Category Archives: Photographs

Spinning And Knitting, September-October 2013

I sold some unused spinning accessories for my Baynes wheel today. (As a side note, spinners are awesome people, and as I have been the recipient of awesome spinning karma in the past, I reached out and passed some along with my offer to sell the jumbo flyer and bobbins I’ll never use for this wheel, and made a spinner very happy.) I had just finalized the price with the buyer, and the e-mail from Paypal confirming that she’d paid me arrived.

Four seconds later, the e-mail from WEBS announcing that they’re now carrying Malabrigo Nube spinning fibre lands in my inbox.

Coincidence? I THINK NOT. Curse you, WEBS. Curse you and your spying, tempty ways.

In other news, I spun stuff and dyed other stuff. Like this 325 yards of superwash merino for a somewhat secret project. Lovely, springy yarn, about a DK weight (a bit lighter than I was aiming for), spun longdraw on the Baynes Colonial upright wheel from faux rolags rolled from 4 oz of commercial SW merino top, and then chain-plied. I’ll probably have to cut my yarn when I get to the few super-thin bits you can see in the skein, remove the thin part, and reattach the thicker stuff to knit again. That can be a problem with chain-plying; it tends to magnify a variance in grist instead of evening it out, the way a true three-ply does.

And Mum’s handspun luxury yarn came out a beautiful deep autumn blaze colour; I am so very, very pleased with it. We’re still not positive it matches the original colour card, but we like the colour it ended up, so we’re counting it a success. (You can’t tell the second batch of silk/cashmere was a buff instead of white at all.) I can’t tell you how hard it is to photograph this colour. It doesn’t help that the fiber content is about half silk, which messes with light reflection. The true colour is somewhere between the two photos.

In the knitting column, I am knitting socks, my first really real socks for me, using the sock yarn Elina sent me in the summer of 2012, and they are looking like real socks so far. I wibbled about switching to stockinette, because I was tired of ribbing but I like the socks Elizabeth knitted for me last December, and they’re ribbed all the way down to just about to the ankle. I had two inches of ribbing, and figured any more would make me snap somewhere along the line, so I switched to stockinette. Except… I should have kept ribbing them, as much as I hate ribbing. Plain stockinette is not as quick as I remember it being (when did I get quicker at doing 2×2 rib?) and I prefer how the variegated yarn looks in the ribbing over the plain stockinette. Bah. Also, these pretty DPNs are teeny and I am bending them as I knit; I’m worried I’ll snap one, and sure, I have an extra, but still. And I need to loosen up my knitting, because I am so tense when I use these teeny needles, and the stitches are too tight. Meow, meow, meow.

Anyway, pretty socks, about a week ago; I have about 2.5 inches of stockinette knitted now:

And I have a shawl problem. I have a lovely shawl pattern, but no yarn for it yet. And I have handspun yarn for shawls, among them this one, but can’t decide on patterns for them. Finally, I have yarn I spun for a shawlette, the pattern for it, and am paralyzed because I don’t think it will look very good in that pattern after all. I give up.

And as a bonus, I am getting the itch to weave again,which entails emptying an awful lot out of Owlet’s cupboard to drag the loom out from under the stairs. I have no idea what I want to make; I just want to be weaving. Because I have so much spare time, of course, and nothing to fill it with.

Owlet: Twenty-Six Months Old!

What’s new this past month? Owlet now has her colours pretty much down, though white, black, and brown are still giving her problems, and she has trouble parsing the difference between shades of the same colour, like purple and lavender. One is definitely purple, but what’s the other one? It’s not pink, but it’s not exactly purple, either, and it frustrates her. Purple and blue are her favourite colours. Playdoh also continues to be awesome, but we need to limit her to playing with it while sitting down, because I am finding tiny crumbs of Playdoh all over the house, often ground into someone’s sock. She correctly points letters out in signs and in text, of her own accord.

