Spring Shots

Book Look

I thought you all might appreciate an update on what we've been reading lately. (And by "you all" I really mean Egg Mama and my aunt Sallea, the only people I know for sure read this blog.)

Canadians go wild over Canadian artists, musicians, and authors. And I'm all for supporting our artists, but let me be the first to say that I've had it with Robert Munsch. Robert Munsch sucks. He is cutsie-poo in an 'epitome of bad art' kind of way. He's perfect for people who don't think real art is for kids, or vice versa.

Marie Louise Gay, on the other hand, is a genius. We've read every single book of hers our library has to offer, and have bought several that they don't. I have a soft spot for Fat Charlie's Circus (for obvious reasons), and I'm turning Caramba into a puppet show for an upcoming church service. And of course, all the Sam and Stella books are beyond compare.

We`ve also been reading everything we can get our hands on by David Shannon. Charlie clearly identifies with David. Heavily. I was, at first, taken aback by the harsh and rule-driven dynamic of David Goes To School... until I realized it was perfect for explaining to Charlie why he's not going to school! I'm sure that's not what David Shannon intended, but I appreciate the help anyway.

Patience

So... John and Charlie were getting ready to go for a walk. Charlie was engrossed in his low rider (picture Santa and two reindeer with shades on in a red convertible sedan that bounces up and down while playing Low Rider. Thanks again, Sue Ann. No, really.)

And I was trying to get his jacket on him, interfering with his play. Both of us were getting frustrated. I started to explain why we needed to get his jacket on now, and and he turned to me, took a deep breath, and nicely but firmly said,

"Please calm down!"

I went and sat on the couch. He finished whatever scene he was producing in the neverending Charlie show, we put his jacket on, and everyone was happy.

Dinner Conversation

Charlie: Is this my ketchup?

Mommy: Yes. It's our ketchup, it's your ketchup and my ketchup and Daddy's ketchup.

Charlie: It's our ketchup? And we keep it in the fridge.

Daddy: Yes. That's where our food goes.

Charlie: What's that? (pointing at a bottle of beer)

Mommy: That's my beer.

Charlie: Is it our beer?

Mommy: No, it's my beer. Beer is just for adults.

Charlie: No, it came from the fridge, so it's our beer. I want some of my beer.

(Note: He settled for apple juice. Same colour as beer, and also, satisfyingly, from the fridge.)

Ho Ha Hee

And, of course, Easter eggs.

More Ho

We ran out of cookies.

Luckily, Santa likes hot dogs, too.

Ho Ho Hooey

The Santa craze continues.

It's March.

I thought we were past it, I really did. It's been weeks since Charlie has asked to make presents out of playdoh, or compelled me to play the part of Prancer, or even tried to climb up on the roof to search for evidence of a sleigh.

Yesterday, out of the blue, he said, "Where's Santa Claus? I miss him," with a heavy sigh. "Ah well, he's making presents at the North Pole. So it's okay. But I miss him."

Today he concocted a beverage for Santa, made from flour, water, and a healthy dose of Abuelita syrup (yes, it's our secret Nestle shame). He put it out with a plate of chocolate cookies, then wandered off in a deliberately casual manner. `Cause you never know.

I thought about disabusing him from his jolly notions, but who am I to go up against the Big Guy? And after all... the cookies were delicious.