Happy New Year!

Last night.

Outside.

Watching the fireworks with M, TLG, Big B, and The Dynamic Duo C & B.

I couldn't help but think, there was no place I would rather be.

A Song

Should I stay or should I go now? It's not just a song I like to sing. It's a question I keep asking myself.

I Don't Know. It's Just Something.

This morning I woke up with David Byrne's "You May Find Yourself" playing in my head.

I used to read his blog. He visited Manila a few years ago. If I recall he took his bike...

It Just Keeps On Rolling.

A hard week or a hard day doesn't necessarily mean it's been a bad week or a bad day. That's my positive thought for the day. Or so I've been telling myself... In reality, I feel like pushing the armoire against the door so nobody can come in.

When The Meh Factor Increases.

I knew it would be a meh day when I woke up with a splitting headache. Maybe TLG sensed it too. He opted to stay in bed. So two advils later, I found myself trudging down the aisles pushing a cart that seemed to weigh as much as a dead orka. The Coors song in the background only made me want to cry. The Dynamic Duo C and B were doing their shopping. I was too distracted to notice that C didn't follow our m.o. Hence, the near identical outfits. B calls it "the old lady uniform." (When did a white tee and jeans become old school?) I spent the better part of the afternoon going over my closet. I had been saving my favorite pregnant jeans. It reminded me of a happy time: The anticipation of TLG and all that came with motherhood. Not to mention, they were just a really great pair of jeans. This afternoon though, they looked different. Almost smaller. Since I was in a masochistic mood, I decided to try them on. Pregnant pants fit. Mind you, I am not pregnant. Plus they turned into capris. Did they shrink? Did I get taller? Oh sheep. Clearly it's time to say goodbye.

My horoscope says my "Cancerian passion will ignite, so look forward to a great sex life this month." Now I am just laughing. And in the words of TLG, "I am serious. I really am."

Man(ny) of the Hour

Spent the morning at the Legaspi Market watching the Manny Pacquiao fight with TLG and the Dynamic Duo C. and B. Everyone crowded round the large screen telly cheering wildly. TLG and I found the perfect spot by the bico and suman vendor. So we stood there, enjoying our crepes and cotton candy. It was a perfect day. Not too hot but sunny. The Pacman did us proud. And I had a darned good crepe. Plus TLG didn't complain!

Another Saturday

It's our first Saturday without M. TLG surprised me by getting dressed and brushing his teeth without any prodding. All done by ten am. Then off we went to Seattle's Best to have our

routine cap. And in TLG's case, an order of spaghetti. The dynamic duo C. and B. decided to join us at the super mercado. TLG packed his little cart with the essentials: industrial sized chocolate Quick, Strawberry syrup, a box of strawberries (even though he doesn't eat them), ten cups of swiss yogurt (the current fave), Gatorade, juice, three boxes of cereal (one for Big B), a tub of vanilla ice cream and orange popsicles ("I don't eat chocolate ice cream anymore. I'm serious."). He even managed to remember in his toiletries. (baby bath, mouthwash, toothpaste). I was impressed.

M. if youre reading this, I think you would have been very proud of TLG. He took the initiative today and came forward. We had a good day. We miss you lots. Have a great Saturday.

Halloween

I can't believe it's been a year since the last pumpkin I carved. I did two. One for each of the boys.

A red battery operated light sat inside the larger one. I have to say, it looked good. Just the right amount of creepy. The pumpkin duo sat on TLG's desk for the longest time. M finally tossed them when one shriveled up and the other collapsed on itself. They looked dreadful but still, I felt sad seeing them go... I don't feel like carving a pumpkin this year. There's so much going on. I feel like I've lost my equilibrium. I need to get it back. Or at least, find someone who can help me get there.

Maybe I should carve a pumpkin. Maybe I need something routine and expected.

I just need to know that everything will be ok.

Neither Here. Nor There.

