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.

The Cottage

For the fourth year in a row, we headed to Paul and Siobhan’s cottage north of Hunstville on the Labour Day long weekend to celebrate the last gasp of summer holidays with some of our best friends. While Camp Hideaway — or, Morley North — seems relatively new to me and Jeremy, Sam can’t remember a summer that didn’t include a blissful stint in this idyllic acreage. (Remember this? And this?)

Sam and Carter (and Hudson) leapt from the car before it even came to a full stop and didn’t look back: the beach, the boats, the marsh, the tree fort, the toys, the woods, the bunk beds, the fire pit, the smores, the ATV rides, the frog catching and fish almost-catching...what’s not to love?

Like a living growth chart, the cottage property makes Sam’s leaps in ability and independence clearly evident each year. This time, he and Carter ran into the water and swam strongly out to Splash Island for some jumping/flipping water action … by themselves. We were on the beach of course, but no longer “within arm’s reach.” They’re swimmers. They're fine. Which is not to say that no one needed a lil’ towel snuggle with a sensibly bundled Mommy after the fun (the air was somewhat cooler than the water!).

Each morning, the boys tucked away massive breakfasts, grabbed their cowboy hats and sped off in search of fun while we grown-ups spent the days relaxing—chatting over daiquiris, playing cards, or flopped out reading. Sam, Carter and Mason (and sometimes Chloe-bug, Hannah and Cassie) played long games of tag, wrestling, and “spy,” hunkering down in the Rustic when the rains came and then scrambling back to the tree fort when the skies cleared. We cocked an ear from time to time, to make sure we could hear everyone, but otherwise we left them to their own adventures.

Adam apparently taught them how to chop wood (I didn’t ask any questions), and Paul took them out for a few boat rides around the lake (our first at sunset) and he and Jeremy took them for a nice long spell of fishing (in a light rain). Sam caught a wee one—the only catch of the day—and Jeremy caught an accidental mini-movie of the moment when he went to snap a photo. That night, Paul ATV’d the kids one by one around the site at dusk, following our communal (and yummy) pulled pork dinner. We could hear Sam’s excited commentary around the full loop, and the look of happiness on his face as they zipped past our line of picnic tables was priceless.


Then we all piled down to the lake for the traditional Labour Day Weekend campfire and fireworks show. No kidding around here: we do it up big. The kids perch up on the big rock and watch as volley after volley is sent up from a boat in the bay (the men ducking as the spent cardboard canisters hail down around them!). After the last whiz-bang-pop, we shuffle the sleepy boys off to the cabin.

Summer’s last hurrah. It comes up way too fast.

East meets West

Thomas Hardy once wrote that "east is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet." Sam had other ideas. Knowing that he'd be flying from coast to coast during this holiday, he scooped a flat red rock from the Big Red Mud of the Minas Basin on the Atlantic side and squirrelled it away for throwing into the Pacific ocean at White Rock a few days later. Which he did. East, meet West.

The pan-Canadian trip was smooth sailing, from the early morning ride to the airport in Halifax to the late aft (evening for us) ride home from the airport in Abbotsford. Sam couldn't be a better traveller, and he was excited enough upon arrival that he was ready to get the visiting going right away. So happy were we all to see each other that we walked out to the car in animated conversation and didn't realize until we got there that we hadn't stuck around for the luggage!

We spent the next eight days enjoying Grandma & Grandpa's company. Now something of a tradition, Sam and Grandma spent an afternoon co-creating a new watercolour masterpiece—a mountain scene, complete with lakes, trees and a train cutting through the valley. Sam takes the painting very seriously and gets a kick out of sharing this talent with Grandma. He was delighted with the gift of a new set of paints and paper.

Sam's new talent, however, was unveiled for Grandpa, who sat most of the way through the Where's the Dragon? story thinking Sam had the book memorized. The look of astonishment at learning that Sam was reading it to him was priceless. Sam would read another three or four books to Grandpa and Grandma that week. He loves a good story and really likes sharing books with his family (and I learned this afternoon that he volunteers to read to the kids in Child Care, too).

