How Mighty Mouse keeps so mighty

A Tremendous Year

The bottle was a gift from the Captain for my 40th birthday. I like to imagine having trailed my fingers along its dusty label as I trolled the Moet & Chandon caves not so long ago. We paired it with a lovely sweet pepper risotto and toasted our family's restored health. It was the best Champagne I have ever tasted, surpassing even the coupe of Krug I sipped in Rems.
Madelaine was well on her way during the fall of 2002. The choice to have a second child took monumental courage on my part -- more than moving to Europe with a three- and one-year-old, if you can believe that. Some people flourish during pregnancy. I do not. Luckily my desire exceeded my fear and I had a tremendous collection of family, friends, and experts to see me through. It was, indeed, a tremendous year in more ways than one.

358 days

I had to break it to them that 2012 was a leap year.
They took it well.

The Sound of Silence

Blogging, for me, has always begun away from the computer, in the very midst of precious moments that I don't want to forget. As the mother of little ones, those moments were interspersed by nap times during which I would record them at leisure while my pretty ones slept. As the naps fell away, the blog posts persisted, serving the purpose of distilling our family's experiences into something we could revisit weeks, months, or years later. But then life got busy. And complicated. I found myself debating whether I could post one thing or another for fear of betraying the privacy of Emma, Mouse, or my students. It is one thing to post about a child's antics when they are too little to be embarrassed by them; it is quite another to spill forth with one's parental pride or frustration when said proginy (or her friends) are capable of googling such anecdotes, code names be damned.  It is is a predicament that I  haven't sorted out yet, as my sporadic posting would suggest.
In a few weeks time I will begin student teaching. I guarantee that the blog-worthy moments will over-floweth, both at home and at school. A few months after that I hope to have my first classroom. I would like to look back a year from today at a journey in blogs. Read that as a resolution if you like. 2012 will be recorded. It promises to be a doozie.

New Routines

It's September 20th which places the girls and I a solid month into the 2011-12 school year. So far it's been uneventful. The girls both like their teachers and have enough friends in class to keep them happy, yet under the misbehaviour radar. Extracurricularly, Emma and Mouse decided almost simultaneously that they weren't 'that into' figure skating and would not be returning to the rink as has been their winter tradition since age 3. Tant pis. As I see it, I've done my patriotic duty, ensuring yet another generation of Canadians who can keep their butts off the blue line. One year we'll make a family a trip to the Ottawa Canal for sugar-topped Beaver Tails on blades. When that happens, all those years rink-side will have been worth it.

As for me, I'm novice teaching 5th and 6th grade Science and learning more than the kids. Thursday I get to teach 6th grade the states of matter. It will be my first full-class instruction and I'm very, very excited. As I write, my freezer is chock-a-block with popcorn-and-shortening 'ice' cubes that the students will melt to a liquified state. In preparation for the liquid to gas transition, I've test-popped corn in an oven bag three times in the past week. Here's hoping the school's hotplate doesn't let me down.

The Captain's travel has started to ramp up again after a summer of relative peace. While it is always a challenge to parent singlehandedly, I trust that life won't dip to depths of last semester any time soon. One bout of shingles is enough for a lifetime, thank you very much. We celebrated our 12th anniversary with dinner at a restaurant that features seasonal dishes made with local produce. In a few weeks time we'll be taking in Wicked with the kids at the P-town Civic Centre and shortly thereafter I'll be turning the big 4-0 in the company of Mighty Mum and The Colonel.

Fall is looking up. Way up.

First Day

The girls couldn't have been more excited on this, the first day of school. Emma is beginning her final year of elementary school and Mouse is two years behind, beginning grade three. The class lists were posted last week, so they knew their teachers already, both by face and reputation. Maya was all ready to march off to school with them. I have another week before my first day. I'll be spending the time preparing for my first of two licensing exams. Wish me luck!

The Captain walking his girls to the bus stop.

