Chinook

    Unseasonably warm winds are blowing across the countryside, leaving crusty snow which crunches pleasantly underfoot. Britta and Elsa love to go walking with Mom and Dad through the mini drifts. Britta kicks up the crust which breaks into shards of tinkling glass. Elsa looks around, breathes deeply the frosty air and nods off.

     Britta is a fiercesome learner in playschool. Her songs are a war-cry around our dinner table. "Hello Britta, how are you? Who is sitting next to you? Mommy! Hello Mommy, how are you? Who is sitting next to you? Daddy..." Yes, that song has no reasonable conclusion. She delights in printing her name, over and over again, so all her artwork now comes autographed.

    Today, as we parked in front of a stop sign, Britta declared, "That is a stop sign. S-T-O-P." Great, a backseat driver at age 3. I can feel my hair silvering already.

     Elsa is counting down the advent calendar with her big sister. Elsa is now standing, assisted by furniture and pantlegs, so the nativity scene is now the scene of major calamity, much to Britta's Type-A laments. "Don't do that, Elsa! It frust-er-ates me!" Elsa represents the Christmas story as re-mixed with Godzilla. Sheep, cows, and wisemen are licked, smashed, and cast aside.

    Elsa is sleeping mostly through the night, though she does crave the occasional cuddle. Often, she takes the release from her crib-prison as an invitation to get up and she sticks her fingers into the eyes, nostrils and mouth of her dear, sleeping dad. If that doesn't wake me, she is always willing to grab my face or give me an excited open-hand smack. Kristine never tires of seeing me wake up that way.

                                                                    ----=<{#}>=----

     I know that the fall leaves are buried in snow (because I was too lazy to rake them), and Halloween has come and gone, but some of the pictures are too good to not be shared. Enjoy.

Vegetarian

       Fall has brought about many changes; the leaves have turned and fallen, heavy frost sits on the ground like a sea of glass. It is the end of summer, sigh. Britta loves fall. She loves it because it is the beginning of something new. It is the beginning of play school for her, and a rekindling of the Seeds program for young humans at the Spruce View Library.

      Britta awakes on play school days and announces, "I will be very brave today." She washes down her customary muffin-and-peanut-butter breakfast with a slug of grapefruit and cranberry juice and then she's ready to leave.

       When Britta returns from play school or Seeds, she often stops by Daddy's work to show him what craft she has made, to the oooh's and awww's of twenty big kids.

       Elsa is determined to not taking the changing seasons laying down. She has the wandering heart and now crawls from place to place. It took her a couple weeks to work out the forward momentum thing, because she could lift her baby booty off the ground but her muscular arms overpowered her legs and she would slide backwards across the laminate floor. Kristine was putting Britta in the bath one evening and returned to find Elsa behind the couch, cooing away and eating a fresh crop of dust-bunnies. Yes, Elsa is a taster of the most committed sort.

     Elsa loves pear. Without a doubt, it is her favourite food. She will eat a half a pear in one sitting, and anything that doesn't make it into her mouth (or lap) is mashed into oblivion when she excitedly hammers her high chair top with open hands. BOOM - BOOM - BOOM! Ai-ai-ai-ai-mum-mum-mum.

     About the only thing that Elsa will not put in her mouth is ground bison. She might be a vegetarian, eek! I suspect it is more a deep resentment of the spoon, or rather, that mom or dad is wielding the spoon and she is not master of her own mastication. In truth, if she can reach the spoon handle she will guide it into her own mouth with enough vigor that I cringe in fear of a choking incident.

     Elsa is also a born grazer. In the wild world outside the window is the field of clover she longs to roam and delight in. (It would be more grass than clover if I would spray to keep the clover at bay - but it seems enough to keep the yard mowed without looking for work.) Elsa eats grass by the fistful. Her fistful, then Britta's fistful.

    Yes, Britta is a doting sister, who finally has a responsive baby who will really consume food, unlike the dolls who merely pretend to drink tea and eat plastic food. Britta will gather things to nibble on for Elsa so every adventure outside satiates Elsa's appetite and leads to a bowel movement that looks like a cow-pat.

