Ceol cridhe

Yesterday while we were out walking Sadie, Alasdair (with some encouragement from Seumas) became quite interested in the trees. Initially he just wanted to touch the bark, but later he walked from tree to tree trying to push the giant creatures over and saying ‘all fall down’.  I don’t know if there was a connection, but the evening previous we had been reading ‘heartsong (ceol cridhe)’, a Cape Breton storybook that Grammie gave to Alasdair during our recent visit.  It tells the story of a man who makes a fiddle to play for his family.  He and his son climb up a hill to a great spruce tree.  Initially they just put their hands on the bark (much the same as Alasdair did), they say they can hear the music through their hands.  Then they cut the tree down to make the fiddle.

I don’t think the book is meant to be sad, but it’s a bit sad to me.  We have just returned from visiting Cape Breton, and although we had a great time, for me, there is a feeling of sadness, and of loss about the island.  It’s as if the island is caught in a strange space between the past and the present, and is haunted by ghosts.  The first time I visited Cape Breton I remember remarking about the numerous graveyards along the roads we traveled.  But it’s not just the people passing on.  We visited some of the elders of Cape Breton, including a great traditional fiddler.  There is certainly a real fear that the culture is also passing on with these folks.

It is also evident that people are not willing to let their culture and traditions disappear into the fog of the past.  Most road signs on the island (like the text in Alasdair’s book) are in both English and Gaelic, for example, Seumas’s hometown appears as both Judique and Siudaig.  Judique also boasts a Celtic Music Interpretive Centre and a Storytellers Gallery.  Astounding for a community of about 700 or so. 

I hope that the language and culture of Cape Breton continues to be passed down from generation to generation, just as the fiddle in Alasdair’s storybook passed from its creator to his children and his children’s children.  And I hope that some of this language and culture crosses the continent and finds Alasdair, Seumas and I in Winnipeg.  I hope that it doesn’t just all fall down. 

Is ‘se sin ceol an Eilein, oran ar dachaidh.  (Trottier, 1997)

He's getting bigger

For quite a while last fall, Alasdair had a real attraction to Little Critter.  It was round about the time when Alasdair, Sheila and I went to Ottawa to visit Denise.  We have a collection of 7 Little Critter stories and sometimes before bed he would sit and listen to the whole collection twice over.  Today I've been thinking about one of the stories in particular - When I Get Bigger.  The story starts out with "When I get bigger I'll be able to do lots of things" and goes on to talk about all of the big boy things that he'll one day be able to do like riding a two-wheeler, having a paper route, helping the little kids on the swings, and picking out his own boots at the shoe store.  I especially love the illustration of Little Critter camped out in his backyard in a tent, with the owl up in the tree and the moon shining behind them.

Most of the activities are things Alasdair can't do by himself yet (picking out the boots excepted).  But it got me to thinking about all of the things he can do now.  Last fall at the playground we would carefully follow him everywhere to make sure he didn't tumble off.  Now we let him climb around on his own.  This evening he very clearly told me that I was to stay on the ground "No mommy, no mommy, no".

He can put some of his boots and shoes on by himself and he can open the front door of the house (uh-oh).  He is also getting to the point where we can explain things to him.   For a while Alasdair was taking Percy to daycare with him everyday.  One day he wanted to bring something different with him, I can't remember what it was, but it had parts that were too small for the younger kids.  I was preparing for a battle to get him to leave it in his locker, but first I explained to him that it would hurt the babies (give them owies).  Surprisingly he repeated "Babies owies" with a very concerned look on his face and put the object in his locker.  This has happened a few times since, including this morning when he walked in with Uncle Greg's green golf ball, said "babies owies" and put it into his locker.

This past Friday was another big boy milestone.  We went to the BDI and Alasdair had his own chocolate ice cream cone.  I worried that he would immediately drop it on the ground and start crying, but my worry was needless.  He held onto that ice cream while we walked across the bridge, down the street a ways, and back across the bridge.  He got quite a few smiles from passers-by as they observed the ice cream all over his face and shirt, and also drew the attention of a small dog who I suppose was interested in getting his share of the ice cream.  Alasdair was interested in the dog as well, but carefully held his cone behind his back as he addressed the dog.


ps.  Thanks for the photos Sheila!