We are SO CLOSE to potty training. SO CLOSE. She can tell us when she pees, and she knows when she has to poop, but she freezes up when she’s on the potty. She can hold both for ages, probably longer than she should, but I don’t think she knows how to deliberately release. What we need is a few accidental successes while she’s sitting there, like we had in late spring before summer vacation and relative schedule chaos hit, and it will click, I think.

Her Leapfrog fridge farm is her new favourite toy. (Thanks, Jess!) She likes to hit the music button and spin, or bob up and down, or rock back and forth with a beaming grin on her face. “Clap!” she will order us, and we clap along with the music, or “Dance! Spin!” Eventually she will figure out that Grandma and Papa have one, too, and then the circle will be complete, and there will be no relief from the tinny banjo tunes.

Another wonderful addition to her world is the playhouse! A friend and her children are moving back to the UK, and they passed along a pile of books and games and electronics to us. Among the gifts was a Little Tikes playhouse. We disassembled it and transported it home, scrubbed it well, put it back together, placed it under the trees in the back garden, and let Owlet see it when she woke up from her nap. She was over the moon.

She and Sparky played Tim Hortons drive-through with it for ages (it has four windows, two with shutters) and they thought this was hilarious. We also acquired a Little Tikes picnic table, which they set up nearby to be restaurant seating, and served us leaves.

She is obsessed with the small park near daycare that they’ve visited once or twice. The play structure is designed to look like a castle. The problem is, it’s hard for her educator to bundle up six kids and take them out alone, especially when five of them are in the middle of potty training, so they don’t do it very often. But Owlet practices in the car on the way in every day: “Ask, ‘Park, please, Cahanne? Please, park?'” she says in a very sweet voice, trusting that one day, her educator will indeed say yes.

One of the most exciting things to observe is the development of her imaginative play. For example, her toys can talk to each other, not just to us. (At the moment it manifests in such ways as all her ponies going to the potty in her dollhouse, one by one, and being rewarded with “two chips!” when they’re done. (Chocolate chips, that is, which is what we and daycare use as rewards. The ponies get pretend ones, and they always say thank you. They are very polite ponies.) Phone play is a new thing, too. She’ll hand us a toy phone and we have to talk into it, with her prompting the other part of the conversation. Not actually conversing as the other party, you understand; telling us the subject of the answer, and we have to improvise on that. “Who is it?” we will say into the phone, and she will whisper, “Jacob,” or “Nana,” or “owl” in our other ear.

She uses an adult-sized pillow in bed now, in a rainbow pillowcase. We only have one (it must have been a hand-me-down from a twin bed sheet set), and when it’s in the wash she gets very upset, asking for her rainbow pillow, no, it has to be the rainbow pillow, where is the rainbow pillow? We’re currently planning for the switch to a big girl bed; our daycare director contacted us out of the blue a couple of weeks ago to ask if we needed one, as there was an antique twin bed at her son’s farmhouse that needed a new home. As the frame for the second bunk bed got warped in the move to the house, we accepted gratefully. We could do the crib-to-toddler-bed conversion like we did for Sparky, but it’s cramped for storytime and she is a very restless sleeper to boot, so the more acreage the better, we suspect. We’re thinking of doing the switch around Christmas, or whenever potty training is successful, whichever comes first. Janice recently showed me the completed quilt top she’d pieced for Owlet, which is absolutely spectacular, and once the backing and quilting part are done, it will look beautiful on the new bed.

Her current favourite books are Everyone Hide From Wibbly Pig (a hide and seek flap book, which is an enormous success; we need more Wibbly Pig!), Going on a Bear Hunt, and Murmel Murmel Murmel (“Anybody down there?” she says into cup-like things, then will say “Pop! A baby!”). I scored a miniature four-book boxed set of the Madeline books at the thrift store the other week, so we have just gotten into the first book, which she likes very much.