Tiny Visigoth

  
     The Visigoths threw the Roman Empire into chaos, ushering in the Dark Ages for Western civilization, a period of minimalist survival that lasted for almost a millennium. On February 8th, we were visited by our own cute Visigoth -- tyrannical yet lovable.

Visigoth ruler -- Elsa, surveys her domain with a baleful eye

 
     While Europe languished for 1000 years, I think it's pretty fine that we let the blog slide for only 6 months. Welcome back!

      In truth, it has been a full and richly rewarding spring and summer. We have had the privilege to plant gardens and flowerbeds, holiday in Banff for four days, embrace swimming lessons, and go to the Danish Canadian Museum and Markerville Creamery.

     Markerville hosts and annual Cream Day celebration of its rich, fat-laden history through ice cream. It is the quintessential agricultural community celebration with a petting zoo, local folk music, Highland dance, and free ice cream churned by hand in antique ice cream makers.

Highland Dancers from Innisfail Dance School

      Britta was enthralled with the dancers and as they finished the Highland Reel, she burst out, "When I am older, maybe I can dance like them." She then showcased a few of her own dance moves, with swinging arms and thrust out chest which evoke more of a Busta Rhymes and crumping street-dance feel. Yes, I believe dance lessons will be on Britta's horizon.

One of the Three Billy Goats Gruff

     Britta made a bee-line for the petting zoo and was delighted to be given a handful of feed. The chin-whiskers and eager mooching of the goats put her off. We're hoping that this aversion will mean that Britta will never bring home a scruffy-faced young man whose sole occupation is "band-member".

A local 4H'er

A rescued owl from the Medicine River Wildlife Centre

      Britta liked the calf, but absolutely loved the Holstein cow. She wanted desperately for it to eat from her hand, despite her only having three dilapidated oats left. The cow spent the entire time we were at its pen with it's back turned to us, so Britta was yelling, "Here cow! Here cow! I have food for you!" We finally convinced Britta that if she dropped the oats inside the pen, the cow would be most grateful and eat them later.

Yummmm!

"Please sir, may I have another?" -- Oliver Twist

     The free ice cream cones were the perfect size for small children and for people who have just undergone gastric bypass surgery. We adults had to line up a couple times, apologize profusely and make excuses that our children were wanting more ice-cream in order to get a good taste. Yes, on occasion we do use our children to leverage treats -- let those of you who have never cut a checkout line with a baby cast the first cone. The trick is to leave a few dabs of food on their faces for extra cuteness.

     Elsa has two teeth on the bottom now and is showing a marked interest in eating solid food. Solid anything, really. This morning she gave the trampoline mat a good licking when I put her down. It's got the rich flavour of nylon with hints of pine needle and ants. However, when we went to Cream Day, Elsa didn't get any treats. She rode around on Mum, winning hearts and adding to her collective Visigoth kingdom.

    

Olympian

     
      The last couple days have been quiet; too quiet for everyone. As we wait, as patiently as we can, the word on everyone's lips is "baby". Well, almost everyone -- Britta has been taking inspiration from the upcoming athleticism so her most oft-spoken word is "tag".

      "Come catch me, Mommy!"

      The scene that plays out in the kitchen every evening is of mom and dad running laps of the living room and kitchen. And the only word which could capture the look on Britta's face is "joy".

       

Of few words

     It is a cliche that the Inuit have many words for snow; that it holds a special and significant role in their day-to-day lives and thus can be described many ways. Britta, having fewer sounds, but many interests has opted to go the other way, and has made a few Swiss-Army-Words, you know, the multitool words which can be used in any given situation.
    
     Her favorite one of late is matato (mah-TAY-to), which describes tomatoes, potatoes, and Play-doh. Yes, you can see where that one comes from -- and also how it can be confusing between playtime and snack.

     "Mom, can you make a baby out of matato?" and "Mom, I want dippy (ketchup) on my matato." have very different meanings.

     Really, Britta is growing up quickly and she learns new words faster than we can keep track of them. She's also keenly on baby-watch, and has been asking Kristine's tummy, "Baby, when are you coming out?"

      She was the first to have a guess at baby's gender. She said definitively that it is going to be a boy and that she wants a boy-sister.