Sam played chess and cards, watched the Jays games (sort of) with the boys, helped the girls chop veggies for dinner, and rolled thousands of times up and down the living room on a yoga ball (nutty kid). We enjoyed a lovely early afternoon at White Rock, strolling the waterfront, exploring the beach, watching sandcastle artists, and enjoying some delicious ice cream. We topped off a great day with a massive order of Greek delivery—opa! And we all went out for dinner a few days later at a fave local spot, La Masia, which serves authentic Portuguese fare. Very, very good. Best lamb Sam's ever had, he reports.

On the last full day of our stay, Uncle Malcolm drove (all the way!) out from Edmonton with Carolyn, Amanda and Marissa to enjoy an afternoon visit and a Sunday dinner, Ashe-style. Roast beef with all the fixin's, including Yorkshire pudding, Grandpa Ashe's famous gravy and "The Green Stuff" (jello-cream cheese-pineapple dessert, served with the main course. Dessert was peach cobbler! :) Sam loved meeting two new cousins for the first time and (as always), he enjoyed a good tussle with The Claw.

We spent the later evenings and early mornings through the week playing in the hotel pool and goofing around in the room. The week flew by, but on the very last morning Sam declared that he missed his house and he missed his dog and he wanted to go home. Excellent timing. Our coast-to-coast family vacation was over....

18 Days

For the first time in five years of working for the GoC, I booked off a big chunk of vacation time—July 15 to August 3—freeing us up for a coast-to-coast summer holiday extravaganza to see Grandma and Grandpa Arnold and Grandma and Grandpa Ashe. We marked those 18 days on the calendar in picture art depicting plane rides and swimming and BBQs and seashell hunts and smiles (even though Sam can spell now, he still sketches pictures on the calendar squares to represent special events). Then we counted down to the big holiday.

Sam and I flew out to Nova Scotia on July 15, arriving along with James and Charlie and meeting up the next day with Trace, Carter, Anabel, Janey, Savannah and Jasmyn. Throw in Jacquie, Brent and Rosalie for frequent visits, and it was a full house and cottage up on the hilltop. We spent most of our 11-day east coast vacation enjoying the scenery, the fresh air, the sunshine, the pool, the great food…but most of all each other’s company.

Sam loved the freedom and flexibility that comes with wide open spaces that feature an out-of-site dome tent that doubles as a spy base, a forest full of trails, and grown-ups who stay put on the deck while he and his cousins are off exploring. And he also loved choosing to come back and lay on a warm towel amongst the larger group to play with Rosalie in her kiddie pool or to read a stack of books (Davy Crockett was his fave. Killed him a “bar” when he was only three…).

We made our traditional pilgrimmage to That Dutchman’s Farm and had just as much fun spotting hidden gnomes (and now fairies) on the nature walk as we did when Sam was four years old. Funny how compelling that real live “look & find” is for the kids. Having bought a tasty range of gouda flavours in the cheese shop, the refrain for the rest of the week—no matter what the menu—was, “Does that have gouda on it?” Speaking of good-ah, Grandma & Grandpa also took us to Diane’s (twice) for fresh flounder off the weir and handcut fries. The best.

This year, we also made it to Five Islands, to walk along the terra cotta cliff faces that are exposed at low tide. Sam and the cousins drank from fresh water streams flowing from the cliff face, collected rocks and shells, and scrambled up several piles of huge fallen stones (though I was leary of a sudden slide that would add to the pile — those things had to have fallen at some point!). It was a beautiful day, but quite hot in the sunshine: time to head back to the pool!

It was nice to spend an extra long time with Grandpa and Grandpa Arnold (making pizzas! hunting coyotes!), but Sam sure missed Daddy—this was the longest he’s spent away from him. So he was doubly excited for the reunion that would kick off the west coast portion of our vacation. It began with a surprisingly pleasant 14 hour trip from Economy to Langley. A story for another day…

Camping 2010

We didn’t make it out to a campground last summer, what with the cousin visits and the Pirate Days, and the trips to Nova Scotia and the Morley cottage filling up the weekends, but we got “camping” on to the calendar early this year and invited Trace and the kids to join in.

