School, part 2

You know what I said about not being ready? We went to the school on Monday and I changed my mind.

It's big. Much bigger than I (or M) have been used to in elementary school (my school was led by nuns, in one -barely- converted aisle of a coventry. There was one class per level, and no kindergarten. Phys Ed was taught in an old chapel. When I started, it had only been 7 years since girls were first allowed to attend).

In LP's school, there is an aisle... just for kindergarten. Six whole classes of them. The vibes were very cheerful and good, with mini-lockers and color everywhere: drawings of parrots reminiscent of Bruno Munari's Zoo, crafts, glitter. LP visited his class with oohs and aahs. He barely noticed when we left, and we heard him ask out loud: "Are we going to visit the whole school"? Which made the (super nice) teacher laugh.

We were taken to one of the three gyms (!), which had a climbing wall. The two principals (a woman -from my hometown!- and a man in their fifties, which were almost cliché in their principal-like apparence and behaviour (I mean that in a good way)) talked and introduced us to some of the personnel and discussed everything we needed to know.

There's a great library. Kids have English-language storytime every week, even starting from when they're 5. There's a school band, and a music room. There's an apparently outstanding drama program for all kids, two hours a week. K-kids go to recess with the 6-graders, and only these two grades together, they told us. My first instinct was, er, why? Won't the big kids hurt and tease and be annoyed by the "babies"? Well, not at all! It's so they can help with the little ones, of course, they said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world! It's part of their "introduction to community involvement and volunteering" program.

All the personnel seemed great. I sometimes hear horror stories of underfunded, overextended school with completely overwhelmed and burnt out resources. I feel extremely bad that it happens because it's awful for the kids and because I think teachers (the ones from daycare too) should be national heroes, but I know unfortunately it does... It was the opposite of that. Each class has, on top of a teacher, a specialized education one ("whose job is mostly to work on social skills and self-esteem") as well as an aide. There are resources like I thought public schools didn't have anymore: a nurse, a language specialist, a development specialist, a psychologist...

When we came back to our son, he was over the moon. He showed us the clown craft and portrait of his family he had made. He seemed, for the first time in a long time, very stimulated in a good way. He loves his daycare and his friends, but I think he's just so ready for the next step now. So ready and eager to learn. We feel completely at ease, and confident that this environment will be beneficial for him. And I hope even more than ever that I can somehow at one point make a part-time/freelancing schedule happen, because I would LOVE to get involved in the school in some way (they have all kinds of possible little tenures for parents).

I'm ready. We feel like it's just one extra blessing brought by our move. I'm excited. I'm borderline disappointed that it's not going to happen for another 3 months.

Old Montreal style

Montreal is a stylish city, that's for sure. OK so it's not Milan or Paris, but it's still lively and great. I keep getting pleasantly surprised and inspired by the way women (and men!) dress on the street. I would say it's usually more about being put together than it is about originality, but that's an awesome start already.

I'm not going to start posting pics here, but rather use that as a detour to present my absolute favorite Instagram feed: oldmontreal, which publishes archive photos from The Gazette (the local daily English paper) of the city in times past. Each one of them is a true gem, whether of streets and places that don't exist anymore, of the daily life (trams! kids playing in large mounds of debris!), of the construction of landmarks and buildings which are now part of our landscape...

There's also the people, and, by extension, the fashion. Which is just fascinating. I guess it's always been a stylish city.

1905

1910s

1920

1930

1940

(This is Victoria bridge, which we take every day. It's a railway bridge, which back then had a walkway on a each side of the tracks... Now it's a narrow and somewhat awkward lane for cars.)

1940s

Ste-Catherine St. in 1942

1955

1961 (A sultry belly dancer who was arrested for obscenity)

Ms. Taylor arriving at the Montreal airport in 1964

1960s

1967 was an extremely important year for Montreal, because of the Expo.

The Queen visited...

And so did Petula Clark.

And finally, the hostesses.

Let's not forget about them! 1969

We're almost there

School.

Even enrolling him in March felt surreal. While filling these papers my first instinct, when asked "Mother's Name", and so on, was to enter my mom's info, not mine. How can an offspring of mine be the student, and not me?

We've walked (or scooted) to his future school a couple of times, always at his request. For sure he's too little now, but in a few years it will be completely doable for him to walk/bike/scoot, with only one big street to cross (relatively safely) and a pedestrian/biking path nearly all the way through the ten or so minutes.

The school is large and newish and seems great. The backyard is huge, with grass and trees. There are lots of little clay pots with sprouts and colorful tags on the windowsills. Fifth and sixth grade will be taught in English half of the year.

