If you already know the “thing” but don’t want the plot spoiled, don’t worry. I won’t reveal any secrets.

I was recommended to see The Artist by Auntie Em, and she refused to tell me anything about it. I hadn’t even seen a poster.

So it wasn’t until moments before the lights went down that I found out from Skye (by accident) that there’s no talking. Wha??

‘Tis true. It’s done like a silent film, because it’s about the demise of the silent film. It’s black-and-white, it’s got grandiose oldey-timey opening credits, and no sound but the music. Occasionally, there is a full-frame caption to highlight an important bit of dialogue – but most of it, we must simply glean.

So, once you get over the surprise (if you were suprised) of the gimmick, you can settle in. It’s a fun movie. And you do (sort of) forget about the lack of sound after a while.

• I liked Jean Dujardin as George Valentin. It’s clear from the start that, as a character, he’s pretty high on himself – as one would imagine. But you can see how the ladies get all in a tizzy over him: he’s got the slick, dashing 1927 look that’s perfect in a tux, and he’s got a great smile – which, I figured out, is powered mostly by his wildly charismatic and empathetic eyebrows. You just have to see them. (No, they don’t fit with my eyebrow fetish – they’re just charming.)

• Bérénice Bejo also does a good job as Peppy Miller. I believed her as a silly, ambitious, rather annoying upstart; I also believed her as a deeply sincere, caring woman.

• The only thing I didn’t like about her performance: her dancing. Enthusiastic, but NOT graceful. Sorry.
• Another thing you forget during the course of the movie: nationality – the stars are French. A name doesn’t get much more French than Jean Dujardin – it’s right in the opening credits – but the actor looks so Hollywood, and doesn’t sound like anything, so you imagine him sounding like Clark Gable.
• If you find yourself lipreading (and you will – some of the jokes are in there) and realize you’re confused, not to worry. Skye said she’d heard they didn’t always bother to say their lines in English, since no-one would be hearing them. Those words do not look the same in French.
• Dujardin and Bejo dominate the movie, of course, but the supporting actors were top-notch, too: James Cromwell as Valentin’s chauffeur, Clifton (loved him!), and John Goodman as the Director.
• And that little dog did a super job, too (despite a neurological disorder that will apparently force his retirement after the Oscars, poor thing. His name is Uggie).
• I liked the way the movie didn’t break the “fourth wall”, but did knock on it a few times.
• Methinks it probably took more work than we spectators realize to create that “silent film look” – since I can’t even put my finger quite on what that look is. I just know that somehow, without resorting to the grainy film or choppy frames that actually characterized 1920s films, director Michel Hazanavicius and his team managed to reach back and make us feel the era. Costumes, sets, music, naturally – but also body language and facial expressions, in a way I can’t describe.
• If the plot line reminds you of Singin’ in the Rain, it should. It’s not quite as lighthearted, and the focus is not quite the same, but there are some definite nods. (I noticed in particular Cosmo’s rubber-nose moment in the first ten minutes.)
• The story does make you wonder about that transition from silent films to talkies. Did it really happen in a blink, where people were immediately dissatisfied with the old way? How many actors got stubborn and were left behind? Or how many just couldn’t pull off vocal acting?
• For that matter, how many actors of today could have pulled off these roles, not getting to use their voices? Bet it’s harder than it looks.
• My only actual criticism would be that I found there were a few slowish parts. They seemed to be moments where I was maybe supposed to be imagining an inner monologue, but didn’t feel the need for quite so much time.
• The Artist is up – even favoured – for a Best Picture Oscar. I wonder if people closely associated with the film industry (e.g. the Academy) are more moved by this particular subject matter than your average moviegoer. True, it’s original, interesting, well-acted, memorable… but I didn’t find it epic. I didn’t come out of there going, “That was awesome!!” (which I did, for the record, with winners such as The King’s Speech, Slumdog Millionaire, Chicago, Shakespeare in Love, and Titanic). I always want the Best Picture to be EPIC.

That being said… I still sum up by saying go see it. It’s a cinematic experience quite out of the ordinary.

And now… to find a Jean Dujardin film where I can hear him speaking, preferably in French. Yum.

***

For the record, I sampled some – he generously offered it to me – and it tasted comfortingly the same as it always did when I was a kid.