An egg is to break

I was sitting and reading to Alasdair last evening, and our chosen story was A Hole is to Dig.  It is illustrated by Maurice Sendak, and written by Ruth Krauss.  It is a book of definitions, but not adult definitions, more definitions that children would give.  'Hunh! Rugs are so dogs have napkins', 'The sun is to tell you when it is everyday', and 'A floor is so you don't fall in the hole your house is in' are a few of my favourites.  Alasdair likes the 'boodlyboodlyboodly.'

Reading this got me to thinking about how Alasdair sees the world.  For example, I was trying to teach him to look both ways before crossing the street on the way home one day.  We would get to the corner and I would say 'Watch for cars'.  I soon learned that his interpretation of this was to stand on the corner and wait for a car to come along, no matter how long it took, watch it go past and then cross the street.



We went to the new playground at Assiniboine Park yesterday.  What an amazing place!  Alasdair was nervous about the swings, but he enjoyed climbing up to the slide and playing in the sand and water.  He thought that the human-like frogs playing instruments were monsters.  I don't know where he even learned the word monster, but I suppose he's kind of right about those frogs.



Here are some definitions that I think he would give if he could:

A brake is a tool to fix handlebars.
Handlebars are to attach to a seat post.
A small lego plank with wheels is a skateboard.
Dogs (or Sadie in particular) are to torment.

Sidewalk chalk is to graffiti the house.
Pebbles are to pile up on a slide.
Curbs and flower beds are to use as balance beams

.

Once there was a boy and one day he found an Uncle Greg at his door

I love the illustrations in Oliver Jeffers' book Lost and Found, and the story is sweet as well.  It's about a little boy trying to help a penguin find his way home.  As the book begins, the boy finds a penguin on his doorstep.  This past Friday, we (thankfully) didn't find a penguin on our doorstep, but instead Uncle Greg arrived to spend the weekend with us.

In the story, the boy and his penguin have quite an adventure.  Our weekend may not have been quite as adventurous, but we had a lot of fun.  Unlike the boy in the story who tries to figure out how to help the penguin, I tried to come up with some fun things for us to do.  We didn't visit the library to figure out where penguins come from, but we did go to kindermusik, to the Forks for cinnamon buns and to Auntie Betty's for dinner (she had carrot cake for us too!).  We didn't have a rowboat to test for size and strength (at this point in the book, Alasdair used to pretend to hammer on his own head) or to set out in for Antarctica, but we did swim at the Y, and we even got to see an 'iceberg' at the Titanic Exhibition.  Alasdair was pretty impressed with that, and also with the spoons and brushes and bowls that they recovered from the ship.



Our weekend story ended with Auntie Terrie and Uncle Richard joining us for some lunch at the Y and they took Uncle Greg off to greet Nana at the airport.    Instead of giving away the book's ending I'll jump to the back leaf where there is a cute picture of the author as a child.  This picture is an important part of the story for Alasdair and I because when Alasdair said his own name for the first time a few months ago it was because he thought the picture was of himself.

Knuffle Bunny Love

It has been quite a while since my last post.  I hold Knuffle Bunny responsible.  You see, Alasdair and I fell in love with Knuffle Bunny.  The first and second books in the series arrived in our house on the same day, and so at bedtime we read with the first.  Alasdair and I both thought it was great, and we read through it several times.  Then I couldn't contain my curiosity, so we read the second one (Knuffle Bunny Too), and Alasdair enjoyed it even more than the first, maybe because Trixie (or Trixies as he says) had grown up a bit.  And so for several weeks we would read Knuffle Bunny two or three times an evening.  He loved the first page where he would point out the dog (he called her Sadie), Trixies, her daddy, the squirrel, and he always waved bye bye to Trixies mommy.  He was intrigued by the events that unfold in the classroom, leading up to Ms. Greengrove confiscating the bunnies for the afternoon, and he was quite concerned that there was some pushing going on at the playground.  I think he also was puzzled by the antagonist, Sonja, because of the Sonja that he knows.  And he would always give me a hug when we reached the end and Trixies and Sonja hug.  Oh, Knuffle Bunny, how could I not love you?

