Growing Versions

Years ago, pre-kids, I bought my husband a weather glass (otherwise know as Goethe's Device ) for Christmas. It was just one step up from a gag gift, an old timey way of measuring barometric pressure. We had recently moved to the countryside at the time and we were still under the delusion that we could hack rural living. It turns out, despite its fragility, it has endured, the weather glass, not us living in the country. Rain or shine, commute or no commute, it turns out we have a hard time hacking urban living as well. Now the kids squeal with glee when they notice that the blue food coloured water has started to rise up through its narrow beak. Storm day!  It doesn't matter if the weather glass is in fact predicting a lot of rain, the kids instantly start cooking up ways to spend a potential snow day.  Hot chocolate, sledding, crafts, playing school, tv, making slides....it is all possible.  It is our crystal ball. Urban/rural? No matter. Yesterday,...

As a child, I went out of my way to hide my tears.  I hated (still do to some extent) crying in front of other people, including my parents. My son does not feel this way about crying.  Crying for him, up until now, has been just another way of talking, an expression, a necessity, an activity that flows into and out of other activities. I have marvelled at his openness. The other day he fell on a patch of ice in the school yard and bumped his head. When I saw him at the end of the day, I asked about it. "I fell. It hurt." Were you upset? (i.e. did you cry?) "No, I wanted to, but someone said I shouldn't because then I would be a crybaby." Something inside me sunk a little. I have heard many men say that the last time they cried was when they were 7. The last time I cried was earlier this morning when I was watching Last Tango in Halifax (great show!) As reluctant as I was to cry in front of others as a child, now I participate in what I ...

Winter feels like returning to me. Summer feels like going. How about you?

Bird on a branch or discarded snack? I enjoyed deciding.

He skated on every pool of water.  We looked up, we looked down. We played a series of games waiting for a Minecraft reservation. The thing about winter is that the cold and the crusty snowbanks block out extraneous noise, the tiles of bananarama line up into place, clicking against the salted floor  The Jenga blocks clack against the surface of the table top.  The snow scrunches between our boots and the sidewalk. We are impervious to other chatter that deafens us all week.