...the new puppy...

It's not unusual to come into my kitchen and see a cute blonde boy and a big white hairy dog curled up on the carpet. Usually the boy is feeding the dog his peanut butter sandwich or individual pieces of kibble. The dog is usually slapping his tail on floor with a happy thump, thump. I love their relationship. From the day Little T came into our home almost three years ago they have loved each other. When all the people around him were still strangers that big gentle dog was a safe place to head for a hug. Little T doesn't care if she smells, or leaves hairs all over his clothes. Their love is unconditional and their relationship has warmed my heart.

And that is why I was so concerned when our dog went missing.

During the warmer weather she sleeps outside and has an invisible fence collar to ensure she doesn't wander out of the backyard. The collar is largely uneccessary as she is generally found sunning in my garden beds or lounging in the sandbox under the deck - or playing with the kids. When I went out on Sunday morning I didn't see her anywhere. We were on our way to take the girls to camp and rushing around so I sent Coco out to fill up her food bowl and water and soon we were off to camp.

That night I completely forgot about checking on her and Monday morning I went out to give her food and the bowl was still full. Then I began to worry. We hunted through the neighbourhood, called the vets and dog catcher but no one had seen her. She had seemingly gone missing.

I don't think it fully hit me as I expected to look out the window and see our white furry friend come bounding up to the front door to see his best friend. But she did never show up. And my mind went quickly to Little T and what we were going to tell him. I called him over and gave him the news. He looked up and matter-of-factly stated we needed to get a new dog. As if it would never occur to a four year old that a house would not have a dog in it.

When my husband and I spoke about it that night he agreed that we needed to look for a new dog for Little T. But we both agreed that we would never find a dog more gentle and perfect anywhere.

I got on the internet the next day and began researching breeds and sizes and availability. We agreed on one breed that we wanted to look at and found a place nearby to go visit. That night we headed out with little T and his brother Coco to see the dogs.

And, that night we came home with a little 10 week old Schnauzer/Wheaton terrier cross. Her name is Lucy and she is a little perky doll. She is remarkably quiet and cuddly for a puppy and Little T is beside himself with happiness. He has been carrying that dog around everywhere creating another special puppy/boy relationship.

I wasn't really sure I wanted to take on another pet. When our golden came into our house whe was already 2 years old, well mannered and extremely hairy. I cleaned up fur constantly wondering what I had gotten myself into. There were many days I wished we lived in a pet-free house. And when she went missing I thought back to those days wondering if we could be free of that. And then I looked at Little T and remind myself of the love they share. I counted the cost of the training, the pooping and peeing, the grooming, the vet bills, the whole package. It was going to cost me convenience and stretch me to clean up messes but it was going to give our children, especially Little T a relationship that is worth the cost. When we got to the breeders the puppies all looked exactly the same. How were we going to chose. And then we picked up little Lucy and I handed her to my husband. She promptly laid her head down on his hand and made herself at home...and we just had to bring her home.

We will miss our big puppy - maybe someone will find her and bring her home and we will have double the mess and double the joy. But if not we will enjoy little Lucy and this new puppy chapter and remember fondly our big white mutt.

...leave it to beaver has nothing on us...

We went to look at an awesome old house in town this week. I have been through it before the last two times it has been for sale. Both times we decided that it was more than we could afford and walked away. When we saw the for sale sign this time around, even with the increased price tag we considered it again. So earlier this week we trekked around the property, tape measure in hand, checking old beams, sloped floors and possibilities.

I have to confess that I am a sucker for an old house. If only the walls could speak I would sit and listen to the stories of marriages and babies, of celebrations and wars, of change and progress. It was that I thought of as we wandered the halls countless padded feet had called home. This house, I found out, was the birthplace of Horatio Walker. I didnt know who that was until a few weeks ago when we visited the art gallery in Montreal and saw his name on a painting from our hometown. His art hangs in many art galleries in Canada as well as the Smithsonian and New York Art Galleries in the USA. Visions of a Bed & Breakfast danced through my brain.

Having lived and renovated a few old homes I tend to look critically at things most romantics might overlook. Dry rot, decaying stairs and porches, overgrown gardens, leaky roofs and uneven floors. Not to mention lack of air conditioning and closet space. If I have learned one thing a coat of paint, no matter how nice the colour, does not hold a house up.

But this house was in pretty good shape and we are finally in a position to afford a real renovation where we could hire people and everything. So we left and thought... Back and forth we went that night, discussing the ideas for improvements, how to market a B&B etc. We just didnt come up with a clear and peaceful answer.

The next night I went out to water the garden. I love to stand hose in hand and give refreshment to my plants. I imagine them perking up and blooming for me. As I stood by the pool trying to revive a drooping hydrangea I heard the sound of the kids screaming.