She has been using an open cup to drink from for the past couple of months. She adores ‘dips,’ where she dunks whatever she’s eating into her glass. Usually it’s a cookie or a bagel (bagels are the bestest food ever), and the contents of the glass are usually milk or chocolate milk as a treat. She loves drawing circles (usually adding dozens of dot eyes with great enthusiasm), and ovals are her newest favourite shape; everything is an oval. She likes playing memory match-up games on the iPad, and giving Angry Birds a try (although she ends up dragging the slingshot in the wrong direction and catapulting the birds away from the target). Her favourite movie is still My Neighbour Totoro, and she’s going to be Mei for Halloween. I wish we could find the little white Totoro that Ceri crocheted for Sparky; it would be a great prop to accompany her costume. We will have to default to the soot sprites, which will work just as well.

Here’s Sparky’s twenty-six-month-old post for comparison.

Balance

Balance is what I’m trying to maintain. I have had so many ups and downs this past month or so.

About three weeks ago the car started sounding throatier. It went from ‘somewhat throaty’ to Yikes That Sounds Expensive two weeks ago when Sparky and I were coming home from the doctor. HRH dug about under the car and discovered that the flex joint that connected the exhaust system to the engine had rotted through, so I was essentially driving a car with no muffler, despite the fact that there was a lovely, healthy muffler system there. It was a fix HRH couldn’t do, so it had to go to the car doctor last Thursday morning. This was the most recent in a series of small things going wrong with the car. We paid it off this past spring, and we wanted to get through the winter with it before looking at a slightly larger car. If this pattern continued, I wasn’t going to feel comfortable trusting the car over the winter. It was ten years old, and there was nothing immediately wrong with it apart from the fact that things were starting to wear out, and constantly replacing them and not knowing how much it was going to be was stressful. We’d rather get a new-to-us car and know that a set fifty dollars a week is going to pay it off. So we started researching cars in earnest instead of idly, as we’d been doing for a few months.

I had Thursday off since my deadline had been Wednesday night, and HRH booked the day off work to take the car in to the garage. Right next door to our garage is the used car dealership that we’ve dealt with forever. And they had two SUV/crossover cars in stock that we’d been researching for the past few months. So we got to go kind-of car shopping together and take test drives! Part of me just wanted to trade the current one in right then before something else happened to decrease its value any further, and drive home in a new-to-us Saturn Vue or Dodge Journey. Well, we tested the Vue first, and we liked it so much that we only took the Journey out to confirm how much we liked the Vue. (The huge blind spots in the Journey were dreadful, and the engine just wasn’t big enough to haul the weight of the vehicle around without straining — no, thank you.) We sat down with the salesman and we discussed options and trade-in value, and we ended up deciding to buy it, doing the pre-sale paperwork right there. The Ion wouldn’t be ready before we had to leave to pick up the kids — the job was bigger than the garage had initially thought, which made us a bit anxious about the cost — so the dealership gave us a loaner car, and we agreed to pick up the new car Saturday morning.

Saturday morning came, and we took the whole family over to pick up the new car. And we discovered that the garage had comped the job on the Ion. Hadn’t we traded it in, the garage manager said? So it wasn’t our problem. Happy new car. We were completely blown away and are now trying to figure out a way to give both the dealers and the garage guy a treat to say thank you.

New car!

We took it over to Grandma and Papa’s house to show it to them and have lunch together. The next day we took it out on its first road trip, to spend the day at Upper Canada Village with t! and Jan. It was a lovely day, despite the chill and the showers and the lack of a real nap on Owlet’s part.

And another joy is that the first accelerated government payment for Owlet’s daycare tax credit came in last week. Here in Quebec we have 7$ a day subsidized daycare, and if you’re in a private non-subsidized daycare you can apply for a monthly refund for a portion of your costs, calculated using the cost of the private fees and your family income. The idea is that since the subsidized 7$/day daycare spaces are hard to come by, the government will now subsidize the cost of the private ones. Well, my refund was awfully large — larger than my fees, in fact — so I did some math and it turns out that the information the government is using is based on the cost of a full-time place, not part-time, and they’re overpaying me. So unless I wanted to get dinged at tax-time and have to pay half of this money back, I needed to do something. Well, I talked to HRH, and we decided to ask if we could send Owlet full-time, because we knew there was room, and with this monthly refund it works out to $7 a day exactly, which I can totally afford! The daycare director e-mailed me inviting me to switch Owlet to full-time just as I was sitting down to write to her, and so it’s all set: Owlet is now full-time in daycare, and everyone is thrilled, especially her. (Well, no. The lady at the deli counter in the supermarket today was disappointed that Owlet wasn’t with me. Owlet is her favourite customer, she tells me.)