We booked side-by-side sites (204-205) on an inner loop in the Lac Phillippe sector of Gatineau Park, about 45 minutes from here. While we planned a two-night stay, Mother Nature had a different plan in store for the Friday night. Torrential rains delayed our departure, but—as is often the case following a storm like that—Saturday and Sunday brought bright blue skies and warm temperatures. We loaded (and reloaded) our gear into our not-so-SUVs and headed east on Saturday morning. By noon, we had set up two camps, had a quick lunch of deli sandwiches, and were en route to the closest sandy beach.

Like a long, thin finger, Lac Phillippe stretches through the beautiful forested hills, joining Lac Mousseau to the south which itself reaches the tip of Lac Meech miles and miles away. With the mind’s eye, you can practically see the glaciers carving out this gorgeous “outdoor playground.” The water is clear and cool (but not too cool), the air is fresh, and the woods are picture postcard. Happily, the four sandy beaches spread along the campground’s shore were busy without being too crowded, which made them a perfect place for the kids to make friends and for the grown-ups to enjoy the sun.

Sam and Carter played with a few other boys and their pump action water noodle squirt guns and spent a good deal of time at the end of the beach sharing another boy’s fishing gear. But what they played the most was “Waterbender,” a movie-inspired game that had Jeremy flinging them high into the air where they struck warrior poses before splashing back into the lake. Luckily for them, Jeremy has superhuman stamina when it comes to water play. They clocked hours in the lake/air both days, and the boys’ enthusiasm for it never waned.

While most of the weekend’s entertainment centred around beach time, the campsite itself was good fun, too. There was a pair of huge rocks directly behind us that made for good climbing, and a couple of little trails connecting sites that offered up exploration opportunities (especially by flashlight). And that’s not to mention cooking over a campfire, playing in the tent, or following the road to the washrooms all by themselves—the stuff that brings back happy memories of my own camping days. And Sam pulled out a few faves of his own: the Ninja Hunt and the Ghost Walk.

One of Sam’s highlights from this trip was a bedtime visit by a family of raccoons who discovered the beach snack bag we forgot about in the dining tent (and we were so careful about cleaning up after dinner and smores!). Sam heard the growls and grunts first and then looked on in nervous fascination as Jeremy corralled the big mama and her babes back into the woods—they took the granola bars and drink boxes with them! “I’ve never seen a real racoon before!,” Sam said excitedly. “Only ones on TV that wear clothes and go to school!” And Carter chimed in from next door: “No fair! Sam got a raccoon in his tent!” You just can’t put a price on that sort of back-to-nature experience.

We really should do this more often.

Calypso

In Greek mythology, Calypso was a nymph who lured Odysseus to her island and kept him and his crew imprisoned for years. It’s an apt name for the kidstravaganza that opened up just 35 km from our house this summer — Calypso Water Park. It certainly lured and captured Sam. The hype around this 100 acre, 50 million dollar park (Canada’s largest) has been building in these parts for more than two years, so we knew it would be ridiculous to try to get anywhere near it during summer vacation. That’s why we didn’t wait until summer vacation.

On June 28, the last Monday of the school year, we pulled Sam and Carter out for the day and made our way to Limoges. We weren’t the only geniuses in line (about 40 school busses were in the lot), but we learned later that this pre-season visit was definitely the way to go. The first day the temps topped 30 degrees; there was a 4 km-long line-up of cars trying to jam into Calypso’s parking lot! On the contrary, we all enjoyed a balmy 23 degrees and a parking spot that was 50 steps from the entrance.

The first thing the boys discovered was Calypso Palace, the 52,000 square foot wave pool. Here’s the blurb from the website: “You wanted a wave pool to eclipse all others; we’ve got it. We’ve captured over an acre of ocean and set it free in our park. With several different types of waves, and easily accommodating 2,000 of your friends, Calypso Palace wave pool is where people gather to have fun.” Yup. That’s right. 2000 of your friends. Thankfully, there were only several hundred people in with the boys! The waves start slow and build in force until they’re throwing Sam 20 feet back at a time. Loved it!