Also included in this video is some post-picnic conversation: opinions, ideas, song, story… and some nonsense. A little of everything.

I am not quite sure what’s with that warning message (ostensibly from Auntie Beth) at the end. But I can see how it might be applicable to many aspects of life.

***

And now it’s melted. Sigh.

We’ve only had little bits of snow this winter, and it’s UNSATISFYING. Not very much fun for my little guy – who is so ready with his red snowpants/coat/hat combo.

I should probably admit two things:

1) On a visceral level, I do still love snow. It still gives me a thrill when I see it falling, and I love the way it looks and smells and feels, and the way it makes everything quiet and brilliant.

2) Don’t get me wrong – I am known to be grouchy sometimes when cleaning off the car or trying to dislodge the “tire poops” – and little kids getting dressed for winter is no picnic. (Or even just one little kid – especially when you have to get to the babysitter on time.) But still.

3) NOT having snow in the winter… makes me worried. It makes me think we have really effed up this planet, just like they said we were doing, and we’re all goners. Still hoping not.

{Update: apparently that’s three things. And apparently Dilovely cannot count as well as her 2-year-old.)

So my net reaction this season has been “WHEN IS THE SNOW COMING?” (Mini-Di was obsessive about this. Just ask my family. I did snow dances, complete with original prayers, to be chanted at every window in the house.)

For a couple days this week, and maybe one or two last week, it finally seemed like winter. The snow fully covered the grass (and that’s the minimum we’d normally have), and it was cold enough to keep.

On days like that, the kindergartners came in from recess and just brushed the snow off instead of becoming soggy little heaps. They finally had decent snowbanks to play on – it had made me want to cry watching them swarming all over the tiny, filthy lumps of snow they’d had so far. Especially since I can remember, in recent years, majestic hills of snow in the kindergarten yard – perfect for sliding, and so tall that the kids can almost touch the fir tree branches that are normally beyond the realm of possibility. Finally, this week, they’ve had some decent snow to play with, to build with, to warrant the snowsuits they spend so long putting on and taking off multiple times a day.

One of my boy kindergartners in particular makes my heart happy whenever he wears his magenta snowsuit. It rocks. Also, the other day I overheard him talking about the number of snow crystals they were going to collect, and he was transported by the potential of the project: “We’re going to get a thousand! A million! Two hundred!!”

Of course, I must also talk about my own little snowy boy. On Sunday evening, I had been working on report cards and we’d been doing housework and it was time to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. E and I went into the backyard. He felt the poetry of the snowy twilight: “Look at all the kinds of things… all covered in winter.”

We were hoping to make a snowman in the last of the daylight, but to my shock, it was cold enough that the snow wouldn’t pack. So when Auntie Em joined us, we decided to take a walk/sled ride with the sled Auntie Beth gave him for Christmas.

He wanted to go to the school a few blocks away, because there’s a big hill there. (I confused him by talking about “blocks” – I said we were going to go around the block, and he was like, “But where are the blocks??”) He calls the school “the voting place”, because he remembers how we went there back in October when it was our local polling station in the election. (Of course, at the time, he thought there would be boating.)

We slogged our way there, and he got out of the sled to make some snow angels. Then he decided he wanted to go up the big hill – and it is a BIG hill. Looked daunting even to me, especially in the snow, but he was nonchalantly intrepid. I kept thinking he would get tired, but he just kept at it, all the way to the top. It was pretty inspiring, actually. I could take a lesson from that kid.

The next day he had another afternoon sled-ride with Daddy, and fell asleep on the way home. (Outgrowing the nap is a tricky business.)

Next post: snow snacks!

***

What do you think? Are y’all down with your new monicker? Because the polls are still open – if you have more suggestions, feel free…

Okay, back to business. Would you like to meet my new friend? Here she is.

In my mind, I call her Lady, in honour of the yoga ladies. She is damn gorgeous.

Here’s how we came to be together.

Sometime in early 2007, Dilovely heard this guy play this song on CBC Radio 2, and promptly fell for both (you may remember it from the Pick-Me-Up Playlist)

Seriously. They could not be more adorable, right? As soon as she could, Di procured the album and fell in love with the rest of it too. (In fact, she had to procure the album twice over because it was an old-fashioned CD – not available on iTunes at the time – and it got snagged at the belly dance show where she shimmied her booty off to that very song. Yeah, yeah, shoulda backed it up.)