A Week at Camp Mighty: Day 1

Campers arrived in their pyjamas Monday morning demanding food only to discover that, at Camp Mighty, campers make their own breakfast. They also would be making lunch-- a picnic to be eaten at a nearby-but-yet-to-be-explored park. A menu of turkey sandwiches, apples, bananas, water and Swiss chocolate was selected by the campers, prepared and packed for the excursion. Detweiller Park did not disappoint. There were plenty of nooks and crannies for a rousing game of Hide and Seek. The play equipment was a tad toasty, but that could only be blamed on the skyrocketing temperatures and matching humidity. It is the Midwest after all!
A muddy, sticky, and steamy hike along the sorely misnamed Dry Creek Trail was followed by Dairy Queen and a swim.

All in all the campers had a terrific day and Mighty Mom, Head Counsellor and Assistant Chef, got to know her daughters again. They were sorely missed.

Nomads Like Me

"Where you from?"  This simple question will get you a complicated answer if you're asking a Mighty -- especially me.  If my numbers are correct, I've lived in 21 homes in three different countries. Perhaps that isn't too striking given that I'm pushing 40, but Emma's up to four and three respectively and she's only nine. I can still hear my adolescent self swearing that, when I grew up, I would never move. Perhaps that was my first lesson in never say never.

A few weeks ago the girls and I made our annual pilgrimage to Canada, this time pausing in Dearborn, Michigan to see Mighty Mom home #5.

"It's really small," the girls said on seeing the post-WWII bungalow. A car was in the drive. I could have rang the bell, introduced myself and asked to see inside, but didn't. I knew all too well what it's like to have perfect strangers roam your home, imagining their things in place of your own. Instead, I told Emma and Mouse about the maple tree that used to grow on the front lawn and how I felt strangely important because the stop sign was on our property. I pointed to the window where our neighbours' oak tree found its way into our kitchen and to the house where the dog lived that once chased me home. A neighbour across the street opened her front door and stared at us until we drove away. The woman was clearly too young to have known me back then. Pity.

We followed the route I used to walk to school, all nine blocks, passing the corner where the crossing guard once stood, the one who reported me for crossing unescorted. The school, Snow School, was still there, though thankfully the playground had had an upgrade. I wondered if they still served popcorn and fish sticks on Fridays and if the marching band still led the school in the annual Clean-up Parade. Names passed through my mind: Mr. Bruno, Mr. Sladewski, Miss Sisson, Mrs. Gerrity, Mr. Maddocks, Mr. Gregorian, and Mrs. Thomas. I wanted to roam the halls but the doors were locked. Next time...

A day later we explored Greenfield Village where, thirty years ago, I spent a day in a one-room schoolhouse and ate my lunch out of a coffee tin I'd decorated for the occasion. The girls and I roamed between centuries-old cottages, plantations, artisan shops and working farms, all transported to the village courtesy of Henry and Edsel Ford. We rode a steam train, a model-T bus, and multiple horse-drawn carriages and watched numerous dramatizations of life in colonial times. We even got to participate in one as runaway slaves. It was so much fun I was sorry the Captain wasn't with us. I suppose there's always next year. Of course there's a few other homes I'd like to revisit as well.

Enjoy these photos and if your ever passing through Dearborn, Michigan, consider staying a day. You won't regret it, even if you never lived there.

Confessions of a Piano Mom

Soccer Moms have all the glory: minivans, faux-brass trophies to put on their mantles, and laundry tricks for getting Bug Juice out of polyester. They form ranks around soccer pitches around the globe, cheering their little prodigies to victory while secretly praying they don't make it to finals so they can go home. But what about the unsung heros: the Piano Moms?

Granted, we are a notch below Violin Moms in musical martyrdom — we doff our imaginary crowns in their venerable direction — but here we stand: proud, determined and emotionally drained. A seemingly endless chorus of "Why do I have to practice?" sings us to sleep to the tune of our child's latest simple melody played in resentful staccato. But sleep, we must, because we will do it all again tomorrow, alone, with only our children's best interests to buoy us through.