Next up was the Turbo Lab, a series of tunnel water slides. Sam wasn’t tall enough for two of the four routes down, but he could ride the Steamer with me in a tandem inner tube. The slow climb up the stairs dwarfed by high school students didn’t do anything to boost his confidence (I saw very few kids smaller than Sam on the rides), and when his wee butt slipped through the inner tube hole before he could reach forward for the handles at the top of the ride, it was game over. Not this time. We wiggled our way down the entrance stairway and headed for a ride with a flat bottom tube—Canyon Rafting!

This was Sam’s slide. A 500-metre elevated river ride which swings a big 6-seater raft up the walls to the tipping on its way to splashdown. It was a hoot! We rode it twice—the second time with a foursome of teens whom Sammy was not shy about hooting and hollering in front of—even advising that they "hold on! hold on!" as we ripped around the last corner.

From there, we headed for Jungle Run, a river ride whose current pushes swimmers through a ‘rainforest’ adventure of much soaking. Then we stopped briefly at the Pirate’s Aquaplay climber and circled back for a picnic. Carter and Tracey went on some of the big rides, like Fast Track, Adrenaline, and Zoomerang (Sam’s a few inches shy of having to consider summoning his inner daredevil), but most of the afternoon was spent answering Calypso’s call at the Palace, anticipating the conch shell song that starts the big waves rolling.

The boys came away exhausted and happy; and the moms came away patting themselves on the back (ouch! sunburn!) for having kicked off the summer season off with a bang. Or a splash :)

Nova Scotia Trip - in pictures

Sam and I spent Thursday to Sunday of our vacation at Grandma & Grandpa Arnold's lovely hilltop home and cottage. We were treated to a wonderful time and enjoyed some very relaxing days in this beautiful spot! Here is a collection of (random) photos to give a sense of the trip.

Enjoying time with Grandma, Grandpa, Jacquie and Brent on the deck. Sunny skies, gorgeous view, yummy food!

Playing with The Black Pearl. Upon our arrival in Halifax, Sam hurried through a wonderful lunch in an Italian restaurant and turned down the offer to stop at a toy store to pick up something new to play with in case we're rained out ... in anticipation of his annual reunion with this pirate ship.

Surprised to find a huge model of the Franconia in the Maritime Museum. That's the ship Grandpa sailed from England on in 1950. He remembers only the buttered rolls (he was 4).

Showing Jacquie (and Lucy) his new action figures: gifts from Grandma & Grandpa for helping to repair the driveway following torrential rains! Werewolf is his favourite. Lucy was partial to Frankenstein.

"Do you want to sit in the fire truck?" asks a very nice woman at the Great Village Fire Hall "Ummm ... why?" Sam asks. I think he was afraid he was signing up for the volunteer brigade. Here he is — a little boy rite of passage!

Enjoying a fun dip in the Pool with a View!

Heading out on "The Forest Walk" with Grandpa—a vacation tradition. They hiked to the "lumberjack line," hunted bears, followed dear trails, got lost in the wilderness and found their way home. Sam led the same expedition with Uncle Brent a few days later...

All that and much more. The days flew by! Thanks Mom and Dad ☺

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!

Buzz

At the mid-way point of the week's vacation, Sam gets a summer haircut courtesy of Daddy's clippers. The lil' monkey poses with a sorta-mohawk mid-way thru...

Incidentally, these will turn out to be the last shots of the backyard deck ☺

Great Granby

Third time makes it tradition: for Sam, summer means a two-day trip to Granby Zoo. We considered making the long drive out and back in one day, to squeeze in other summer fun, but Sam’s blank look of incomprehension was our answer to that question—as though the very definition of “Granby Zoo” includes a night in a Granby hotel. And he’s right. With two loops of animals (Africa, South America), an amusement park whose indoor jungle training zone alone takes a good hour of crawling and bouncing, and an expanded water park on site, there’s no doin’ the zoo in one day. And besides, mama don’t mind the night off from cooking and cleaning. So, days two and three of our family vacation were all Granby.

