Cream of the crop

Yesterday, we attended the Markerville Cream Day at the historic creamery in - wait for it - Markerville. The creamery is the bones of a socialist program that funded the operational costs and a butter maker to pioneers who could muster the funds to put up an acceptable building and had about 300 head of dairy cows. Now it's a museum, but they still keep in touch with what matters to plain folk, by selling Foothills Creamery ice cream. Yes, it is a celebration of the pioneer dairy industry and ice cream all in one. What a day! The kids enjoyed the craft station, the face painting, the cow-that-you-feed-hamburgers-to-and-they-come-out-the-bum. It was all very educational.

The Stand

Someday, when Britta and Elsa grace the cover of Forbes and have a feature article about their liquid refreshment empire, they will point back to this afternoon as the moment that started it all. Britta and Elsa set up their Spruce-View-almost-famous lemonade stand and sold refreshing drinks for 50 cents a glass. It was a hot August summer, and with Britta's business acumen and Elsa's panty-flashing burlesque, business boomed. In an hour and a half, the girls earned $6.80 each after costs -- mostly through tips. The whole enterprise nearly unraveled when Elsa began drinking away the profits and fell into a lemonade-fueled temper, but Britta covered for her sister while she reclined in the shade. Britta was reluctant to pack up at 4pm but Elsa said it was the longest afternoon ever.

Bedtime Video

   After watching a few older videos of themselves, Britta and Elsa said the wanted to make a video tonight. Mom was playing for ballet, so we recorded this shout-out to some special viewers.

Swimming Lessons and Wear-able Change Pads

     November has rolled around again, sliding silently and chillingly into our yard and twisting the leaves from branches and replacing them with hoary frost. Britta and Elsa don't seem to mind too much; it's just a reason to get bundled up and look at something new outdoors.

     Britta helped out our friend, Nicole, as she was driving tractor during canola harvest. The size of the machine was intimidating, at first, but before she finished the ride, Britta was on the radio and behind the wheel. The next morning she was asking when she could drive tractor again.

     Elsa and Britta dressed up as kittens for Halloween and went trick-or-treating at the neighbours' houses. Britta quickly organized the haul of chips and candybars when they returned home. We only had 12 kids come around and Britta was completely devastated that she had missed handing out the candy. We carved pumpkins, too. Just to be sure that no one could mistake our faith -- Kristine had us carve a Jesus-themed jack-o-lantern.

      Britta is back in swimming lessons, or systematic-drowning, as I like to refer to them. I did a couple parent and child classes with Elsa last fall and the instructor kept praising parents who submerged their infant children wholly in the water and cooed, "Way to go! Hooray!" in the spluttering face of their child when they emerged. I guess, as the children get used to the feeling of drowning, they can react in a more level-headed way when they dive in.

     Elsa has begun a modeling career. She puts on any bit of clothing left around the house -- and occasionally bits of things that were never meant to be worn, with no consideration of what mom or dad says. It's that kind of laissez faire attitude that shouts to the world, "I'm a free spirit!"

Spring

     Spring! The word somersaults across my tongue and leaps from my lips. Spring! How I've watched yearningly as the winter snows retreated across the brown lawn and allow the green shoots to nuzzle though. The girls, too, sense the change in weather and are keen to get outside and explore the wonders of dirt, stems, and sun-bleached wood. I dug out my DSLR to play around with the video.


     Britta took to the outside for an Easter Egg hunt this last weekend. We'd coloured the eggs together the day before and the first thing she exclaimed upon finding an egg was, "This is MY egg! How did the Easter Bunny get it out here?" She suspended her disbelief enough to ignore that the "Easter Bunny's" footprints looked suspiciously alike to her Dad's size ten hiker prints.

     Elsa stands, takes a step or two, and returns to the safety of quadruped movement. She can't stand to be crawling for long, though; there isn't enough to see, so up she pops again to crane her neck. She's bears a striking similarity to a Jefferson ground squirrel or meerkat, standing straight up and looking around wide-eyed before burrowing down on all fours to scramble to the next vantage point. Don't tell Kristine I've made that comparison, she will surely frown on comparing our youngest to the world's rodents.

High Peaks

      Every once in a while, it is necessary to get away and find a change of scenery. The loverly ladies and I made our escape to Canmore during the February break. It was a wonder.

      Elsa and Britta wondered what was going on when three steps into our first stroll around town, the stroller folded up into it's stowing position, with both Elsa and Britta still in it. Actually, Elsa was quite entertained, but Britta was much more aware that something was wrong as her bum began skidding on the ground.

      It was nothing that a warm latte couldn't fix - not for the girls, but it calmed mom's nerves. The Johnston's Canyon walk was no easier, as we arrived amid swarming packs of Eurasian tourists with ice axes clipped to their belts and crampons on their shoes. We made it halfway to the lower falls along a pathway that looked like a hilly speedskating track, and then decided that we loved our children. So, we turned back and went for more coffee. Another victory!

      Coffee is better with food so we found a restaurant filled with bearded men who wore their hair in a bun. Was it run by a religious cult? Maybe, maybe. We had a phenomenal pizza, though. Actually, the bun-wearing bearded hipsters became our gauge of the quality of food in the Canmore restaurants. Many hipsters = great food.

      In addition to the eating, the girls found the pool-side life to be to their liking. All in all is was a great break!

     

Storyteller

I used to listen to radio dramas because my parents loved me enough to banish television from their home. One such radio broadcast presented their weekly drama as a movie for your mind. Well, ladies and gentlemen, tonight it is our distinct pleasure to introduce Britta Grace in her debut performance in the movie for your mind: Found.



Britta reads Found from Joseph Amundrud on Vimeo.

Elsa's First Birthday

     364 days ago, someone was sweating profusely, gripping the hand of their spouse, and breathing raggedly. Whoo-whoo-whoooo. That person was me; my wife was calm and sedate, thanks to the epidural and local anesthetics. Do you think the doctors would give me some of that stuff? No. Not even when they heard that I was going to be a father again.


     They say that women go through unbelievable pain in childbirth. I'm not contesting that- so ladies, move the cursor away from the "unsubscribe" button- but men go through a kind of pain of their own. Ours is endured mostly in silence: rubbing the sleep from our eyes to get the nursing pillow at 2:13am, and again 42 minutes later, changing diapers containing something we know that baby didn't eat, and holding our wives when their hormones swing into "furious".

     It's difficult to measure the lifespan of one wonder in mere minutes, hours, days, months totaling one year. The journey from newborn bundle in swaddling wraps, to the stage I can only describe as bobble-head, to grabsy-handsy, to a semi-upright homo-sapien with the beginnings of language. "Hiiiiiiiiiiiii." Yes, a pleasant hello to you, too.

     I forgot the one pain that fathers feel most acutely - the enormous burst of pride and awe in their daughter, which never dissipates or abates. I love you, Elsa, my little girl.

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.