That's exactly how I feel. Stuck somewhere in the middle. I've never been in this picture:

When circumstances have it, that one partner is left in place and the other may possibly

move on. There aren't time lines or margins. Maybe a year. Maybe two. I'll be here. I'll be

there. Leaving in a week. Maybe two. Away for a month. Maybe more. Maybe less. I hate

to rain on your parade. BUT IT'S POURING OVER HERE.

There Go The Pancakes.

I wanted to make a late evening snack for TLG and myself. The plan was whole wheat pancakes with chocolate chips. That is, till I saw the bugs. First the wheat pancake mix. Then two bags of wheat flour. And the oatmeal. The pancakes were scrapped. The flour and pancake mix tossed into the trash bin. TLG is now fast asleep. But the little black mealy bugs that have invaded my kitchen are far from forgotten. I ended up googling "How to get rid of bugs in flour?" and "Is it safe to consume flour with bugs?" I've learned that, next time, I need to store the flour in the fridge. And while nobody could positively say whether it was safe or not to use flour inhabited by bugs, I would really rather not. The thought of bug poop and microscopic eggs is just gross. Blasted bugs. Where the hell do they come from?

That's My Boy.

Walking to Tutor Club:

TLG: "Is Uncle E. 90 years old?"

Me: "Of course not!"

Me: "What about me? How old do I look?"

TLG: "Somewhere in your twenties."

Me: "What about daddy?"

TLG: "Well in his fifties."

*smile*

Oops, He Did It Again.

TLG has broken his arm again. We just had the cast removed last Saturday. He should have been wearing his splint. But he just finished his bath and was running through the flat (as he normally does) when he tripped on Rocco. I didn't see him fall but I heard the loud thud. The silence after was enough to make me run out of the bedroom. Sure enough, there he was, holding his arm and trying to fight back the tears. "It doesn't hurt so much." So here we are again, with the fourth cast and second broken arm in six weeks. I also forgot to mention the black eye. One of the boys threw a paddle at last week's play date. It landed on TLG's face. This clearly has not been TLG's month.

M. has called from Moscow. He's filled with news about schools, sim cards, new phones, and residential areas. Hearing all this information just fills me with anxiety. I want to say, "I am good where I am at. Why can't we just stay still for a moment." I am not interested in any Skype calls this evening. Not tonight.

Finnish School

I was trying to ease TLG into the possibility of attending Finnish school next term

(without going into the issue of language). Apparently, the prospect of fewer students

and a shorter school day wasn't enough.

"My god woman, I'll be the only one who doesn't speak Finnish." was TLG's

exasperated reply.

Beth Ditto and Little Me.

I was chatting with Big B when TLG interrupted: "Mummy, there's a lady on tv with big, scary boobies."

Ditto. Beth Bitto, that is.

Which reminded me of a previous conversation TLG had with ML:

ML: (in the I-Know-What-You-Did tone) "Big B told me you were looking at boobs.

Checking out the girls huh?"

TLG: (seriously flustered) "Uh. No. Um. It wasn't me. Just my mummy's."

The Question Du Jour

Last night, before bed:

"Is a bagel a dog from Sweden?"

It's How you Say It!

TLG's favorite expression is "duh."

"Du-uh" with a whole lot of attitude. The first time "duh" came into his vocabulary was last year. M asked me, "What is this dough thing?" I could only say, "huh?" TLG could only roll his eyes at his very clueless father and say, "Well du-uh!"

Flashback to five years ago. C got TLG the sleeping Ernie doll. I thought it was the cutest thing. I never had a doll that had a tummy that moved up and down when it was sleeping. Plus it snored! Well it terrified TLG. Sadly Ernie was relegated to the back of the toy closet. One evening, TLG told M about Ernie.

"Who is this Arne that TLG's talking about? He says he's creepy." I could only say, "huh?"

*Ernie has now become Scandi.

What have I learned? It's how you say it!

Some Memorable Conversation

I've enrolled TLG in a math tutorial. The broken arm may have limited his physical activities but there's no reason why we can't have a little brain exercise. Besides TLG likes math. On assessment day he was in a terrible mood. He refused to come out of his tent. My pleading turned to threats. Long story short, we got there on time. His bad mood left me wondering how well he would do.