I dyed Mum’s luxury yarn last week, and it looks AWESOME. It’s a stunning rust/terra cotta colour that just glows in the sunlight. I’ve never dyed so much yarn — remember, we’re talking 1700 yards, and about 13 oz of fibre! — or used so much dye at one time. It took 10 g of dye powder, when the most I’d used at one go before was 1 or 2 g, and I mixed the colour myself from two others. I hope she likes it. I have some touch-ups to do where the dye didn’t quite penetrate past figure-eight ties, and then I shall post pictures.

And a friend who is moving back to the UK has given me a pile of games, electronic equipment, books, and toys. I’m feeling particularly spoiled by life in general these days, and so very, very grateful for all our good fortune. I know we’ve been putting in our time this past year, and everything comes to those who work and wait, but the harvest — if that is the correct word, seeing as how that’s the time of year? — is so very appreciated.

Owlet: Twenty-Five Months Old!

All right; school and rush jobs for work have settled, I am over my stomach flu, and so I’m finally editing and posting Owlet’s 25-month post, and backdating it. It seems that I didn’t take many pictures this past month, so I am sharing ones taken by Scott and my father, too. (They take better pictures than I do, anyway.)

In general she is perky, strong-willed, and cheerful. She is obsessed with bagels. We have finally hit the toddler whimsical nature when it comes to eating — some nights she will just shove the plate of supper away, even if it is all things she loves. HRH introduced her to Shreddies, which she thinks are just marvellous, and the idea of cereal with milk, which she loves eating off his spoon. (She’s not so fond of it in her own bowl, however.)

She has been at daycare for a month now. She’s attending three days a week, and she loves it. She will frequently repeat the names of all her friends and teachers to herself while she’s at home doing something by herself: “Go June’s. Jacob. Ella. ‘Lista. Baby Ryder. Cahanne. Play.” There are never tears when I drop her off; in fact, I usually have to call her back for a kiss, or even just to take her coat and shoes off because she just walks right in and starts puttering about. Integration went so well in the first couple of weeks that they started potty training the kids the second week, which meant that our cloth diapering has pretty much stopped, other than naps and outings when she’s home.

I’m actually kind of frustrated about toilet training at the moment. She was in a good place in the late spring when we started working on it at home, but then summer happened, with everyone home and the daily routine all topsy-turvy and lots of distraction, so she regressed. And now it’s even worse; while she cheerfully sits at “cool,” she violently refuses to at home, so we’re backing off a bit here.

The toddler stubbornness is becoming more evident in other ways, too. We usually go down the front steps together, with Owlet holding on to the railing with her right hand and my hand with her left. When we left to meet Sparky at school the other day, I locked the door and held out my hand to her, but she waved her hand at me in refusal. “Go away,” she said. “Go car, Mummy.” And she would not budge until I went down the stairs and stood by the car. She went down the stairs on her own.

When she wakes up in the morning, gone are the days of half an hour of quietly talking to herself and her animals. No, now it’s a very imperious “AAAAAAALL DOOOOOOONE” a moment or two after she opens her eyes. Her favourite books are what she calls Princess Bag (the Paper Bag Princess), Toads on Toast, and Mud Puddle. She loves to sing, and her favourite songs right now are “Six Little Ducks,” “Rock-a-bye,” and Raffi’s “Peanut Butter Sandwich” and “Brush Your Teeth.”