I love Knuffle Bunny because I can relate.  I can understand the panic when Trixies' parents realize that Knuffle Bunny is missing.  I mean, we have not one, not two, but three identical wooden Percy engines.  I like how Trixie 'ate' her dinner, and devoured her dessert (sounds just like a little guy that I know).  And I love the looks that her parents exchange when at 230 in the morning Trixie reports that she has the wrong Knuffle Bunny.  But most of all, I love that Trixie is a girl.  I don't know a lot about children's literature, but it sure seems to me like there are a lot of boy characters.  I know there are girl characters, but they are often in books targeted specifically towards girls.  Otherwise, authors seem to default to boy.  In Knuffle Bunny, the story would work just as well whether Trixie was a girl or a boy, and I am so glad that Mo Willems made her a girl (I  am also hoping that someone reading this will send me some book suggestions that prove me wrong).

Anyway, I have had Knuffle Bunny on the brain (and in my heart), and it has created a complete blogger's block for me.  Until story time tonight when I realized it was Easter and the Easter bunny (but not Knuffle Bunny) visited us this morning.  And that got me thinking and blogging.  We had a great Easter day, with a visit to the zoo this morning, some bike riding this afternoon and then out for dinner this evening.  Alasdair was spoiled rotten.  He got some choo choos from his Uncle Greg, some Hot Wheels from Auntie Terrie and Uncle Richard, and that rascally Easter bunny brought him some sidewalk chalk and a tricyle.

Not that we didn't have our share of meltdowns.  Alasdair did not like it when the wind blew through his helmet, he would cry and say 'airplanes', and so we had to turn back from the windy field where we were planning to take a family photo.  He was also less than impressed this evening just before bed when he decided that he wanted to reassemble his duplo version of James.  We went in search of the base that James sits on (which Alasdair had been using for most of the day as a skateboard despite its miniature size).  I could only find Percy's base, identical to the one James uses except for the green wheels.  I crossed my fingers and started to assemble James on Percy's base, but looking down at Alasdair I could see it was not going to fly.  He was shaking his head and saying 'No, no, no'.  Which is also what he said when I suggested we read Knuffle Bunny this evening.  And so the spell was broken ... perhaps it was more of a Knuffle Bunny infatuation.

I will show you another Good trick that I know!

This evening, Alasdair said 'funny' part way through my first reading of the Cat in the Hat.  I don't think it was when he offered his own milk to the milk the cat held on a dish (after waiting impatiently for me to get to that page), or when the cat fell on his head, or when the cat released those blue-haired toddlers from the box.  But at some point, he said funny, and that got me thinking.

Alasdair is definitely exploring the concept of funny.  He often says funny when someone else does something funny, or when he does something funny (Ah-ster, fuh-nny).  He laughs when adults laugh, but other things make him laugh too.  And sometimes I'm just not sure if the things that he does are meant to be 'jokes' or 'tricks', like when he seemed amused as he repeatedly pointed at Percy calling him Charlie the other day.  I suppose, as the Cat in the Hat teaches us, what constitutes a good game or a good trick is in the eye of the beholder.

That being said, I am becoming increasingly suspicious that his 'inability' to say Sheila's name is actually a joke.  He can say many, many words and he knows a lot of names.  But Sheila apparently evades him.  One night a couple of weeks back we were over at Sheila's and (as always) every once in a while we would ask Alasdair 'Can you say Sheila?'  His standard response to this is 'Yah.'  Sonja was also joining us.  Before she arrived, I asked Alasdair 'Can you say Sonja'.  He responded 'Yah', seemingly indicating that he couldn't, but moments later burst out with a loud 'Sonja'.  And when Sonja arrived he followed her around saying 'Sonja, Sonja, Sonja!'.  Admittedly we had laughed the first time he said it, but now it was like he was determined to rub it in.