Fast-forward to Christmas, 2011. Darling Hubbibi, knowing his Dilovely has a thing for that ukulele guy, jokingly makes her a present of a ukulele… from Chapters. She is inordinately thrilled – speechless, in fact – when she opens it. She realizes it is the perfect gift: the least daunting of the instruments she would love to learn.

Dilovely muckles onto it and learns the first five chords (C, G7, D7, F, and A, if you’re wondering) from Play Ukulele Today!, the Hal Leonard guidebook that came with the uke.

Unfortunately for her, she has an acute sense of tuning, and her ukulele does not. She cannot figure out how, when the instrument is tuned to perfection, the chords can be out-of-tune with themselves.

So off she scampers, uke in hand, to the local folk music/repair store, to pick the brain of an expert. Kind expert diplomatically explains the problems (her hunch was correct: ukulele bought from bookstore is no example of superb craftsmanship), and fills her in on different kinds of ukes available, in a way that makes her feel it is perfectly normal to become ukulele-obsessed over the Christmas holidays. He also lets her try some of the other ukes on display.

Oooh. They are beautiful… shiny… pitch-perfect… and so much easier to play (wider necks, strings much closer to fretboards). Dilovely is captivated.

Thus commences a period of devoted internet research and brain-wracking, which ends with the purchase, from that same kindly expert folkster, of the above Kiwaya ukulele, romantically named KS-4P. (P is for pineapple, because of the shape. It might be true that the choice was influenced by a certain two-and-a-half-year-old who saw the picture and said, “Mama, I want you to get the oval one!” all cute-like.)

Lady is a soprano ukulele of Kiwaya’s Eco Series, meaning she’s made of very thin laminate wood, so as to use less of the resource. The wood is Hawaiian koa (which some of you may know makes the best surfboards). Best of all, Lady sounds beautiful, even with just five chords plus the ones I’ve been discovering without knowing which ones they are.

Also, E is bequeathed the original cheap-but-inspiring uke. Everybody wins!

I am STOKED, Di-hards!

***

P.S. How about just one more moment o’ James? It doesn’t get more fantastically Canadian than this. And as if he and his uke weren’t awesome enough, he rocks the fiddle too. Sean agreed I could marry him as long as he comes to live with us.

***

(Speaking of dear readers… all the cool blogs replace the word “readers” with something funkier. I’m thinking we must also be cool. What should we be?? Send me your suggestions, please!)

E has some new words. One of the special ones he’s learned since Christmas is gyroscope, because my dad gave Sean a set of space-age gyroscopes: they spin in an amazing way and demonstrate the principle of space flight!

Also thanks to Christmas, E has learned what a ukulele is, although at first he was confused because he thought we were saying “yoga lady” (Auntie Em has two statuettes we call “yoga ladies”, rather like these, in her room). Not really very similar to a ukulele.

Other turns of phrase he’s trying out:

Certainly, as in “I certainly do like peanut butter!”

Suppose, as in “I suppose it’s gonna be there all winter.”

Worried, as in “I was so worried of you. I was worried sick!” (Not sure he understood what he was saying, since he didn’t sound worried whatsoever when he said this to Auntie Beth.)

Plenty, as in “So many James McAvoys – we have plenty of James McAvoys.” (Auntie Em had been pointing out our communal boyfriend on the DVD cases that feature him. There are more than a few.)

Beautiful, as in “My truck was falling, and I did a beautiful catch!”

He’s also spelling things. Just in the last couple of days, he’s spelled U-M-A-O-E and T-H-T-M-R.

One of his favourite things right now is the colouring app on Daddy’s iPad (with which he is obsessed – we try not to overdo the screen time, but we have found the iPad magically lets him last through dinner at a restaurant, so that’s a bonus). He matches letters and numbers to colour in pictures, and when he’s all done, music comes on and animated music notes “float across it”. The other day when the music came on, he looked over and said, “Daddy, how are you not dancing?”

Of course, not everything makes us laugh. He woke up crying in the night recently and told us about the bad dream that really shook him up: “I’m scared of the curly thing… that’s bleeding!” That did sound scary. We wanted to cry too, but eventually convinced him the curly thing was gone.