Someone once said, "Children cut their teeth on their parents." Never in their lives has this ever been more true of my girls. Do they like the piano? Yes. Do they want piano lessons? Absolutely. Do they like their teacher? Without a doubt, especially when they perform their pieces for him to heart-bursting perfection. But practice? God forbid. No time is a good time. It's either too early or too late. They're too hungry, too sleepy or, the absolute worst, they've just started the best game in the world which will be completely ruined by senseless interruption. Nevertheless, without the promise of trophies or popsicles at half time, we Piano Mom's must inflict the ultimate indignity: the death march to the piano bench. A few warm ups and they settle in, but our ears must stay alert for digressions: Chopsticks, vampire-esque chords or, worse, silence.

Perhaps if Piano Moms got shiny red convertibles, garden flags, and arm bands all would be easier. We could wave at each other as we pass on our way to and from lessons, high-five in the grocery aisles, and nod appreciably as we cut the grass. I suppose there must be Piano Mom chat rooms out there where I might commiserate with like-minded musical martyrs but with two girls in lessons I simply haven't the time.

So to all you Piano Moms out there, I salute you. We are the honourable ones. And to you Violin Moms: I don't know how you do it.

When Worlds Collide

Yesterday the girls and I made a special trip: to meet the Baby Echos. We'd been invited by their classroom teacher in honour of their end-of-year class project: a Kool-aid stand. The Charlie Brown-style booth made of cardboard and a thigh-high table was painted every colour of the rainbow with the words "Kool-aid 10¢" in awkward six-year-old printing. Each child had contributed to the operation with either powder packets or cups and would take their turn manning the stand over the course of the day. The whole school had promised to visit, so it was bound to be a profitable venture.

When we entered the room, chaos ensued. Staggered verses of 'Hi, Mrs. Melissa,' filled the air followed a series of hip crushing hugs from Alisha, Marques, Jamal and Tyrone. Miguel waved from where he was clearing the breakfast dishes. Jacob watched from across the room, curious but shy of the two big girls I'd brought with me. Keshon, the tireless wannabe Echo, fired questions faster than I could answer.

"What's they names? How old are them? Do they eat lobster?"

I introduced the girls and told Keshon to ask his questions to Emma and Mouse himself.

"Do you eat lobster?"

Mouse shook her head. Emma said, "No."

"Do you eat fish?"

Mouse made a face. Emma said, "Sometimes."

"Do you eat shrimp?

"We eat chicken," said Emma, cutting to the chase.

"Me, too," said Tyrone, who had been listening to Keshon's interrogation. A bunch of the other kids said they liked chicken, too. Common ground in poultry. Who would have guessed it?

We stayed for the Pledge of Allegiance and three cups of Kool-aid before leaving them to their day. On our way home we shared an interesting discussion about what they observed. Why did almost all those kids have dark skin? Why did they eat breakfast at school? It was a version of similar talks we'd had before about poverty and the inequities that still persist between the races. We dipped our toes into American history, slavery, emancipation, and how public education is funded. It was an amazing discussion peppered with exclamations of, "But that's not fair," from both girls. (Grade-schoolers are amazing injustice detectors.) It is a topic we've visited before and will again, though probably not the same way, with the taste of some of the best Kool-aid on the planet still on our lips. That can only happen once.

Them Be Fightin' Words

Mouse and Emma are in the back seat drawing on our way to Target. Emma is drawing a picture of herself between Mouse and their cousin, the Kowabunga Kid. Mouse is doing her own rendition. Emma keeps making 'mistakes' on Mouse's portrait: a long pointy nose, too large lips, and -- evidently the deal breaker for Mouse-- one enormous green shoe.

"Do that again and I'll draw you with a penis."

Low Tech

Emma marches through the kitchen carrying a broomstick with a flag mounted on the end. Mouse follows with a deceptively heavy purple velvet bag. The two go out the back door and head for the climber from which Emma waves her flag in the direction of the Keegan backyard. Mouse joins in, shaking her velvet bag out the club house window. The clatter of a few dozen marbles fills the air.

Seconds later a voice calls from over the fence. "Can you play?"

Who needs a phone?

Three Cheers for Stuart Little

I made a pact with myself this semester to take in as many Bradley University cultural and sporting events as possible. (As the Captain would be quick to point out, my tuition is subsidizing them after all.) Yesterday we attended the theatre department's production of Stuart Little. It was a huge hit with the kids and adults alike. Today at 2:30 is the last performance, so, if you're in the area, try to take it in. If you aren't, look into live theatre performances near you. The right script and performers can unleash a child's imagination better than Pixar or Disney, even at their best.

