mother's day

High time for an update, don't you think?

I do write about four blog posts a week. In my head, that is. I've told you all the funniest stories; uploaded brilliant photos which capture the profound and the mundane from our lives; and just generally added interest and beauty to the world. It's a busy place, my head.

As for the actual blog, not quite so much. But what better time than Mother's Day (well, actually a few days after) to start it all again, I ask you.

This is a spray of wild flowers, collected from our garden. My OTL tries repeatedly to burst my heart with his earnest, sweet ways.
It is dangerous being married to him.

This is my fourth Mother's Day and, I must say, I think I'm almost feeling comfortable with it. The first one was like a surreal dream where I was the leading lady on the opening night of a play I had not yet read the script for. I smiled and took a bow, but was wondering when the audience would cotton on that I was making up my lines as fast as I could act them.

Tiny is a dab hand at the adding and stirring. We are still working on the measuring. 

Each year has grown easier. Tiny now gets it in a way that he hadn't been able to in previous years. He was most interested in the proceedings his Daddy had devised for the day. But I also feel less awkward about sharing the limelight a bit with my own mother, who, let's face it, was The One and Only Mother for the first 36 years of my life.

 

Yes, this year there was a degree of relaxed enjoyment about the day.  I still cried (although that is hardly worth mentioning to those of you who know me well) but I now feel more like a mother than ever before. This is probably because I am constantly saying, "No, you can't watch anymore TV," and that has confirmed my status more than childbirth ever did.

The best part about Mother's Day, I realised early, is that I can do the one thing I love to do most: make spontaneous plans and share the fun with two of my very favourite people on the earth (and the dog).

Fuelled by buckwheat pancakes, bacon, egg and toast, we packed up even more food and set off on a road trip adventure to our nearest spot of wild--Lake Huron and The Pinery.

Wending our way to the beach.

The added bliss of a little crochet on the road. 

Like I said, excursions with two very, very favourites (and the dog).

Just in case you were wondering, it was blowing a gale and bitterly cold. But what better way to blow away the ghosts and the cobwebs and embrace the day for what it is?

Needless to say, we had the beach to ourselves. Of particular delight for Dot the Dog was the unfettered access to fish carcasses for her to eat/roll in etc. (She is a mother, too, you know. It was her day to enjoy as well.)

No prizes for guessing what this dog is thinking.

It was wonderful. We walked, ate, walked, ate and toured around places we'd never been before.

I think I could get used to this. Does it only happen once a year?

good

We have been looking everywhere for spring.

If you look at any blog/twitter feed/news site from North America in the last month you will see the same thing repeated over and again: Where is spring? Why is winter dragging on and on and on and on? How are we to live under these conditions? Waaaaahhhh, etc. I'd like to say that we have risen above such lily-livered attitudes at Chez Furrybees, but that would be lying.

Sure, we've made the best of things.

We've even been to the "beach" in search of fresh air and sunshine. Which we found in some measure. (Australians, yes, that is water. It is frozen water. All of it.)

But mostly we've just had this.

With cheerful mornings, like this.

It has not been hard to work out what this dog is thinking.

Yet we've met the challenge with grace and dignity.*

Today, thanks surely to the Great and Beneficent Goddess Above, the sun actually shone into the house. 

Into. The. House. 

Corners were lit, window sills were warmed, and house plants were given fresh hope. 

Oh, happy day.

So we did the only sensible thing. We went walking with friends.

Now. Two guesses what this dog is thinking.

Happy Easter, everyone. It truly has been a Good Friday.

* For the puzzled, my OTL is wearing a plastic toy boat, Tiny is sporting two sides of a puzzle box as improvised goalie pads, and they are both playing "ice" hockey with the lid of a play-doh container and at least one wooden spoon.

w.i.t.d.t

Here is another in the occasional series, What Is That Dog Thinking?

Probably, "Will the indignities never cease?" I would hazard.

In other news:

Despite it being February, Ding, Dong, Merrily on High is still a hot favourite and good for all occasions. These bells herald not only the birth of Himself for Christmas Day it would seem, but also the beginning of singing for Tiny. Although we were once treated to a whispered medley of nursery rhymes one night on a long trip home in the car, he has truly found his singing stride with Ding Dong. Or, as he likes to say it,  Ding Dong Merry Knee on High.

(If you look closely you'll see he just has snow on his lip,
not two bucked teeth.)

Also, despite it being February, I find I have not made one single New Year's resolution. I haven't even let half of one form vaguely in my mind. This is unprecedented. I put it down to two things. First, last year's list. Second, the fact that I didn't achieve one thing on it. This year I'm just going to let the year unfold organically. I'm sure I will have achieved something by the end.

what

On any given day, Tiny asks us approximately 467, 243 questions. This might sound arduous until you learn that many of them are the same question, or variations on a theme. So, no, not arduous so much as  mind-numbing, unbelievable, laughable, challenging, incredible, weep-worthy, fantastic, boring-as-all-get-out. You get my point.

One question I never imagined would pop up, and one that is a strong favourite is, "What is that dog thinking?".

What is that dog thinking.

It's hard to even know where to begin.

Apparently there are many questions yet to come that will challenge our capacities to answer. What is thunder? Where do babies come from? Why did you stuff up the environment so badly? I believe this to be true. But, honestly.

What is that dog thinking?