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.