Snow Day

Six inches. That's it. A whopping 15 centimetres of snow brought P-town to a halt yesterday. As a Canadian and former Montrealer, I couldn't help but chuckle. An automated phone call at 5:30 a.m. announced that all schools were closed. Needless to say, the girls were delighted by the phenomenon. Not once in five years were Geneva schools closed due to weather. Then again, Geneva never got much snow.

We passed the day shovelling and playing in the snow, sipping hot chocolate and doing all the things we could think of with the surprise gift of eight uncommitted hours. We even exploded the odd volcano courtesy of Emma's third grade science project and listened to the beginning of The Magic Flute. By seven-thirty that night the girls were in bed and I was hot on their heels. I doubt I read more than a sentence or two of Savvy before I felt my eyes droop.

Snow days...they're a killer.

The school bus lights

they wink

in the still

blue light of dawn and as

my daughters step inside

I savour

where the time has gone

It was a wonderful holiday. Thank you.

Gleanings from the Game of LIFE

Emma got The Game of LIFE for Christmas and we spent a happy couple of hours on Boxing Day growing old together. I firmly believe you can learn a lot about human nature through board games. Don't believe me? Read on:

At first, neither Emma, nor Mouse planned to go to college, especially after learning they would have to take a $100,000 loan to be paid back with interest. Both changed their minds after seeing that I was going to to college. In the end, Emma became a veterinarian and Mouse, a lawyer. I became an accountant (yawn!). Half way through the game, Mouse changed careers to become a teacher. That's my girl! Mighty Mum was the only one of us who bypassed college for a career in hairdressing. She was very successful.

When it came time to tie the knot, Emma made it quite clear that she had no interest in getting married. Unfortunately for her, The Game of LIFE is not so evolved to allow for confirmed bachelorhood. Mouse, on the other hand, while not enthusiastic about the change didn't buck having a little blue man added to her car just as long as he rode shot gun.

Shortly thereafter, we all chose our first homes. Mouse picked a modern condo; Emma, a ranch; myself, a tudor; and Mighty Mum, a trailer. When we reached the family path, only Mouse and I took it. The Little Blue Captain and I had a baby girl followed by a set of boy and girl twins. Mouse also had twins, but chose only girls. Shocking.

To no one's surprise, Mighty Mum played the whole game debt-free. Falling not far from the proverbial tree, Emma paid off her college loans with her first two pay checks only to have to borrow again to buy her first home. I think she would have moved into Mighty Mum's trailer if we'd let her. Mouse, on the other hand, had to be coerced into reconciling her debts. Left to her own devices, I'm sure the twins would have had to pay off Mouse's student loans with their inheritance.

As much as the Colonel and Mighty Mum might beg to differ, The Game of Life ends with retirement. Mouse, even with her mid-life career change, beat us all with a net worth of nearly two million dollars. I took strange comfort in that. Surprisingly, Mighty Mum came in a close second, never having had children or leaving the trailer. I came in third and Emma was last, mainly due to frequent lawsuits inflicted by Mouse. She's little, but ruthless. Maybe I should change her blog name to Weasel.

All in all, it was an afternoon well spent. The Game of Life has changed a lot since I was a kid but is no less compelling. If you're looking for entertainment on a quiet winter afternoon, I'd highly recommend picking it up. You'll learn more than a bunch of rules, I guarantee it.

Love, Lies and Lollipops

We'd been in the doctor's waiting area for a matter of seconds when the Jar of Temptation was discovered: a glass canister filled to the brim with lollipops. 

"Can we have one, Mommy?"

"Yeah, can we?"

I paused. "Well, I was planning to go for ice cream after this."

"Mmm, ice cream," said one daughter, licking her lips.

The other dove for the jar. "I don't want ice cream. I want a lolly." 

A half hour later my appointment was over and so was the sweet. "Let's go for ice cream," I said. 

One child bounded for the door while the other sulked and shuffled her feet.