Apparently, I was worried for nothing:

Lady Director: "what do you want to do when you grow up?"

TLG: "I want to go to cooking school."

Lady Director: "You want to be a chef."

TLG: "Of course not. I just want to learn to cook. I am going to be a billionaire when I grow up. I am hiring my brother to be my butler."

Lady Director: "Does your brother know you have plans of hiring him?"

TLG: "No. But by that time, he'll be too old to care."

'Journey to the Centre of the Earth' (another movie night)

It's past bedtime. I just want The Little Guy in bed.

Me: "It's way past bedtime."

TLG:"Can I watch a movie?"

Me: "No."

TLG:"Can I watch a movie?"

Me: "No."

TLG: "Broken arm." (head tilted. eyes big. arm held out)

Me: "It's way past bedtime."

TLG:"Broken arm." (repeat above listed actions)

TLG:"Broken arm." (repeat above listed actions)

Me: "What are we watching?"

He knows how to work it.

I am too tired to deal.

Hans and M.

We were getting ready for bed when out of the blue, The Little Guy asked about Hans.

TLG: "Where is Hans now?"
Me: "uh (looking at tv. CNN is featuring South Africa)...He's in Africa."
TLG: "When will he be back?"
Me: "I don't know but I promise you, you'll be the first one to know when he's back."
TLG: "Just like I'll be the first to know when dad leaves for Moscow."
Me: "Promise" (sigh. Change is hard)

There are changes coming. The Liitle Guy knows it. When M. is not in sight, he asks me
if he's already left for Moscow. I always try to reassure him that nobody's going anywhere
without telling him first.

Balls. And Not The Kind That Bounce.

I was truly flabergasted when the Little Guy asked me if I had balls. Quite frankly, I was stunned. OG. Did he actually believe Big B. "No. No. Mommies don't have balls." I said. I really
wanted to say, "bigger then some Boo. Bigger then some."

Sunday School

We had an interview for Sunday School. Or rather pre-Holy Communion Class.
I wondered why we had to do an interview. It wasn't like the Little Guy was buying a flat
on Park Avenue and had to be screened by a board. I figured they either have space for him
or not. The stern not-so-friendly looking lady conducting this thing asked him to do the sign
of the cross. I could tell the Little Guy was getting rattled. He started rambling on about
something then his eyes went all teary. His hands were motionless. Then she asked if he memorized any prayers. We only do free style I said. You know, "we just talk." "Yes. Yes," she mumbled. In my mind, I was saying, "Big Stern Lady, why should my kid memorize something he wont understand?" I am forty and I still don't understand some of this stuff. I won't even bother going into the idea of confession. Sorry but I don't do the middle man thing. I certainly won't take penance from someone I've just met and have committed nothing against. In the end, it was determined that there was one spot left. Will the Little Guy be taking it? Gee, I could say, "Darn, we were playing hockey on Sunday morning. " but how does that look? I am already the bad Catholic mommy who doesn't teach her son the basics of being a good Catholic. "Well this is my priority," I said. "I am so glad to hear that." says the stern not-so-friendly looking lady rather quickly. Almost kind of like she was expecting me to say something else. Hmmm, I wondered, where there any other hockey playing mommies earlier? I ask how long this course will be. It seems the Little Guy is somewhat behind schedule. It will take him a year to catch up. So much for the six week course I had envisioned. Boy was I way off! On the way to the car, the Little Guy says "I don't want to do Holy Communion and I don't want to go to Sunday School. I'ld rather play hockey." "Last week you told me you hate hockey." I said. "I changed my mind. Anything is better then this." he says as he gets into the car.

It Was Love At First Sight.

Pedro Garcia you've made me fall in love. My heart skipped a beat when I spotted those babies. I couldn't wait to get home to give M a fashion show. We were barely out of the parking garage when I whipped 'em out and put them on. With feet up in the air, I proudly proclaimed,"Behold the beauty that are my feet."