This year, Sam has declared that his favourite animal is the giraffe, so we breezed by the zebras and on to the large area full of elephants, ostriches, and giraffes. He pretended he was leading us on safari, using the same invented gutteral accent he uses when playing “Italian chef.” Colourful jobs seem to call for odd pronunciations. The zoo was, well, a zoo … so it was tough to spend much time at any one viewing area without feeling elbowed out, but Sam barely noticed. We toured Africa, had a dip at the lagoon and visited the jungle gym before declaring starvation. Our concierge recommended a restaurant (“what’s family-friendly but serves good food?”) and we headed out with plans for a quick dinner followed by a nice evening swim in St-Christophe's lovely pool. We forgot that the French don’t roll that way. Quick dinner? Nonsense, monsieur. We dined leisurely, returning hours later to collapse into bed.

Next morning, after a 45-minute swim (mostly cracken/shipwreck games), we headed for the zoo gates. The first five hours of day two were clocked at the waterpark. Sam suggested starting out there—after all, who else wants to be wet at 10 am? Wise boy. It was a warm and humid day, but most of the park's gazillion visitors were nonetheless intent on some zoo touring before changing into swim suits. So we had the run of the Lazy River ride for over an hour. We sailed the route together on big yellow innertubes, squealing under waterfalls, laughing over the “rapids” and spinning each other around—and then we ducked right back into the line and went again. And again and again. On the last trip, we let Sam’s innertube go (we’d been rafting together, holding hands) to take his chances on the ever more crowded journey. He loved it, even trying to "lose" us by taking a detour behind a rock wall ... but the falls pushed him back on our track!

After a picnic lunch of turkey sandwiches and cherries, Sam took a small hand-paddle boat out for a spin on a small 'pond' and then he and Jeremy played together in the popular wave pool for a few hours (Yes, I took a turn, but sunning on the nearby rocks was more my style). The photo above is my favourite zoom shot, taken when Sam felt he needed rescuing from some of the higher waves, but this video shows them wading in for the first wave.



We took a peak at Hurakan, the newest adventure, but wished we hadn’t since the roaring red-eyed rock monster that whips up the mist and waves for the enjoyment of waterpark revellers freaked him right out. Another year, perhaps! We spent the balance of the day on the South American side of the zoo, pet some goats in the Little Farm, and finished up in the amusement park. After a quick dinner in the pavillion, we trudged back to the car (and, for the record, Sam did the full two days on his own [not-so-flat] feet) and headed westward into a beautiful sunset, following it the whole way home. Sam was asleep in 12 minutes flat, and snoozed on as Daddy carried him up to bed three hours later.

We've been to Granby. Now it's a summer vacation.

Fort Who?

“Who’s Henry?” Sam asked, when we told him we’d be spending the day touring his fort. Good question. And just the sort of thing we intended to find out on day one of our family vacation. Indeed, I figured it would be a rather dry couple of hours reading stuff and such of that nature from a series of historical plaques while Sam trailed along behind us imagining himself in charge of the place. I had no idea that Fort Henry would be such fun.

It was a gorgeous day for ambling around the highest point in Kingston, overlooking the Saint Lawrence where it joins the Great Lakes system—the view including Wolf Island, a large wind farm (not there in Henry’s day) and, in the offing, the United States of America. Hence the fort. With the headwaters of our shipping lanes to the left, the opening of the new Rideau Canal to the right, and the Royal Navy dockyards to the rear, the British had their worries. Plus, there was that spot of trouble with seven American warships during the War of 1812. Now, watching kite fliers in the park, university students on the football field and dozens of boaters on the lake all enjoying the summer sun, it’s hard to imagine a life lived in political tension and military readiness in this quaint pastoral scene of green fields and sparkling waters.