Over the past couple of days, Nana got Alasdair to say Sheila a couple of times while we were up at Elkhorn.  So when we met up with Sheila today at Chapters I was almost sure he would say her name.  But when I said 'Who's that?' all I got was his standard 'Yah'.  I suppose there are many explanations for this, but for today, I am going to consider it Alasdair's trick, even if this makes me the fish in the pot, saying 'No ... I do not like it!  Not one little bit!'


My mind was really made up when we left Sheila at Chapters and headed towards home in the stroller.  A few seconds after we had parted ways, Alasdair looked around for her and I heard him clearly and quietly whimper 'Sheila, Sheila??'

In which Percy the cheeky little engine goes strolling and gets into a dangerous place

It may be that I am perseverating on toy trains in this blog, and this post will be no exception.  Yesterday after music class we had cinnamon buns from Tall Grass with Jackie, and then we went and bought a second Percy.  We had left our original Percy at daycare on Thursday, and I figured that Percy was the kind of guy it would be good to have two of.  And two we had for a short time.
This afternoon we went out for a stroll to Starbucks on Academy.  Sheila, Seumas, Sadie, Alasdair and I.  Alasdair was in the stroller with Percy peeking out of his mitt.  We picked up our coffees, teas and hot chocolates and headed back.  Coming across the train bridge into Hobo Park, I think we maybe all had a bit of a premonition of Percy falling over the side.  He was no longer in the mitt and Alasdair was starting to fuss in the stroller.  What happened next is a bit of a blur.  I think Sheila and I were getting Alasdair out of the stroller when Percy tumbled out.  I have a vivid image in my mind of Percy lying on the edge of the bridge before his momentum carried him over.  One one thousand, two one thousand and blop.  He landed on the ice below.

I apprehensively glanced over the edge, half hoping that I wouldn't see him below.  That in reality he would still be in the stroller or on the bridge.  But no, there lay Percy.  He was stuck, sort of like the classic Winnie the Pooh story in which Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit's hole.  Although Pooh had to bear (sorry) some of the responsibility for his predicament.  He had indulged in some yummy treats.  I don't really think Percy was to blame.  I can't think of how his character flaw, his cheekiness, could have got him into this situation.  I think I shall have to shoulder the blame (not that we lay blame in this family).
Now Christopher Robin told Pooh he would have to remain stuck half in and half out of the hole for a week to get thin.  I don't think Percy has a week.  That ice is looking a little thin.  Eventually Pooh's friends band together and pull him out of he hole.  I don't think Sadie, Seumas, Sheila, Alasdair and I could have reached Percy.  And so we left him there.  Perhaps we will return with a string and a magnet instead of a chain of friends, but perhaps Percy will float down the river towards the Forks where he came from just yesterday.  I'll let you all know.

The Little Blue Engines

We have a couple of 'Little Blue Engines' in our lives.  There is Thomas and then there's the kind, little blue engine from the storybook 'The Little Engine that Could'.  For some reason this book has stuck with me since my childhood.  I didn't remember too much about it aside from the refrain "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can".  I didn't remember the dolls or the toys or the little toy clown.  I didn't remember the mountain or the other pompous engines that refused to help.  But I did remember the mantra.


I'd like to think that it was more than the words that stuck with me.  That maybe the message became a part of who I am.  I hope this is so because I am hoping that this will also rub off on Alasdair.  He is certainly stubborn, but also easily frustrated.  If his train tracks don't go together the right way the first time, he gets upset.  I think he is slowly starting to take the time to work things out for himself, but it's probably going to take a lot of patience and "I think I can"-ing on the part of his parents.

Fortunately

Fortunately, as I mentioned in my previous post, we have some great friends and family.  Unfortunately, some of them live far away.  Fortunately, there have been some adventurous people in this world, and so the airplane has come into being.  Unfortunately, air travel with an infant or a toddler is not exactly a picnic.