Then there are the moments that make us just want to hug him forever. When he’s settling down to sleep, he has stuffed animals and his crocheted baby (his “friends”) that he likes to have with him – but his favourite comfort object is Mommy’s or Daddy’s arm. His hand crawls up our sleeve and he’s happy. At naptime recently, Daddy watched him take his baby’s arm and feed it up his own sleeve, so baby could be happy too. Sigh.

On Saturday, we finally got E a haircut that went well. He’s always refused to let us trim his hair when he gets shaggy, so we finally tried First Choice. The first time, there was some fussing, but he did surprisingly okay. The second time, Mommy wasn’t there, and he apparently sobbed tragically and had to be held immobile by Daddy. This time – he was fine. Amazing.

The next day, in time for Auntie Em’s birthday party with the family, he looked so spiffy with his new coif that I had to put him in some chic duds too. He was in a good mood for a party, saying, “I just wanna have some birthday-party-going.”. Here’s the resulting video:

More weird quotables:

Turning a plastic cup upside down and placing a pacifier on top: “How’s that for a water tower?” (Wha??)

In front of the mirror, doing a weird angular dance with mostly elbows: “Hi, I’m a lego guy!”

Waking up talking first thing in the morning, as he often does: “I’m happy to see Daddy. Hi, Daddy! I’m happy to see you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Asked if he wants to play with something new for a while: “No, I just wanna be normal.”

Commenting on someone’s hat: “Tomorrow, when you get older, it’ll be blue.”

Fiddling with his pacifier, which he found in his bed (he only uses it for sleeping, I swear! … and occasionally when he finds one unattended). “I have a dry one. This is a dry one, but I ate the fur off.” (Guess we haven’t covered the word lint yet.) “Yeah, I ate the fur off, so it could go in my real mouth.” Pointing to his mouth, in case I was uncertain. “In this mouth.”

He likes to tell stories, such as the following (we assume they’re imaginary):

As we turned onto College Avenue in the car (we often talk about what street we’re on): “When I was four, I had a College Avenue car. It had College Avenue on it. And it was sticky.”

Putting his stuffed animals under his blue blanket: “I have to put all my friends under the sea. They’re way under the water, because a crazy caterpillar is coming.”

Playing with the green coupon card I’d given him so he would forget about playing with my Visa: “When I was in Hamerica, there was a sandwich. There was a yucky one, too. And it went ‘{clicking sound}’. It clicked. And I had a Green Card.”

Referring to Duncan, one of the characters from Thomas the Tank Engine: “When I was Dumpkin, I used to say ‘Hello, Thomas!’ and I was a train.” (‘Hello, Thomas!’ in an appropriately jovial voice.)

Finally, there’s this jewel from a few weeks ago, transcribed at the moment of creation by Auntie Beth:

“I was talking about Dylan in the country.”  (“What country?”)  “A different country.  The animal country.  I went there, too.  Uhhh… you went there, too.”  (“What animals are in that country?”)  Mouth full of peas: “Deers!  Mmm!  Mmm!  And there’s horses, and there’s cows, schhhewp, and then, lemme think about it, there’s some a little bit tiny animals, at the Fair!  There was cheep cheep cheep birds at the Fair!  That Dylan lived in it!  And lil horses, in Dylan’s story!, in Dylan’s movie!  Hmmm!  Hmm!  Mmm!  And apricots!  It was a fat-day!  Fata bau-dati! [sp]  On Vixen!  And GramPapa lived there!  Mm mm!  Baa, baa, the way a sheep does it!  A lamb!  Do you want some yogurt?”

- Fin -

***

Critics apparently aren’t loving it because they say “it’s more of the same”, but audiences are happy. I concur with the latter: I liked the first one, so why wouldn’t I want more?

When I saw the trailer for this one, it actually lowered my expectations. I thought it looked kinda cheesy and unthrilling. Then, somehow, I found the movie not cheesy at all – and totally exciting. (In fact, I’m pretty sure they axed at least one of the trailer’s cheesier lines in the final cut. Not to mention a kiss.)

I enjoyed all of the same things as last time – but perhaps even more so.

• The art direction (isn’t that the thing where they create the atmosphere and mood?) is incredibly evocative, transporting, with lots of variety (we went from university to warehouse, mansion to forest, underground lair to mountainside castle, from England to France to Germany to Switzerland) but still somehow cohesive. The outside view of that castle – especially in the dark – was awesomely chilling.