Memory Lane And When Moomins Become Downright Creepy

Every so often, M. likes to travel down memory lane. Literally. We drive down the street and the house he lived in when he was the Little Guy's age. He points to the school that he used to study at and the spot where the skating rink used to be. ("We would walk there with our skates on.") Down the road was his best friend's house and the place where they made a fort out of some old discarded wood. Not to be forgotten, the dairy farm they would buy milk from. It was on one of these drives, that I spotted the 'moomin house.' A typical wooden house with little moomins pasted on every window and two life sized moomins by the front door. Sitting on the steps between the two giant moomins was a long haired raggy looking guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a beer bottle in hand.

(This is probably the creepy neighbor (complete with moomin fetish) your parents tell you to stay away from.)

"Can I have a bite of your munkki?" (It was too good to pass up as a title.)

I've been covertly surprised that the Little Guy has made no shopping demands. There was a whirlwind 'mini' spree at Fazer. The "need" for assorted candies and chocolate filled eggs were satisfied in ten minutes. Probably even less when you count cue and packing time. Then the Little Guy spotted the ice cream bar at the corner. And just like that, the munkki on his plate wasn't good enough to fill a "very hungry" stomach.

Good Morning

5.30 am. I can't sleep anymore so I've decided to park myself on the kitchen table and catch up on email. It's light grey outside and the house is quiet. I mean really very, very quiet. I can actually hear the kitchen clock ticking. The Little Guy has just woken up. He's shouted "MAAAAAA." I can hear the panic in his voice. He's just realised he isn't home and the parental duo are nowhere in sight. Sure enough, the door swings open and here he comes. His arms swing around my neck and I embrace his not-so-little compact body. His hair smells good. For all the independence he's shown lately, he's still my baby. It's time to get moving. We have a 9 am flight to Moscow.

Here We Are

Here we are. It's been a long, long day. It's past 8 pm here in Finland.
The sun is up and the Little Guy is somewhere about. He's just been in the sauna and is far from sleepy. Tomorrow we take the show on the road to Moscow. Hope all fares well.

Are My Ears Bleeding Yet?

It's nearly 8.30 pm and bedtime is clearly out of the picture. The Little Guy is running circles around me. Literally. He runs to and from the kitchen with his stuffed blue snake with missing eyes, dragging on the floor. I can tell Yaya Eva is trying to get him to shush but it's not working. His shrill screams are piercing my ears. My body actually stiffens with every shriek. I wonder if I can lure him to sit by me by offering to make hot chocolate (last night's late night activity). Then I think twice. I don't care to add to the evening's sugar high. This only makes me think of the pop tart I am about to finish. This is just one of those days where everybody annoys me and my to-do-list has gone out the window. Oh yeah, I feel like a sausage wearing workout clothes.

Camping In

9.45 pm. The Little Guy has set camp in my bedroom. Next to my side of the bed to be exact. From inside his tent (an Ikea buy from four years ago), I can hear him. I'm not sure who's keeping him company. Could be the Transformer gang (some of them are on my bed) or maybe it's the 'Action Figure' crew. Could be the Playmobil posse too. Wonder how long this camping thing will last?

Age Is Relative When Youre Seven...And Swine Flu

While the Little Guy was getting ready for his bath he asked me if M was really 50 years old. "Yup. He really is," I said. "I guess he'll be dead soon." he says as he tosses his clothes into the hamper. I'm actually taken aback by his nonchalance. It's the same tone he uses when telling me he's going to get a glass of water. Or going to the toilet. I am superstitious so this doesn't sit well with me. "What do you mean he's going to be dead soon?" "Well he's fifty. That's really old. If a heart attack doesn't get him a stroke will." He pauses for a minute, then adds, "And of course, there's swine flu."

Sundae Love

Yesterday I bought all the makings for ice cream sundaes. This weekend we've been busy warming fudge, chopping cashews, making chocolate curls (from the giant Milka bar), and spraying whipped cream.



Life is sweet.

Just Call Ms. Muscle

I've had to buy larger sized jeans just to accomodate my hips.
If exercising three to four times a week isn't cutting it, it must seriously be
a diet thing. (Damn that cookie I ate this morning and the one I am longing to eat right now!) M. casually asks if I've gained muscle. Uh...Have you ever heard of anyone gaining muscles on their hips???

