ride, the speedy polar express, the gravity-defying tilt-a-whirl. Not this year for these two. Not next either. Much as they like to try teenager mannerisms on for size lately, declaring with conviction that they’re 18 years old, they look very much their age as they weigh their midway options and head for the cute stuff.

After a nice break in a shady playground on the edge of the fairgrounds, we walked back through the thick of it, explaining to the boys that the grown-ups wanted to see the exhibits. I loved that stuff in high school—the arts and crafts, the student projects, the baking, the prize vegetables. The sight of those ribbons pinned to the best in class still twists me up with irrational excitement. It’s nuts. I expected the kids to humour us, but they had a blast. Look at the scarecrows! Look at these bird feeders! Look at the Lego sets. Look! Look! Look! They ran circles through the exhibition hall and Anabel toddled after them, caught up in their excitement.

We’ve long been meaning to do the fairs, but they come early around these parts, with most towns staging them by Labour Day weekend rather than waiting for Thanksgiving. By the time my inner voice whispers “fall fair time,” we’ve missed out. But we’ll pay more attention now. It was nice to spend the afternoon out of the city, to participate in farm-based community events, simple celebration, and age-old fun that is all wrapped up in a small town fair. It’s the first time I got a strong sense of “Ontario,” as I know it, from anything connected to Ottawa. I like sharing that with Sam. Maybe next year we’ll catch the demolition derby, too.

Sam-san, "Crotty" Kid

Sam is now officially a force to be reckoned with, the newest “crotty" kid on the block. He signed up and suited up at the Bergeron Karate Centre last night, where Carter has been a member for a few months. Sam had to mull it over, weighing the pros and cons of involving himself in an activity that is simultaneously cool art, cool sport and cool self-defence. In the end, his worries crystallized thusly: “What if everyone else has an outfit, and I don’t?” I thought he might be concerned about performing for his sensei or not keeping up with the tip-earning progress of the Little Dragons group. On the contrary, he needed to know he’d fit in fashion-wise…

So there he is in his cool “gi,” looking the part. The class started while he was still trying to tie the thing up in 4 places, but he came scampering out of the change room to join the “courtesy, discipline, respect” bows-in-progress with an air of such entitlement and capability that I was teary with pride before he even introduced himself to the instructor. From the get-go, he was unusually (for him) engrossed in the training: he didn’t so much as glance at us for at least 20 minutes … and we were sitting 5 feet away. After that, he shot us only occasional looks of happy self-satisfaction, a smile that seemed to say: “I’m nailing the high block, hey?”

Our son was, in fact, almost unrecognizable. Where’s the boy who hangs back from the group and loses interest within minutes, finally wandering away to do something on his own? Sam-san is clearly here to learn. He wasn’t fazed in the least by being the only newbie. He half-fumbled his way through most of the stretch exercises and the motions of ready position (instead of quickly crossing his arms across his body before firing them out and down, he pounds his chest like a dominant ape - it’s pretty cute). He never lost confidence, even mouthing along while the boys around him counted off their sit-ups in Japanese. And his comfort level with the instructors was made obvious by the fact that when it was his turn to walk the circle in “Ninja, Ninja, Turtle” (the ancient Chinese equivalent of “Duck, Duck, Goose”) he turtled his sensei and raced him back to his seat.

At times, his supreme efforts to mimic the sensei made us giggle. When the boys were posed together in a faux photograph and asked to stay perfectly still for 10 seconds (an exercise in discipline) the group was a stony tableau, right up until the instructor slowly raised an imaginary camera to his face to take the picture. Kneeling in the disciplined front row, Sam mirrored his actions precisely, lifting his own camera to his face. You could see the cogs working: “Copy the tall one. Copy the tall one..”

The sharp learning curve aside, he’s already showing signs of sheer genius, of course. Just try to strike a super-slo-mo kitten blow to the side of his calf and watch the block, baby! (actually, the block is delivered in a relatively respectful and subdued manner; it’s the follow-up high five, powered by pride, that has the quality of agile attack). But who knows how far their initial interest will take Sam and Carter? For now, it’s a lot of fun to watch them jump into something so eagerly. And in such cute outfits.