• I was happy we got to see Rachel McAdams, albeit briefly; and Noomi Rapace as the gypsy Simza grew on me a lot more than I’d expected.

• I liked Mary, Watson’s wife, better in this movie too. She’s got some gumption and a sense of humour.

• Hans Zimmer’s theme is really catchy – not to mention simultaneously jolly and creepy. What a stroke of genius to use a tinny, almost-out-of-tune sound that you imagine being played on a steampunk piano in a house of ill repute.
• I’ve decided I don’t mind the choppy “frames-missing” action sequences after all – because I’ve deduced (yep, I like to solve mysteries) that it’s imitating early film footage: the film is set in 1891, and the Birdhouse tells me the first celluloid film footage was taken in 1888.
• I also realized I like the way the action scenes are interspersed with slow-motion moments to show us some artistically rendered detail and make us think about it. I normally get bored with action sequences, because the movements quickly become a blur to me and I think, Okay, we get the idea! Cars going fast, dude beating up other dude, shooting and ducking, blah blah, no need to kick a dead horse in the solar plexus. I appreciate that it’s intricately choreographed and all that, but I have trouble seeing the appeal. In this case, the juxtaposition of fast and slow puts me much more IN the scene, imagining how the characters were feeling as bullets grazed their waistcoats or whatever.
• Stephen Fry as Mycroft Holmes is, of course, wonderful.

• I’ve figured out that one of the things I preferred about this movie was the villain. Blackwood, in the first movie, was just so overt about his evilness; it made him a bit one-dimensional. Moriarty manages to be charming but weaselly, urbane but nerdy, cultured but irritatingly smug. (Jared Harris was great: I wanted to smack his smarmy face.) And he heightens that creepy feeling that London may look pretty fancy and civilized, but just under the surface, corruption and malevolence smoulder. [Cue duplicitous piano music.]
• Similar to the first installment, there was just enough emotion involved to make sure I cared about the characters (and therefore didn’t lose interest). RDJr. and Law pull off a relationship that clearly runs deep without being in the least maudlin.
• MAN, these guys are freakin’ spry. And dextrous. And dauntless. Just as they must be. It’s simply fun to watch.

To sum up: to quote my spammers, “I presume a person need your thumbs upward”. Totally enjoyed it!

***

We were told by a friend (thank you, C) about something called the Angel Tree, in the children’s section of the Memorial Garden. Bereaved parents were invited to put an ornament on the tree in remembrance of a deceased child, and after today, all the decorations will be removed and buried there.

I bought four little wooden cutouts, two hearts and two stars, and Sean and I got our inner artists out to paint them. We made one for the Angel Tree and one for our own Christmas tree.

We had hoped to visit the cemetery earlier in the holidays, and earlier in the day, but you know how the Christmas season is – way too busy, and vacation (if you’re lucky enough to have it) slips away much too fast. We went on Wednesday after school, but left later than we meant to, and the daylight faded as we crossed town to get to the cemetery. It was pretty dark when we arrived.

I’ve spent some time in cemeteries before, and they can be lovely, peaceful, beautiful places. This experience was tranquil and quiet, but bleak. I was taken aback to find that even though the Angel Tree was so tiny it only reached my midsection, it was not at all full. Our decoration joined only a few others. It’s possible some were removed earlier, if the tree got too full to hold more… or it’s possible not very many people knew about it. I hope it’s the former – not because I hope lots of parents have lost children, but because I know they have. (Sadly, the only information I could find about the Angel Tree was a short paragraph in the local free paper – I couldn’t even find anything on the cemetery’s own website.)

We don’t have a gravesite for Sebastian. We keep some of his ashes in our pendants, but we have not yet scattered the rest – we have plans for that for next July. We never really thought of a gravestone, simply because it’s not our style, but I can see how it would be comforting to have a permanent marker in such a historical, communal place.

It was sad to be in the Children’s Garden at nightfall, after Christmas. I mean, baby graves are sad at any time, but this was particularly melancholy. There wasn’t even any snow to light our way – it’s been a rather dark, snowless winter so far. Still, we found the children’s section easily, despite being unacquainted with the cemetery, because many of the graves had coloured lights on them. When we looked at them more closely, we found many had Christmas gifts as well. (Fortunately, it was not as dark as it looks in this picture.)