Goodbye Tooth No. 4

I came home to find a note informing me that the Little Guy lost tooth number 4 while eating an apple. Apprarently, after it fell out, the Little Guy put his hands together, closed his eyes, and said "Please let me get one thousand. Please let me get one thousand.....oh, wait. Just make that three."

So it seems, my earlier lecture (sort of) worked. The Little Guy has decided to appeal to a higher power.

The Barber Is A Trekkie

I've learned that there's a fine line between a little boy's haircut (aka. the 'bowl' haircut) and the Mr. Spock 'do.

Time Is Relative When Youre Seven.

M. had been in Finland the past week. The Little Guy didn't seem to mind till a couple of nights before M.'s arrival. It was bedtime, when from under the duvet, he complained, "he's been away for two months now." I assured him that it had only been a week. A week being equivalent to seven days. And the following day M. would be back home. He poked his head from under the covers to tell me, "In three days I'm not going to remember him anymore." It broke my heart to see the Little Guy so sad. And it made me want to beat M. with his friggin mobile phone for always calling when the Little Guy was asleep. Hence a quick text to M. regarding the depressed state of his son. Shortly thereafter, my phone rang and it was M. I passed the phone to the Little Guy. From the Little Guy's spot under the duvet, I could hear, "Dad when I am eight can you....."

Tooth No. 3

The Little Guy's upper right front tooth had (literally) been hanging around for ages.
This morning he asked me to make an appointment with the dentist. I kept reassuring him that by tomorrow the above mentioned wiggly-hanging-by-a-thread nuisance of a tooth would be gone. Sure enough, this evening, as the Little Guy jumped up and down in bed, it fell out.
Shock. Disbelief. And a trip to the bathroom mirror brought home the reality.

"Now what about that rat and his friend the tooth fairy?"

It's My Day.

A bouquet of amaryllis and roses. A tall white chocolate mocha (ok. my choice morning beverage is always a short non-fat cap.but hey, it's Mother's Day), pastries from The Pen, and the promise that there's no mess in the kitchen. Now that's a great way to start the day...Happy Mother's Day!

An Addendum To The Plan

The Little Guy: "I forgot I might need to borrow dad when I move out."

Me: "Why is that?"

The Little Guy: "I can't drive. So dad has to drive for me if I need to get around. But don't worry, I'll still sit in the back. It's safer."

Me: "Ok. I'll let your dad know he's still needed when you move out."

The Little Guy: "Thanks."

Just Reminding You

We were on the way home from school. M was driving with the Little Guy on the passenger side. I sat behind.

"I just want to remind you that I am starting my new life when I turn eleven," says the Little Guy. M. asks what his plans are. "First I am dropping out of school. Then I am buying a German Shepard. And I am getting my own place," the Little Guy says without a hitch.

"Where do you plan on living?" I ask. "I'm moving to Finland. The summer house. But I decided I'm only speaking in English."

And he's just turned seven.

If You Feel Like It

M. is off to Kuala Lumpur. The Little Guy asks for his usual sweet treats but "if you feel like you need to get me a nice toy, go ahead. I won't mind."

It's A Plan

This morning while waiting for the car:

The Little Guy: "I'm quitting school when I turn eleven."

Me: "No, youre not."

The Little Guy: "Yes, I am. I'm getting my own place too."

Me: "Why would you do that?"

The Little Guy: "Because I want a head start."

Imogen

My song du jour. Now if only I could move it to this side of the page...But really, the Little Guy just makes me want to sing out loud. "Why do you have to be so cute?" And with those big blue eyes, he says, "because I am your son."

of Bunnies, Easter Eggs, and a Birthday Cake.

To my three guys: Happy Easter...Remember: I always hide the easter eggs in the most obvious places. You just have to LOOK!

To my dear M.: Happy, Happy Birthday!

Pilates

I was dreading going to pilates class. It's been three weeks since I last went. A pinched nerve and Big B's hospital stay were enough to make me hibernate.

But it was time to get moving.