Alasdair and I have been on 4 plane trips.  We flew to Ottawa to visit Denise, and then took the train on to Montreal to visit Kaleigh, Curtis, Benjamin and Ferris.  We flew to Charlottetown with Nana and Uncle Greg in the summer.  Grammie, Grandpa and Uncle Mike drove over from Cape Breton to visit us while we were there.  We also got to dip our feet in the ocean and play on a red sand beach and of course visit Anne of Green Gables.  We flew again to Ottawa this past December to visit Denise again (and also Sheila, Susanna and Brian).  And then we flew to Edmonton a few weeks ago to visit Kaleigh and Benjamin in their new digs.

Fortunately, Alasdair has been pretty good on the plane.  He eats a bit, sleeps a bit and enjoys listening to stories.  Unfortunately, mommy doesn't always have the best sense when it comes to appropriate reading material.  On our most recent trip to Ottawa, I brought along one of our favourite books ... "Fortunately" (ahhh, this hopefully excuses the format of this post).  It is about a fellow named Ned who (fortunately) is invited to a birthday party, but (unfortunately) the party is in Florida and he is in New York.  Picture Alasdair and I seated in our window seat, quietly reading this book, with (I would guess) all the passengers around us listening in, but pretending not to.  The book starts out as I mentioned with the birthday invite, and a friend (fortunately) loans Ned an airplane to travel down south, and I guess, although it is not mentioned, Ned is a pilot.  Everything is going along swimmingly until I reach page 4 or so ... 'Unfortunately, the motor exploded'.  For some reason, even though I have read the book a hundred times, I didn't see that one coming.  I (always calm and cool in a crisis) realized quickly that I had better just keep my mouth shut and turn the page.  Fortunately, Alasdair didn't seem to mind, and I decided not to look around to see what anyone else thought (on that reading or the subsequent 10 or 12 times that Alasdair had me read the book during that flight).

Boy in a box

It's well known that toddlers love boxes.  Alasdair is no exception.  He likes to climb into boxes of all descriptions.  Cardboard box, wicker basket, or plastic Ikea bin, they are all acceptable to him.  Sometimes he squishes himself into a particularly small box and sits down while us grown ups sit around anxiously hoping that he doesn't topple over.  Our friend Sheila even built him a house out of a box at her house.  It was fancier than your average cardboard box house ... it even had a skylight.  What a lucky kid.  Well, we are all lucky to have such a great friend.
And speaking of friends and cardboard boxes, once upon a time our friends Stasa and Joanna gave Alasdair a great book called Not a Box.  Alasdair has always enjoyed this book.  It's about a cardboard box, a rabbit and his imagination.  The drawings are great and it makes me wonder, when Alasdair crawls into a cardboard box, or a wicker basket or an Ikea bin, just what is his imagination seeing?

ps.  Happy birthday to Stasa!

We had a feast with the Gruffalo

Saturday afternoon Alasdair and I attended my co-worker's baby's birthday.  He was turning one.  The invitation was signed by 'Exhausted parents ...'.  I know how they feel.  Alasdair and I went to Chapters to find a book or two for the birthday boy (and of course to play with the Thomas the Train set on display).  I had picked out a few books, but then Alasdair found The Gruffalo.  He has this book and we both enjoy it.  He especially likes the parts with the snake because of all the 'sssssing'.  He also likes to point out the toadstools.  And I enjoy how the tiny little mouse outsmarts all of his predators.  Clever little dude.

Anyway, Gruffalo in hand, we headed off to the party.  And what a party it was.  There was turkey and vegetarian lasagna, and springrolls, and cheese, and meatballs, and more springrolls.  There was a whole table of toddler food.  And a whole dessert table.  Cupcakes, dainties and a sweet 2 tiered animal cake.  Mmmm-mmmm.  We definitely made out better than the mouse and his nut.
To work off our feast, we headed out for a walk in the Assiniboine Forest the next morning.  We got a little lost, but managed to find our way out safely, without any signs of a fox, an owl, a snake or the Gruffalo himself.  No danger aside from a bit of a chill, and a few seconds of thinking 'oh please, tell me we're not lost in the woods with a toddler!'