She’s starting to make her toys kiss, which is charming. She made HopHop wave goodbye to the cashier and then the packer at the grocery store the other day when they said goodbye to her, with a deadpan expression on her face. She didn’t say anything to them — she usually chirps a “Merci” or “Bye!” as we go — just waved the bunny’s hand at one, then the other, very deliberately.

Her attitude and awareness of her toys has shifted in a very interesting way. She held HopHop out to me the other day and said, “Talk, Mummy.” So I looked at the bunny and said, “Hello, HopHop. How are you?” “Snack,” said HopHop. I glanced at Owlet, but her eyes were on the rabbit, too. “You’re hungry, HopHop?” I said. “Peanut butter crackers,” said HopHop. “Those are a bit too messy,” I said. “What about some goldfish crackers?” “Fish!” said HopHop, very pleased. And then I looked at Owlet and said, “Would you like some too?” “Yes! Fish!” she said. So I got a little bowl of goldfish crackers, and I made sure to give it to HopHop and reminded him to share with Owlet. It was the first instance of Owlet pretending one of her toys was interacting with a real person and playing along with the pretend.

She got some PlayDoh for her birthday from Jeff and Pasley, and she loves squishing it between her hands and cutting out all sorts of shapes.

For the longest time when you asked her what colour something was she’d say “blue” right away. Then she added “purple” to her repertoire of answers. But a couple of weeks ago she held up a yellow crayon and said “yellow” unprompted, and she said something was green the other day. But most of the time things are still blue or purple.

She eats cherry tomatoes by the bowlful outside, standing by the garden and reaching a hand toward them, asking “Daddy? Mummy? Eeeyam? Matos?” She loves having freshly pulled carrots, too, going over to the bucket by the hose to rinse them off and then crunching away on them. She will swing for ages in our little wooden baby swing, saying, “Whee, whee, whee” as she goes back and forth happily. Moving large pieces of gravel from one place to another is still one of the most wonderful games in the world, and dropping them in the water bucket is a thing of joy. We have to keep an eye on her, though, because I found her sitting in that water bucket one day. It was a tight fit, and she couldn’t get out very well. I wonder how long she would have sat there in the water before calling for help if I hadn’t noticed her. (This isn’t the bucket; it’s a snow saucer! The kids pulled it out for water play on another day.)

She’s in size 7 shoes, size 4 pull-ups (they’re just that much looser and easier to get up and down), size 3 to 4 tops and mostly size 3 bottoms. I’ve thrown my hands up at most clothes sizing, actually. The dress she insisted on wearing last weekend was a size 4 and she was swimming in it, but she got a size 4 top for her birthday that barely fits. There is no rhyme nor reason to it all.

Mischief Managed

This past spring, when the new Pokemon game was announced for release this coming October and we learned that it was going to be made exclusively for the 3DS, I made a deal with Sparky. If, I said, he could save up half of the cost of the unit, we would pay the other half.

He has put every penny of his allowance into his piggy bank, put gift money in there, did extra chores around the house for money above and beyond his allowance for the usual chores he does, returned bottles and cans for the deposit money, and as of yesterday he had saved up just shy of his goal. As there was a good sale on this week, I said he’d just about done it, and so we made a date to pick it up this weekend. He would take any colour, he said, any at all; although purple was his first choice and black his second, he’d even take pink, he said earnestly. We assumed those were the only colours on sale, as they were the only three pictured in the ad.

The first store we went to was sold out and told us rather shortly that they had a limited quantity and if they were gone, they were gone. (Not only did this tick us off, because the ad had said nothing about limited quanities, it sent Sparky into a panic, despite having been told about rainchecks before we’d left.) The second store we went to had none left on the shelves, but when we asked, the clerk said she had one unit left behind the counter. It was red.

We are very, very proud of him. This was his first big test of will, saving up for something specific rather than just saving up money in general and then wandering through a store to see what he could buy with that amount. It wasn’t easy; there were several times that he pleaded to buy something, and I explained over and over that if he used some of the money in his bank he’d have to wait even longer for the 3DS. But he did it, and now he can start saving up for something else.