So with a stiff left leg and bloated body, I made my way to class. It's amazing what a little pushing here and coaxing there can do. What seemed nearly impossible became do-able. And just like that, I suddenly had a renewed faith in this tired body of mine.

It felt good!

I have faith in my body. I have faith in me. I have faith in what I can do.

(Was this a post pilates endorphin rush induced thought I wondered. I don't care. I'll take it.)

It's Just Stuff

I am glad that March is almost over. It's been a hard month. Big B's hospital stay on the 5th was trying. In the eleven years since we've diagnosed his seizure disorder, it's always been go, go, go. It has just always been. We do what needs to be done. And that's it. Maybe it's age. Maybe it was a combination of things. Maybe it was coming home from the hospital and he wasn't with me. But for the first time, I felt what it would be like to not have him. Here. With me. It was un-nerving and frightening. The realisation, that I could have lost him forever was overwhelming. The feeling of despair was an understatement.The funny thing is, he'll get over this. Maybe it's his age. Or his somewhat irreverent attitude towards life.

(I wish I could say the same for myself).

My days are organized by lists. Every evening, I make my list and slowly tick them off as the day goes along. Even the silliest, most trivial things make it to my list. Now, it is what it is. Just a list. And these are just things to do. In the end, it's just stuff.

George W. Bush

It just occured to me that the Little Guy hasn't mentioned George W. Bush in weeks. I think it's safe to assume the novelty/ curiosity has waned. I think this whole George thing began when he asked who B's father was. I jokingly said it was George Bush. Big mistake. The Little Guy took me seriously. Then election fever came. He wanted to know how George became president. What would happen if he didn't win? Does George live in Washington? Is Barack more popular then George? Blah. Blah. Blah. Then we asked the boys where they wanted to go for the summer. "Texas" was the very solemn answer. Totally flabergasted, I asked why? "Because George Bush lives in Texas."

Thank You

The Little Guy came home with a present for me.
A classmate had a birthday and cupcakes were shared with the class.
The Little Guy saved half his cupcake for me.

Who would have thought a smooshed half-eaten vanilla cupcake with
light blue frosting could have been any sweeter.

Bedtime Story

I've been hoping to get the Little Guy into story books. I guess I've just grown tired of reading about insects, reptiles, and the fish of Southeast Asia. Not that there's anything wrong with this whole bug/fish thing, but it would be nice to get back into the more traditional themed bedtime story. You know, one that doesn't involve scientific names and geographical descriptions that I can't pronounce. Today we spent the afternoon at the school media centre. As expected the Little Guy headed straight to the non-fiction books. After twenty minutes, he returned with an armful of (more) bug books. So much for change I thought. We finally compromised. Since the maximum number of checked out books is six, we chose three apiece. This evening's reading was called 'Salmon.' On the plus side, I now know that a newly hatched salmon is called a fry and a young salmon is a parr.

What A Boy Wants

What a boy wants. What a boy needs. Some night vision goggles to use when hanging under the covers. "Cause it's cooler then a flashlight."

Of Barbie and Action Figures

"Pack away your dolls," I said. And just like that, Big B and the Little Guy whip their heads around, at what looks like a sweeping 180 degree angle. Like a scene from the exorcist, eyes glaring, they hiss in unison, "They're not dolls....They're...action figures." Creepy. I could never imagine my sister C, channeling Linda Blair if Barbie was called an "action figure." Little Guy informs me that action figures are not dolls. They have arms and legs that move. They can do all kinds of things. I just rolled my eyes. Hmmm. Whatever.

Flashback to the seventies. My sister loved Barbie. She had the whole kaboodle and some. My link to Barbie was the lone Skipper doll I owned. She was like Barbie's poor relative. The only piece of clothing she possessed was the lime green two piece swim suit she came in. There may have been a life jacket too.