Not so hard for Sam, however. He was commissioned into service right then and there and trained as a guard, taught to march diligently, execute crisp turns, shoulder a rifle and charge down the advanced battery to fire on the enemy. The coat was a little big and he couldn’t actually see over the fortifications, but he performed his duties with gusto. It was really cute, mostly cuz he’s so small and has no intention of entering real military service. The more he heard on the (as it turns out) private tour with an enthusiastic member of the Fort Henry Guard, the more he appreciated the trials and tribulations of nineteenth-century life in general and fort life in particular. In the end, I think he was happy to hear that the soldiers stationed here never saw any real action, that there were moms and kids on site. And a goat named David.

We spent a funny half a hour in the Victorian school room, the young schoolmistress chastizing us all for tardiness and sloveliness (“loose hair means loose morals!” she said of my windblown mess) and quizzing us on the map of the British Empire, royalty, spelling and pronunciation (lieutenant), and popular sayings. When Jeremy couldn’t recall the maxim of the day, he had to draw his own “dunce stocks” and stand with his nose and fingers pressed against the chalkboard until someone in the class got it right. Sam loved it!

Then we climbed the ramparts to watch the Garrison Parade—a musical performance and marching demonstration followed by an artillery firing (blank charge, quite loud). Among the last people to leave the fort, we headed downtown to a restaurant patio where we enjoyed a delish dinner together, with lots of convo about “soldier times,” as Sam calls it. In this pic, you can see his little pewter guard standing at attention next to the Rob Roy (click photo to enlarge). Then we headed back up the highway to Ottawa, already looking forward to the part two of the vacation—Granby Zoo!

Who’s Henry? Oh, yeah. Uhhh, the guide told us…but I forget. But he had a point in Kingston named after him. And on that point there was a fort. And in that fort we had some fun. And the green grass grew all around, all around. And the green grass grew all around.

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.

66 Days

Back in June, Sam was gobsmacked to learn that he had sixty-six days of summer vacation stretching out before him — that he’d be staying home to play or going to Carter & Anabel’s nearly every single day of July and August. Instead of logging long weeks in the child care centre, he’d pop in on Thursdays to partake of a field trip, a swim at the community pool or some other special event. I’m sure it was hard for him to fathom: Sam’s been spending close to 50 hours a week at Carleton Heights since he was three and a half. But this summer, there’s Arlene.

Arlene is Tracey’s live-in nanny, caregiver to her kids since last September and key to Sam’s summer break. Twice a week, she and the kids have been coming over to spend the day in our backyard, and twice a week we’ve been dropping Sam to spend the day in the parks near Tracey’s. The boys usually disappear into some imaginary pirate world, surfacing only for food. So most days it’s been a relief rather than a burden to her (I hope) to have Sam around to occupy Carter while she keeps up with the mischevious Anabel. Other days? Well, yes, there have been a some squabbles—but nothing so serious that the separated “brothers” aren’t begging to be reunited within 20 minutes.

This has been a summer in the sandbox, on the swing, in the “woods” and out in the parks. A summer of fresh-cooked lunches at the kitchen table instead of cold packed lunches in Room 5. A summer of waking up late and staying in jammies if that’s what Sam wants — no hurry up and where are your shoes and grab your knapsack, we gotta get going. A summer when “gross motor play,” and “drama time,” and “reading readiness,” and “tactile activity” aren’t predetermined by ECE staff, but rather unfold naturally in the simple course of solving a playground mystery.

Those are the summer breaks Jeremy and I remember, and we’re so happy Sam had a chance to experience the spontaneity, the self-direction, and the focused laziness of it all. It’ll be tough for him to re-adjust to the long, structured days at school, I’m sure. And we’ll have to skew his bedtime back towards 8:00, now that sleep-ins or sleepy days aren’t an option. Toughest of all, Sam’ll miss Carter when their play time is cut back to routine Saturdays and one, maybe two, short evenings during the week. But a summer break enjoyed makes all that “back to school” stuff worth it.

60 days down. 6 to go. Have fun, Bunny.

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.