NeeNay

A is on the cusp of talking.  Frankly, we are more than ready for her to be able to express her needs with words rather than demanding cries.  I have had enough heart stopping moments from fearing that her anxious yelps mean a life threatening situation, rather than "I can't reach that dinosaur puzzle." I look forward to being let into her world through language.  Yet I will miss the unique scrambled words, like Nee Nay for Sea Horse, and the dramatic body language.  When she needs me to go someplace she scoots behind me and pushes hard against my legs, sometimes putting her whole body into the effort.  She shows love through knock-you-over cuddles, tickly raspberries and gentle kisses. A finds many things amusing.  She lets me know through giggles or a hearty chuckle.  When frustrated, disappointed or discouraged A flings herself to the floor, belly down and becomes limp like a noodle.  A gentle nip on the shoulder lets me know when she is vexed.  When that mischievous gleam appears in her eyes, you had better watch out.  Some of these will be part of who she is and some, like the Nee Nays, will become cherished memories.

May Day

I was excited for May Day this year.  In Britain, May Day is a public holiday and I have fond memories of watching girls skip around the maypole, weaving in and out with colourful ribbons, and Morris Men jingling their bells and clacking their sticks and waving white handkerchiefs in the air.  I grew up a few narrow winding green lanes from the village of Ansty, rumoured to have the tallest maypole in the UK.  I even danced around this legendary maypole as a child, continuing a tradition dating from the 16th century, maybe even earlier.

I wanted to see if I could find a May Day celebration of this kind in Seattle.  Not the other kind of May Day mischief Seattle is notorious for.  I was searching for a maypole and Morris Men rather than demonstrators and placards.  Was I feeling homesick?  Probably.  Did I want to share my history with my girls? Undoubtedly.  The Fremont Arts Council, the group responsible for the Solstice Parade, was hosting a celebration at Woodland Park.  All I needed now were white dresses for the girls and flowers for their hair.

The celebration started with some fun games for the kids.  L was quick to embrace the activities and before I had even spread the picnic blanket she was climbing into a burlap potato bag for the sack race.  She was unperturbed by the game host with his exaggerated British accent, white smock, red tights and curly mustache.  He was a lovely blend of Shakespeare and Kitchener.  Morris Men were next up.  Who'd have thought, Morris Men in Seattle and they weren't too bad.  Face painting lured the girls away from the curious jumping and jingling men and soon I was holding hands with an excited bunny and a wiggly fish.  We decided it was time to retreat to the safety of the picnic blanket for our supper of hummus and pita while the May Queen was crowned and the men waited in a bawdy crowd.  Drumming resonated through the trees and my little bunny was unable to sit still.  Drawn to her feet by the rhythmic beat she hopped and jumped and twirled in absolute freedom.  The Queen selected her King and the May Pole grew larger and larger in the center of the field, tangled ribbons of all colours flowing from it's crown (yes, literally, there was a crown atop it's um, head).

This was all becoming very sexual and feeling uncomfortably more licentious from the more innocent festivals of my youth.  Oh, the symbolism was there if you knew where to look for it.  May Day is after all a celebration of Spring and long ago these rites were practised to ensure fertility of crops, animals and humans.  However, the May Queen is a young girl dressed in white, pleased as hell she was chosen but shy to be the center of the village attention.  Here the May Queen was of a fertile age and the possible Kings were gyrating their hips to the primal drumming.  Was the maypole always intended to be such a phallic object I wondered as I watched the Seattle one grow out of the ground.  When I drive past the one at home in the UK I think of the beautiful tall tree it once was.

Even though I was half tempted to whisk my girls away in scandalous indignation, I knew I had to see it through.  The maypole dancing was beckoning and I wanted to see where this US version was going.  Lilli and I each took hold of a ribbon and with Amelia on my hip we danced around the maypole as one.  Under, over, under, over.  With each undulation a new face would appear.  The ribbons grew shorter pulling the 100 or so dancers in tighter to the maypole and tighter together.  Every once in a while Lilli and I would become separated for a second or two.  Panicked I would call her name and her worried face would break into a relieved and excited grin.  What did Amelia make of this? Bouncing on my hip, strangers faces much too close for comfort.  And how much longer would this last? My arm was aching, the girls needed to get home to bed and I was done.  Was that a half-hour maypole weave?  When the ribbons were chest high, Lilli passed hers to me and ran around and around the maypole, with her hand high in the air strumming the lattice of ribbons above her head.  The King and Queen were caught in the middle, wrapped to the pole in ribbons.  The crowd gathered towards them, hands in the air, ululating.  OK, time to go home. This was becoming too weird for me.  I think I'll catch my next May Day celebration back in the UK.