My son Coco had discovered a nest of mice under the composter. Enough that if you lifted the side you could see them scurry away. It didn't take long for him to bring over the neighbours to see the brood. As he lifted the composter a critter scurried across the vegetable garden only to be caught stunned under the hockey stick of a 12 year old boy. And that's when the squeals began. Within a few minutes there were a half dozen or so kids chasing the mouse all over the lawn, grabbing at whatever they could find to catch it. Alas, it was the hockey stick that again caught the dazed mouse under its blade. Somehow they caught it up in one of my Ikea laterns off the patio. Inside its little prison the all came running over to me huge grins on all their faces. I smiled at their prize and turned the hose on the crew. Again screams filled the backyard as they all went running for cover.

Then I smiled. Before we built the house we live in this yard was just a cornfield. I watched the machines come and dig a foundation while I dreamed. I wanted my children to grow up like Beaver and Wally. With a street filled with friends of every age. Where I didn't have to make play dates but rather, after dinner people just headed outside to play. Where spontaneous games of hide and seek intermingled with the discovery of rodents. Where the neighbours looked out for your children and trusted you to look out for theirs. It was a great dream but the reality is so much better. I love that we can give my guys this kind of childhood. I'm thankful that it still exists.

And, as we walk these halls, we leave stories also...hidden in walls that remain silent. But the memories are clear in our hearts and minds.

Another round of screams erupts from the side of the house, its the mouse again. I focus again on watering my plants and smile. Sometimes decisions are not decided on paper but in the the laughter of children.

...mystery in the news

A mystery was revealed in the news this week...only a few blocks from where I grew up, in a house that looks very similar, a package was found. The "Package" contained a tiny mummified baby boy wrapped in newspapers, dated 1925. An initial autopsy was done that determined the baby was not murdered, nor did he die of a disease however, they were unable to determine whether the baby had been born alive. Further searching by reporters noted that a couple purchased the house in 1925 and it was sold by the state in 1941 when the man died and the wife was living in a Psyciatric hospital. What was she tormented about?? I want to know... Was it her son or someone she knew...

I've stated before I hate to NOT know something. I remember being a child and hearing about a young girl who had gone missing. Every time we would drive somewhere the news would be on and I would hear further details that had been divulged about the investigation. It may have been the result of reading too many Trixie Belden books but I grabbed an empty notebook and set out to find some answers. I titled my page: "Who Killed ____ _____" which of course was the headline. And then I wrote down the facts as I knew them, figuring that once I got the details straight, me, not the police, would have the answer... or not...

This baby in the ceiling story though, begun long before I was born, grips me. I want to know what happened. I want to know who these people were. What was going on and why she was sent to the asylum. If the news doesn't divulge this information I may just have to sit down at a keyboard and create my own story - if only to satisfy me own curiosity

...the Clampetts hit the Concrete Jungle...Day One...

So I’m wondering if this past weekend was someone’s way of giving me blog fodder ‘cause it was choc' full of stuff. We took the three older kids on a mini vacation to Montreal to soak up the French culture of our Quebec neighbours. It was a road trip - eight hours of driving across the province. I spent the earlier part of the week planning, catching up on laundry (my Favourite pastime - ha!) And perusing the internet for things to do and places to eat that would give us the whole experience. Big T booked a hotel on this site where you choose the number of "Stars" you want to pay for and they suprise you with a hotel that has a cheap room available. We got a 4-Star Sheraton room for just over a hundred dollars a which was a far cry from their $300 regular price - the reviews online were mixed but thie weekend was all about spontanaiety and I could rough it at the Sheraton right?! So what if the tiles are onlyceramic and not tumbled marble...we were ready!

The morning dawned - VERY EARLY. After last minute packing and sandwich making til after midnight we were tired. The crew packed everything in the car, got Little T settled at Pre-school reminding him that Grandpa was going to pick him up at lunch and off we went.
The day was bright and the fields we sped past were green and teeming with cows and horses enjoying an early morning breakfast of grass and sunshine. We broke out the fruit and veggies and sat back for the drive...

The first leg of the trip was to end at one of my favorite places - IKEA!! Yep, I got my fix wandering around the biggest of all big box stores. Heaven - pure bliss! I got great deal on a terracotta planter that I’m going to fill with succulents and a million ideas on how to arrange MDF laden, ready to assemble, strap it to the roof of your car and bring it home furniture. We ended by springing for the obligatory 75 cent frozen yogurt for the kids and off we were.

With five and a half hours left we also made a stop at my other favorite big box store, Chapters, (also known as Borders I think in the USA). We picked up an audio version of Tuck Everlasting to listen to while we drove. It was a good book and made me think a whole lot for a children’s novel... perhaps another blog??