Scaredy mommy

I admit to feeling a bit like Scaredy Squirrel this week.  Alasdair had surgery on Tuesday to remove a cyst from beside his eye.  We have been waiting for this surgery since July, and it was cancelled once in February because Alasdair had a bit of a cough.  So, the surgery has been hanging over us for a long time as (I think) a much more real threat than those green martians, poison ivy and tarantulas.  The germs, though, were a worry to me and Scaredy Squirrel.

Our surgery was scheduled for 9 in the morning, so there was no eating after midnight, and no drinking after 6AM.  But we made it through the waiting period and the one hour and twenty minute surgery.  Alasdair came through like a trooper.  He has a big black eye, but that doesn't seem to bother him at all.
Now Scaredy Squirrel may have mostly overcome his fear of the unknown to venture out everyday, but I am pretty ok with never having to put my child through surgery again.  Thanks for the inspiration Scaredy, but we'll say no thank you.

The library

When Alasdair was a baby, we used to all visit the library quite often.  We would pile in the car together, and once or twice we even took the bikes. But, since the cold, dark of winter and fall arrived, and since I returned to work, Alasdair and I haven't been back.  Until a couple of weeks ago that is.  We all went in search of books about choo-choos, firetrucks or buses, and murder mysteries.

The murder mysteries were for the adults, they don't seem to make this type of book for infants.  I suppose they do make mysteries for infants and toddlers.  Books like Where is Spot? have you searching for the whereabouts of that little puppy so that he can have his supper, but that's as close as it gets.  We did get a Spot book, I believe it was Spot's Treasure Hunt.  Alasdair figured that it followed the same format as his previous lift-the-flap Spot book, which went something like "Is Spot behind the door?" to which Alasdair would say "No!".  However, this book had several "Yes!" answers throughout but Alasdair stuck to what he knew, lifting the flaps and saying "No!".


We also got a book called The Little Red Fire Engine by Lois Lenski, copyright 1946.  I think this one must have pre-dated attempts to teach kids about fire safety.  While the firefighters are battling the blaze, the family works together to carry their furniture out of the house.  They're so busy, they don't notice that their daughter is trapped upstairs inside the house.  However, lack of fire sense aside, it also has what my husband termed a surprise ending.  "The fire is over!" says Fireman Small. "Move right back in again!"  Wow!  I didn't see that one coming.

If you give a moose a pigeon

Storytime is my favourite part of everyday.  Not that I don't enjoy other parts of the day, but bedtime almost always goes well.  Its relaxing, and Alasdair loves sitting and listening to the stories.  He goes through phases of favourite stories, and they usually change often enough that I don't get bored.  Right now his favourite is Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems.  Way back in January I had ordered it along with When You Give a Moose a Muffin from our daycare scholastic order.  We were familiar with a couple of the other If you give a ... books, but the pigeon was new to us.  And I wasn't too sure about it either.  It was a long wait but finally the books came in.  On the way home from daycare (or actually on the way to meet Nana and Uncle Greg to look at a house) I gave Alasdair the Moose book to keep him busy.  He sat in the back flipping through it and I was so proud of him.  I flipped through the pigeon book, and couldn't make heads or tails of it as I sat at the stop lights.
But by the end of the evening, it had become Alasdair's favourite book.  Even though this book is an example of one of my pet peaves about children's books - all the no, no, no.  You know, "Is the puppy hiding in the cupboard?" "No." "Is she under the stairs?" "No." - we both get a kick out of it.  Yes, the point is to say no to the pigeon.  But I get to do fun voices and feel like an actor.  And, it's about a bus.  I'm not sure who Alasdair is cheering for, the pigeon or the bus driver, and I don't know if I'll ever convince him that the tire on the 2nd last page belongs to a truck and not a tractor (perhaps the book's anti-peer pressure message really has got through to him) but that book gets read two, three and maybe even four times a day around here.