One spot in particular sticks in my mind: a little boy’s flat stone, engraved with a car, a name, and a single date – which to me says he was stillborn. Along with the lights, there were three toy cars of different sizes, and a teddy bear, and a little snowman sign that said “Santa – Stop Here”.

Standing in front of that baby’s grave, it occurred to me how glad I am that we made the choice to cremate. I would never judge someone else’s choice to bury their child intact, but it would be so hard to put that tiny body in a box in the ground. In the cemetery I could see parents’ need to try to take care of their children, even in death… and I know I’d feel the same way. I would want to put lights up so he wouldn’t be scared, and I would want to give him a teddy bear to keep him company.

As it is, I feel that Sebastian always has company; he’s home with us, and he’s right next to our hearts. When we scatter his ashes, he will quickly become part of the earth and the trees and the grass and the air, and I won’t worry because I know he’s free.

Here’s our own little ornament, ensconced in our tree. I think it’s pretty cool. Even though this experience was kind of heartbreaking, I’m glad we took the time to do it. We will treasure this ornament.

If you look closely at this photo, you will see that our tree is leafing. Not only did it not dry out and shed all its needles – it grew. What an awesome surprise. Feels like a benediction.

Here’s a photo of the gift we received from our dear friend Amanda, who knew we would be missing the new baby we expected to be with us this Christmas (who would have been just old enough to appreciate coloured lights and shiny decorations). Thank you, Amanda. We love it.

And finally, here are some joyful pictures: my first son in his Santa hat, and my second getting a “hug” from his Auntie Beth, on my birthday last May (about six months pregnant).

***

Then there are those other days: the days where you’re reminded that humanity is freakin’ amazing.

Today I did not go to school, because I didn’t really sleep last night. Rarely in my life have I had insomnia, but suddenly it was like my body forgot how to sleep. Even though I didn’t feel anxious in my mind, my physical self was in the grip of unplaceable jitters.

This happened on Saturday, too, but for only a couple hours (instead of five) and I chalked it up to “going back to school” syndrome. The first day back at school was fine, so I have no idea what last night was about. I guess I have to get accustomed to myself no longer always being quite the self I used to be.

Anyway, boring story. Today, I slept in but am still rather out-of-it. I felt I was up to the task of [beginning the work of] cleaning out my inbox. I found this fantastic TED Talk, originally sent to me last April by my musical father-in-law, about Eric Whitacre and his virtual choir – and I’d never watched it. I usually don’t think I have time to watch things when I receive them, but this one reminded me that sometimes it really is worth the fifteen minutes.

I cried watching it. Not that it’s so surprising – I am somewhat sleep-deprived… and there’s no question that in the last six months, tears are always closer to the surface for me.

But this is just plain awesome. I’ve written a lot about music and its power and importance. I know first-hand how incredible and transformative it can be to make music with other people. I believe strongly that it makes us better, both as a species and as our own selves.

This is a perfect example: take that power, and combine it with the potential uniting force of the internet, and you get this. An individually self-chosen community of people who love to sing beautiful music, and want to give it back to the world. Seemingly random souls, with their bedhead and their earphones and their baseball caps, coming together from countries all over the world, just singing.

I dare you not to be moved.

Here’s the full version of the second song, called Sleep:

It made me think of Ze Frank’s Chillout song, created in the same way but on a smaller scale. (I’ve linked to this one before in my Top 10 Pick-Me-Ups, but it bears re-linking.) The story of how he – and a whole crowd of strangers – just up and brewed this simple, beautiful thing when one of his fans wrote to tell him about what a rough time she was having… well, it’s worth many, many points in the “humankind rocks the casbah” column.

Makes me wish I had a whole lifetime to spend just on discovering all the ways that humans spread love and awesomeness through music – and joining in.

***

Here are some as-yet-un-archived tidbits from the summer, noted by Auntie Em on days when she was caring for E:

Auntie Em: You ate all your beans! Do you want some more beans?
E: No. I had enough. (E puts truck in the bean water.) It’s all wet! I have to change him. Change his wheels.

E: These are goblets.
Auntie Em: I don’t believe you.
E: I don’t believe you.
A few minutes later…
Auntie Em: These are – what was it???
E: I don’t believe you.
Auntie Em: (laughing uncontrollably)
E: Bleems! Bleems, bleems, bleems… Emi’s laughing. [Bleems was his favourite made-up word for a while. It made him grin like a little maniac.]