"Mommy, I didn't have a sweet after lunch. Can I still have an ice cream?" the sulker asked, hopeful.  In our family a sweet after lunch is as natural as breathing.  I could follow the sulker's logic to it's conclusion: the lolly was her after-lunch sweet therefore she still qualified for an ice cream.

Bullets of rage flew from the bounders eyes. "Yes, you did have a sweet! I saw you.  It was a chocolate ball."

"No I didn't!"

"Yes, you did," screeched the bounder.  "Mommy, she's lying!"

I hadn't been home at lunch but was tempted to believe the bounder.   "I suppose I could ask Lateeka if you had dessert."

"I didn't and neither of you believe me."

Ouch. She'd played the trust card. 

"I want to believe you, sweetie, but I also know how much you want an ice cream. Let's go," I said and walked to the car. 

We were pulling into the Dairy Queen drive-thru when the bounder asked, "So, are you going to call Lateeka, Mommy?"  The sulker was quiet, but listening. 

"I'm not sure," I said meeting the sulker's gaze in my rear-view mirror.

Suddenly a voice squawked, "Welcome to Dairy Queen. What can I get for you today?"

I turned around and looked the sulker in the eye. "Vanilla cone or a dip."

"Dip."

"Dip," echoed the bounder.

"Two small vanilla dips and a small vanilla cone, please."

We were half way home when I noticed the sulker was not eating her ice cream. Only a small bite was taken off the top. The rest was sweating profusely.  I've never liked dips.

"Don't you like it?" I asked.

"No," she said.

At home she threw the cone in the trash. 

 "Are you still going to call Lateeka, Mommy?"

"I don't think I should have to.  Come. Let's go talk, just you and me."

Once alone in my room the truth trickled out along with a bucket of tears: "I think... I think I may have forgotten that I did have a sweet after lunch, Mommy." 

"You think?" I said, hugging her close.

"Yes."

"Did you really not like the ice cream?"

"I liked it, but I didn't want to get in trouble."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Mommy."

"I'm proud."

Six

Mighty Mouse--the early days

You've had quite a year, my dear. You lost three teeth, ditched your training wheels, and earned your first étoile in skiing. You can even do moguls, a talent which both terrifies and impresses me. (When you get to be a mommy you'll understand.) I like how happy and brave you can be, and how loving and thoughtful you are, too. You are your own little person and I'm thankful for every day I share with you. 

Big hugs and kisses, my little darling. 

Mommy loves you!

Simple Pleasures: Hints of Spring

Tulips planted with my big girl while the baby was sleeping.

New Girl

"There's going to be a new girl in my class today," Emma said as she put on her shoes Monday morning. 

"How do you know?" I asked, thinking it an odd premonition.

"She came to visit our class before the vacance.  Her name's Camille. She's from France."

I was thoughtful as I put Emma's box of crackers in her bag. "I wonder how she's feeling right now.  It's her first day at a new school."

Emma stood up and took her backpack from my hands. "I don't know.... Scared, maybe?"

"You're probably right."

When we entered the school yard, Emma pulled on the sleeve of my coat and pointed to a blonde girl standing with her mother beside the park bench, apart from the lines of kids awaiting the morning bell. "That's her," Emma said. 

"Maybe you could invite her to stand in line with you," I suggested as Emma carried on toward her classmates. "Maybe she doesn't know what to do."

Emma glanced at the girl from the corner of her eye and back at me, her smile suddenly timid. "No."

The bell rang and Emma's teacher opened the school's front door. Line by line, the classes filed in. Only after all were inside did the new mother and child move from their spot by the bench. I tried to smile my empathy to them at beginning anew, but their eyes never left the school's entrance. A few stride's later, they were inside and a new routine had begun.

By lunchtime Emma was bursting with news. "Sandy and I invited Camille to sit with us sur les bancs." On the benches at the front of the class.

"That was friendly of you.  Good job!" I said, putting some pasta on to boil.

"Camille said we were chouette." Cute.

"Well, you are." They are.

"I told her that soon I'm going to be just like her. New." Emma's voice was confident, not scared. Not yet. 

"You're right," I said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.  "And I hope you make a new friend as kind as you."