It’s charging up right now in its neat little cradle (oh, the agony of waiting another couple of hours!). He very proudly handed my DS back to me as we unpacked his new one. I think I’ll have find a secondhand Pokemon game so we can trade things back and forth and have battles. He’d love that.

I wish the photo of him beaming so hard that his teeth are bared and his eyes are squinched shut hadn’t turned out too blurry to use. You’ll just have to imagine the unbridled joy on his face instead.

School Again

Today was Sparky’s first half-day of school. He didn’t sleep well last night, didn’t eat very much this morning, and had worried himself into a low-grade temperature and chills. We dropped Owlet off at daycare half an hour early (more on that in a moment) and drove to school, parked, and joined the throngs of parents and children walking to the schoolyard together. There were about five hundred people milling about, meeting up with friends and awaiting the morning bell that announced the arrival of the teachers with their class list posters decorated to reflect their chosen themes for the year, which they taped up on the walls of the school building so the kids could crowd around and figure out who was in which class. The boys were thrilled to find three of the four who generally hang out together were in the same class. (I feel a bit sorry for the fourth, who was missing his first day and who will be without his mates in a different class tomorrow.)

It was interesting to watch how Sparky’s body language changed over the half-hour I was with him. He started off a bit huddled into himself, holding my hand now and again. When he saw people he knew he relaxed a bit, waving and saying hi oh, so casually, though he still held himself guardedly. And when he saw his very best school friend, he called out, and I could see his body open up and relax completely. He hung around with them, laughing and talking about Minecraft, and it was as if the summer hadn’t happened at all.

His teacher seems very nice. He told me with great excitement that there’s a book on Star Wars vehicles from Episode One in the class library. (Dear Mlle Sophie: You scored a win with that one.) They did a self-evaluation exercise where they were asked to write something they’d had trouble with last year on a small card, then fold it up and hand it in. Sparky wrote ‘math: subtraction,’ which I find interesting, because I’ve never seen him have a problem with that; his difficulty in math lies in mainly in thinking through word problems. He thinks his teacher will keep the cards and bring them out near the end of the year so they can see how far they’ve come. This is the first year of Cycle Two, and they do the first half of the year in French and the second half in English. (After this, I believe it’s just about 50/50 all year long through the rest of Cycle Two and Three.)

Owlet is in her fourth week of daycare, or “cool,” as she calls it. Day one was such a success that the only way I could lure her home was by promising her a bagel. (She has recently become obsessed with fresh bagels. This is both good and bad, as we liv around the corner from a bagel bakery.) The second day I dropped her off, I hung around talking to the educator. After a minute she pointed to the stairs and said, “Shoes. Stairs, Mummy.” The message was very clear: Shoo, lady, you’re cramping my style. When I picked her up that afternoon, we got in the door at home and she started to cry, “No, play more, play….” I comforted her and told her she’d go back to “cool” again tomorrow. “Oh kay,” she said, somewhat suspiciously and grudgingly, like I might be trying to fool her. Napping has been successful, they started potty training the second week they were there because everyone had settled so well, and in general everything is going so well that it’s like she’s been doing daycare all her life. There has been a teacher switch, however, because the educator who was initially slotted to handle this small private daycare (a satellite one to the main daycare the director runs) pulled out in the second week. Fortunately, the director was already talking to someone who had worked with her before, negotiating to bring her in as a swing teacher, and she just stepped in to be full time instead. Owlet loves her, and loves all her little friends there, and it’s only a bit odd to think that she has a social life outside our sphere of responsibility now. She brings home art, and talks randomly about her friends, and in general is thoroughly in love with “cool.”

It’s terrific that school and daycare are only four minutes apart by car in the same neighbourhood. My round trip takes about fifteen minutes, including drop-offs. And it’s a relief to be able to focus on work during the day, all the more so because I’ve been working on back-to-back projects, the last couple of them rush jobs.