E is banging on the wall next to the change table with his car.
Auntie Em: Don’t bang on the wall! Be gentle.
E strikes the wall softly, looks to check Auntie Em’s reaction, then rolls the car over the wall gently.
E: I’m just rolling it. Feel better now.
Auntie Em: Who’s gonna feel better?
E: The wall. The wall, feel better, ok?

Auntie Em is sitting in the hall. E knocks on the inside of the door.
Auntie Em: E**, go back to bed!
E: (sounding resigned) Ok. No problem.

E is on the change table, getting a diaper change. [Which, BTW, he has not needed since September - YAY!]
E: This is my front bum. My back bum…
Auntie Em: Really? Where’s your front bum?
E points to his knees and thighs, which are in the air close to his face. [They do look kinda like a bum.]
E: I take it apart. It’s my front bum, my back bum.

E: Mummy forgot she’s sunny glasses! [We still sometimes have issues with "his" vs. "he's" and "her" vs. "she's".]
Auntie Em: I hope she’s okay!
E: (in a desperate voice) I hope she’s NOT!

Auntie Em made E a ridonculously cute green kitty hat for Christmas. Yesterday at the babysitter’s, he didn’t take it off until lunchtime (he didn’t want to get food on it).

E: Papa, would you come turn the light on for me?
Grammie: I’ll come turn the light on.
E: Okay, Grammie, that would be perfect.

Mommy: Are you going to finish your bread?
E: No.
Mommy: Why not?
E: It turned into toast. [I guess it was getting a bit dry on the edges.]

Mommy: Are you enjoying your veggies?
E: Yep. I pretty like them.

And here are some recent pearls of wisdom and flights of fancy…

• “These are dirty o’s. These aren’t fresh o’s. Are you gonna put them in the compost?”
• “Mommy, what are you sad about? Are you sad if the people broke up?” (No, I think I was searching for something I’d lost. I have no idea who these “people” are.)
• “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a bird, and fly. And have wings that I can fly with.”
• This bird theme has persisted and gotten more ambitious: “When I go in the sky, I’ll be a bird and catch a shooting star!”
• It seems to make sense that if little people are eventually going to get big, then big people are going to get little. He told Auntie Em, regarding the paper crown Auntie Beth made for him, “When you get little, your head will get little, and you can wear it.”
• He can hold his own when we get silly and use the “So’s your face” line on him: “Daddy’s just crazy, Mummy. My face is not a fishing rod.”
• Random wisdom shared on the potty: “Most girls poop in the winter.”
• He has a special connection with animals: “The fish are so happy that they’re teal.”
• “The cat’s eyes, they worry me.” [Toy cat, not real cat.]
• And it’s no wonder he has this connection: “Okay, Grammie,” with index finger emphasizing his point, “here’s the deal. Ramona is my cat, and Nico. My home is full of cats.”
• And here’s one that still hasn’t gotten old after quite a bit of use: when you ask how he’s doing, Auntie Em taught him to say, “Good. The Dude abides.”

His great-aunties gave him a tiny ceramic tea set with Winnie the Pooh on it, for Christmas. He knows exactly how to sip it.

***

Today is the last day of the year 2011. This has been a very special year for us.

In 2011, we heard your heart beating. We saw you swimming around in my womb, and we found out you were a boy.

In 2011, I got to feel you moving inside me, and it made me happy (even when it was uncomfortable). We spoke to you, and waited for you with excitement.

In 2011, we gave you your name. Your big brother liked to say it, and talk about you, and give you hugs from outside my belly.

In 2011, you were born into our arms, tiny and beautiful and still. We held you close for as long as we could. I touched your silky cheek and did my best to memorize your face. We told you we loved you.

This is the year you were here. I am sad to see it end, because I know I will not do any of those things in 2012.

Last night, thinking of the time we spent with you, I missed you so much, it felt like you could have been with us only yesterday. Even though it hurts a lot that you aren’t here, pain is good sometimes. That’s how I know you’re still with me, in the warmest, brightest, snuggliest part of my heart – right next to your brother.

In 2012, we will still think about you, and talk about you, and say your name. And we will still love you, always.

I hope you can feel it.

***