As dinner time closed in we finally saw the sign - Welcome to Quebec - only it was in French! After that every sign was in French and the kids spent the last leg of the trip attempting to pronounce with reeeeally bad accents all the French words.

And then we were there. Driving down the city streets in all their glory. It felt good to be back in the concrete jungle and all its familiar sites. Overpriced parking lots to begin with. The hotel parking was ON TOP of our room rate and after picking up our little ticket we drove deep through the low ceilinged abyss of the underground lot. Four floors below the sidewalk we finally found a spot, pulled our bags out of the trunk and headed for the elevator.

The hotel was really nice... escpecially the lobby. We requested a room with a view and got one on the 28th floor. Other than the CN tower this was probably the highest building they had ever looked out. I have to admit the view was incredible and I spent a lot of time trying to take a picture of the vista only to continually take a picture of the reflection in the mirror!

We got cleaned up and wandered down to the city streets to find our first French restaurant of the weekend. That’s when reality hit me...my children are like the Country Mice. They have no sense of danger, or the meaning of street lights or crowds. They are so un-citified and think they can talk to everyone they meet. They are their dad’s children in that way. I grew up in Toronto and the energy of the city gets my heart pumping. No where else can you find such diversity in so little square feet. The business man walking purposefully, head held high in his four-thousand dollar suit ambles past the man dressed in rags, looking up from a step, coffee cup in his hand, waiting for a dime. The students in their artsy clothes and trendy hair stand around as if this is their backyard and in a way it is. The women, out on the town, dressed up and adorned with jewellery and perfume walk up the street beside old man, walking with a cane down the familiar street he has traversed for almost seventy years. People, everywhere, some with a place to go, some still looking.

I love to watch them sweep their eyes across the unfamiliar view. To see it for the first time. To know how different their little world really is.

By the time we pulled the covers over our shoulders and tried to settle the troops it was after eleven and the weekend had only just begun.

...when life gets in the way of blogging...

On the camera phone coming out of anesthetic!

Well, ya... that is my excuse for not typing here for almost a month. Not great when my initial goal was to write everyday. The perfectionist in me wants to write an inspired post every time and sometimes in the midst of running after a pre-schooler who has escaped onto the road yet again and trying to educate 3 often unwilling students inspiration is lacking. So, I'm going to forgo the clever excuses and keep writing - not because I have inspiration or even because anyone is reading but because I made that commitment to myself and its a good one to keep.

...and so to sum up the last month of bloglessness we have been enjoying the beautiful weather that has come to our neck of the woods...

We have opened the pool, fertilized the grass, mowed a few times, stained a fence and 2 decks (almost!), tidied the yard and attacked the weeds. We have also spent much time in the hospital since "Pickle" started off the season by breaking the two bones in her forearm... Big T and the older kids were at his baseball game when Pickle fell off the monkey bars she was hanging upside-down on. She came wandering up nonchalantly to the ball diamond and asked one of the girls if her arm was supposed to look like "that". And by "that" she meant bent in a horribly wrong way between the wrist and elbow... She soon found out that no, they were not meant to look that way and a long night in the emergency room was in order.

You know you live in a small town when the doctor has to call her husband a few too many times on his cellphone so that he can leave his post-soccer game to come administer the anathesic to our daughter. Around midnight she finally tracked him down and he came in. Not long afterwards she was fitted with a beautiful green cast.

The next week she had to go to a larger city nearby to see the orthopedic surgeon who removed the cute green cast that was set just below her elbow with a boring white one that is set just below her underarm.

We remedied the white cast with a blanket of colourful sharpies but she still is not happy that she cant move her arm for 6-8 weeks.

Also... our cat Emmy had kittens. They are soo cute! Cats take 9 weeks to gestate. That is wonderful knowledge if you know when she um...had relations with the neighbour cat - but if you just sent her outside because of her incessant meowing you might not recall that date exactly... you will be able to make an educated guess by the size of her growing belly and the discontent that she seemed to be feeling the day of. The evening of actually. She was meowing and complaining and hunting for a spot to birth - even though I had made a nice one. Then, just after dinner she crouched down in the hallway and made a horrible noise. Cookie starts yelling, "Mom. the cats limping, she hurt her leg!!" I counter that her leg is fine but she must be about to have the kittens. I yell for my farm boy husband to come and gently carry her to the box. He respond to the cries by scooping her up before she heads downstairs and as he is heading for the box out drops kitten number one... momma proceeds to stop in the hall to clean her up while Big T proceeds to record the icky goodness with our camera's video tool... I wont post that here. But a few hours later she had given birth to three mini-Emmys and a black kitty and a tabby kitty who obviously look like their dad... One cream baby has died but the other ones are almost a week old and growing and getting cuter by the day.

Other than that - life has been uneventful... just the way we like it!!