Last year B (C's daughter) passed the Barbies, Headless Ken (His head was taped on. It was lost in a pretend skiing accident) and his brother Plastic Hair Ken, their huge house, and car to the Little Guy. Along with the dream house and Corvette came a wardrobe straight out of the late seventies and early eighties. There was no way in hell that the Little Guy was playing with the Barbies. So they stayed in the box they arrived in. Headless Ken and his brother Plastic Hair Ken were another story though. They moved into the huge pink house and started hanging with the Action Figures. Before we knew it, the Kens had not only taken over the house and car, the Little Guy had taken to squeezing them into Barbie's shiny tight wardrobe. Big B and M were slightly distressed at seeing the Kens and Action guys tooling around the flat wearing tight pants, tube tops and boas. The Little Guy was oblivious to the fact, that the Action Guys had transformed into the Village People. This was just all too fun for him. Afterall, Action Figures don't come with a furnished house, car and accesories.

Unfortunately peer pressure and gender issues doomed the Kens. It was impossible for me to push the huge pink house into the closet and we couldn't paint it black (as requested). The final straw came when the Little Guy's posse came for a visit. Later that evening, the Little Guy asked me to give away the Barbie gang.

(Enter: Playmobil.)

A Good Day For Golf

M and the Little Guy wanted to play golf. Truth be told, it's not my thing. I was torn between staying in and bonding with Big B or giving M a break. (Translated: Keep Little Guy entertained when his attention span has reached its golfing limit.) In the end, the golf course won out and off we went.

Despite the uncooperative weather and the all too short attention span, Little Guy played his best game ever. He managed to hit a 130 yard drive on the 8th hole and played par on the 4th hole par 4. I watched from the golf car as M proudly shouted out, "It's a real par! A real par!" I could see M beaming with fatherly pride as his chubby progeny enthusuastically made in the direction of the bunker (translated: giant sand box).

When my two boys made their way back to the cart, M announced that Little Guy was "destined to be a golfer." No doubt, the day's events had renewed his hope that there would be a golfing future for the Little Guy. A far cry from two weeks ago, when he bleakly informed me, that he had accepted that Little Guy just wasn't into golf.

Indeed, it was a good day for golf!

Hamster

Happy 7th Birthday Little Boo!

It's your 7th birthday Little Guy!

Seven things about you that make me smile:

(1) The way you cheerfully shout "I am home!" when you arrive from school.
(2) The way you smell. Sweet, spicy, and cinamon-ny.
(3) The kisses you blow and catch.
(4) Your generosity with hugs.
(5) The way you say "aw-right" and "oh-kay."
(6) Your willingness to please a grumpy Big Brother.
(7) Your love of family time. Movie Night. Hockey Wednesdays...

Little Guy's Virtual Menagerie

The turtles, fishes, frog, and spider (on the right side) are what we get when Little Guy can't sleep. Since we vetoed the prospect of having any turtle in the flat, this was the next best thing. Besides, there was some entertainment value in choosing their colours. I admit, I was a tad disappointed that Little Guy deemed my choice of pink for one turtle and red for ikku pikku as way "too girly." Never mind. Next on the agenda, to look for a virtual pet snake.

Fish

Let's "Manitate!"

We talk about all kinds of things during bathtime. This evening, Little Guy

told me his classmate and tennis/ wall climbing buddy S. "manitates." "What's that?" I asked.

Between dunking his head in the bathwater, Little Guy explains, "S. says he closes his eyes and he can see the future." I finally get it! "I think you mean 'meditate.' (carefully pronouncing each syllable) So what did the future look like?" (Now I am just curious). "S. says it's boring. You know, just a whole lot of dinosaurs." As he goes under again, an image of very (really very) mature people comes to mind. I tell myself, I am sure S. wasn't thinking of old people but rather, the real thing. Little Guy pops his head up from under the water again and says,"Can we start manitating too?"

Bart. Jack. You say 'tow-may-toe' I say 'toh-mah-tow'

It was bedtime when Big Brother came in. Sebi was in bed, arranging the stuffies when Big B recognized one of his old one's.

Big B picks up the old faded basset hound stuffie.

Sebi: "That's Jack."

Big B: "No, it's not! This is Bart. You just can't re-invent him. He was mine!"

When Big B leaves the room...

Sebi: "Good night Jack."