Sparky’s Summer So Far


[ED NOTE on 19 AUG 2013: This was originally written two weeks ago. No, three, since it was when Sparky had just begun his second two-week session of camp, and he has been done with camp for a week. Sigh. In my own defence, I was working on a project that ate up all the time ever, because it needed tonnes of fact checking. (Not because things were wrong, I hasten to point out. Just because there were lots of real-world facts, and part of my job is to make sure the author hasn’t mixed things up or misremembered something, especially if those facts affect key plot points.) Anyway, that project is now done, and I will get a nice big cheque for it late next month.

So I’m backdating this instead of updating it. The update is basically that “Yay, Sparky adored camp, and I got to go to the last parents’ day with HRH while HRH’s parents stayed with Owlet, and then we took him out for ice cream. The end.”)]

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Sparky is in his second two-week session of day camp, and is loving it. We have impromptu little songs about, “Oooh, I love camp, I love camp, I’m going to camp” in the car on the ten-minute drive there in the morning.

At the end of each two-week session there’s a presentation for the parents on Friday afternoon. Each class has a fifteen-minute block in which to demonstrate their new skills or talk about what they did and learned in the class, and then the bell rings (they use a huge old-fashioned school handbell, and it has a glorious sound) and everyone moves to their next class. At the end, there’s a half-hour concert where the whole camp population sings whatever songs they’ve chosen to work on over the session in choir. As the parents’ afternoon takes place the very same time Owlet’s nap does, I stayed home this time and HRH went. He recorded a couple of Sparky’s demonstrations for me, though.

Sparky chose to do piano this summer as his music class at camp. He learned a two-hand scale and some finger exercises in the first two weeks. We were expecting him to play the scale for his presentation, which is what he told us he was doing, and that’s what he did. There was applause… but then he went right into something else, a simple piece that he played with both hands and read from the music on the piano in front of him. We were so excited. After only two weeks! He really, really enjoys piano, he says. I am slightly anxious, because I want to ask him if he likes it more than cello and would prefer to study it instead, but I don’t know if I want to hear the answer. On one hand, a local teacher for an instrument we didn’t need to lug around would be great. On the other hand, we’d have to prepay a season’s worth of lessons, and we don’t have that kind of available money. Our cello teacher asks for a month’s worth of lessons at a time. And cello is something that we do together, and he benefits from a parent who has a different understanding of the instrument than one who doesn’t play can offer. If he ends up doing Suzuki piano I will end up learning it with him, which is not a bad thing, but also perhaps one more thing I do not need on my plate right now. It is to be seriously ruminated upon, however.

The next thing HRH recorded for me was Sparky’s martial arts demonstration. They did different kicks and punches to break practice boards, which was fun, but the best part was the last bit. Sparky was first in the lineup for this one. The teacher braced, held out his hand with what looked like a pencil upright in it, and Sparky clapped his hands around the instructor’s hand and the pencil thing flipped away. When he was showing me, HRH was excited and said, “Did you see that? That was amazing!” It was filmed far away, so I couldn’t see any detail and had no idea why this was so fantastic. I had to ask a couple of times for it to be explained properly. Turns out the teacher was holding a practice knife, and Sparky hit the tendons in his wrist with one hand and the back of the instructor’s hand with the other, which forces the gripping hand to snap open in reflex. And he did it so well that the practice knife spun up and halfway across the room. So my kid knows the rudiments of disarming someone with a knife. Holy wow.

I finally finished his Gryffindor socks. He loves them, in case you can’t tell.

And since we’re talking about feet… he has worn through his fourth pair of shoes this year. School hasn’t even started yet.

He is very excited about water and pools these days. But he’s resisting actually trusting himself, the water, and the parent teaching him to swim, which is so argh-inducing from the parental POV that we’re pretty much at our wits’ end. It may be time to register him in lessons this fall, at an indoor civic pool. His French is good enough now, which was the main stumbling point before.

He’s currently in love with my Calvin and Hobbes books, and the Mutts collections as well. At least one goes with him everywhere. They’re getting a bit tattered, but since it’s from love, my rule about with keeping books pristine is somewhat relaxed.