Olympic Sculpture Park

We've been stuck in a weekend rut, which I have been desperate to change.  Though shaking things up seems so much harder than it should.  I persevered this Saturday and we had a lovely day.  After our standard delicious pancake breakfast (some things must never change), a little down-time and a good teeth brushing (all that maple syrup) I shooed the family out the door, not to do the standard weekly food shop, but to explore a new park.  We were ready for the day with snacks, bikes, scooters, helmets and raincoats.  Kids ... check.  Directions .... yup.  Traffic ... not yet.

My plan was to wander through the Olympic Sculpture Park, exposing the girls to a little art, and on into neighbouring Myrtle Edwards Park where we could ride and scoot along the waterfront path.  The OSP was a hit.  The girls loved the zigzagging paths and balancing along the stone walls.  We enjoyed an exciting game of hide and seek in the giant steel curving waves (Wake by Richard Serra).  L loved darting through the sinuous spaces between the weathered metal wiggles.  Her happy shrieks were caught in the air and echoed through the sculpture.  She also loved the massive typewriter eraser (Typewriter Eraser, Scale X by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen); a tool that she will probably never need.  A clambered into one of the many red chairs and curiously assessed Alexander Calder's tall red Eagle.  "Is this a sculpture or a seat Mummy?  Can I climb on it?" L wanted to know of one piece.  The OSP was a fun way for the girls to explore art.  It was interesting to hear our nearly 5 year old's interpretation of the sculptures.  She wanted to know their names and more.  Our littlest was delighted by the train tracks that pass under the park and the orange engine chug-chugging in the sidings.  Admittedly my eyes strayed many times away from the art and towards my favourite vista; the cloudy Olympic mountains brooding on the horizon above Puget Sound with it's ferries crisscrossing back and forth between the islands and the Seattle docks.  

Once at the bike trail we discovered a lovely rocky beach with big rocks for big girls to clamber on and pebbles perfect for little hands to grasp and wrap around.  Such a shame we didn't pack a picnic.  But by now little legs were tired and we were all hungry.  The bike plans were abandoned, favourite stones sadly discarded and J and I coaxed the girls back to the car, cursing the awkward bicycle and scooter we had needlessly hauled around the park!  Riding through Myrtle Edwards will have to wait for another weekend.

Not quite ready for our lovely morning to end, we prolonged the adventure with a delicious lunch treat at Macrina Bakery.  Here is A enjoying a rare lunch of jam and bread.

Daddy Dearest

Yesterday L commented "Daddy, you smell like ..... "

She paused to think exactly how to describe his particular scent and announced

"...... the zoo!"

Last week, as I was reading "Where the Wild Things Are", A excitedly pointed to the sea monster rising out of the sea and happily remarked "Daddy, DADDY!"

Hmmm Jon, perhaps you need to trim that beard and maybe take a shower! 

But we love you regardless of your zoo odor and wild thing appearance.

Good Friday

Today was a day of disaster control.

I was finishing the waist band of L's new skirt while the girls were eating breakfast (yogurt with berries).  I was sitting with them at the table quickly sewing in the elastic and A put her pink berried spoon on top of the skirt fabric.  Stained before it has even been worn!  L was devastated.  Stain removal was now an additional "to do" item for the morning in addition to reassuring L everything would be ok.  Every 15 minutes she wanted to know, "is my skirt ready yet?"

Between stain removal I was finishing up with the hot cross buns.  L and A went upstairs to play and since I heard no bickering I set to work.  After a while I checked on them and found L scrubbing the upstairs toilet and A cleaning everything (even L's sheets) with a very wet wash cloth.  They knew I wanted to do a little cleaning before our lunchtime guests arrived and decided to help out!!  Very impressed I left them to their tasks and returned to the hot cross buns.  It wasn't long before L was shrieking for me.  I dashed up the stairs and L led me into the bathroom where A was standing balanced on a step stool on a ledge and filling up a dish with water from the tap and then pouring it onto the bathroom floor.

The afternoon play-doh incident seemed like nothing after the bathroom flooding and the berry stained skirt.  But it was so cute I have to include it.  My wonderful friend, who I do not see nearly enough, and I were chatting away, while her daughter was teaching L how to play Frozen tunes on the piano.  A toddled into the office, found the play-doh box and took the tools and play-doh bit by bit to the dining table and very determinedly set herself up for some play-doh time.  She was very content and being able to chat with my friend was worth having hot pink play-doh squashed into our tightly woven rattan dining chair while listening to a 7 and 4 year old playing Frozen tunes on the piano.

What a crazy and wonderful day.  

The Supermarket Incident

Here is another feather in the Mummy cap.  My little one vomited all over herself and me in the middle of PCC today.  I was so surprised that I just stood there dripping.  I didn't fuss over her or me.  Though she seemed absolutely fine, as though it was just a burp.  I am so glad my good friend was there to help us clean up.  I hope that is one parenthood experience that I don't have to go through again.

Guns & Cigarettes

On our drive home from Aikido today L mused, "if we could take two things away from our world, I think they should be guns and cigarettes."

Amen. The wisdom of a four a three quarter year old.