We received his backpack and lunch bag by mail yesterday. He put them on and paraded around the house, smiling from ear to ear, proud as a peacock. 

He keeps talking about it, to anyone who will listen. School this, and school that. Everything he'll do, how it'll work, where he'll go after (the after-hours program), what he wants me to make him for lunch on his first day (a pita, hummus, crudités, an apple and some water).

We also received an envelope under his name, which contained the invitation for an orientation morning next week. In it was a badge he needs to draw and write his name on. In it was also a very cute drawing made by a little girl who's currently in kindergarden, just to make him feel welcome. M and I are going. We'll stay in the gymnasium to hear about how the school works, while he'll leave with his future teacher and new friends to play for a few hours.

He's so autonomous now. He gets dressed by himself, brushes his teeth by himself, makes his bed, pours his cereal and milk by himself, (usually) goes to the bathroom on his own at night, is able to help us in all kinds of practical ways.

He's ready (I think). I'm not.

Well that was unexpected

We went to my hometown this (long) weekend.

And, for the first time in a very long time, I loved it. Actually, I think I fell in love with it all over again.

The weather was great. I had this idea in the back of my head that it would still be so cold and almost wintery. But it was 33 (low 90s) and sunny, and this is what my dad's garden looked like.

Well that's only a small part of it, but it looked awesome. This will always be my ultimate gardening inspiration, and proof that long and hard winters don't mean a thing. If you know anything about gardening, please bear in mind that's in Zone 3a! Which is just a few notches above "North Pole". In comparison, we're in Zone 5b, which is the warmest in Quebec, and I've yet to see a garden so beautiful and innovative as this one in the Montreal area. Whenever we go in summer I always feel like I should definitely go a lot further.

The difference in season really wasn't as big as I thought it would be, too. Newsflash for me: global warming is not just happening here... Even the winters, which are admitedly quite bad, are apparently nothing like the way I remember them from 18 years ago.

I had my 20-year high school reunion, which took place there.

It's the (splendid) ruin of an old paper mill that used to drive the town economically. I hadn't been in years, and thought it was striking.

The reunion in itself was fantastic. Seeing all of these great people (several of whom I'm still in touch with but still) and reminiscing made me really happy. Made me realize again, how despite the remoteness of our town I was very lucky to have such a great and precious teenagehood (I was an indie kid, but we mingled with the metalheads a lot too). It was fun and heart-warming to chat with everyone and realize that they (we) have changed of course but at the same time not that much...

I decided on what to wear two days before (sorry, bad lighting in our new bedroom)

Basically, a $17 Forever 21 royal blue ruffled and pleated dress from a few years back (chosen mostly because I think it's flattering for my silhouette) with the Choos (eclectism, much).

(Right before heading out the door)...

We also had a great time with my dad and stepmom, as well as with my grandma... We went for a walk alongside the river where literally thousands of white goose were nesting, we took the kids to the park in the old port... We even ventured out a little to show the kids the "interior sea"...

Cape Cod? No... Lac St-Jean. And people were sunning and bathing! In May!

But it wasn't even just that. M, who had brought his bike and went for a (very hilly!) 50k ride was extremely impressed at both the landscape and the sheer number and seriousness of the riders there. Made us realize how much quality of life is important and mainstream for these people; due to a combination of closeness to wonderful nature and outdoorsy paradises, prioritizing a healthy lifestyle, and having much more free time than we have...

There was the people, too. We had forgotten how genuinely nice, friendly and relaxed they were. All weekend long, strangers kept striking up conversations with us (M even came back from his ride with a few new "friends"!) Here this happens now and then, but frankly, when it does you always have a split second of assessing whether the person is insane or not...

Of course there isn't a wide variety of jobs there, not to mention we just moved in our dream house, but we still caught ourselves dreaming a bit. Of a life less hurried, of a perhaps simpler existence, but probably one that makes a little more sense, too. Of spending more time as a family. Of 5-minute commutes, and being able to get everywhere in under 10. Of a home that would easily cost us half what we have now. A life far, far, from the horrible traffic that I loathe so much, and far, far from the awful, increasingly worse (as well as increasingly unsettling and scary) civil unrest we've been experiencing here as of late.

Cue lame animal documentary music

As far as animals are concerned, we mostly only see common (finches, sparrows, etc.) birds on the golf. It's expansive but still enclosed within an (sub)urban area, so I don't think there's much of a way for lots of fauna to thrive there. Still, I've seen wild hare a few times (we have occasionally seen them in our front yard at the old house too, as well as racoons and a porcupine), and this morning, I've seen a whole nursery of baby Canada goose...

So the picture is not the best, because I couldn't get much closer to them, but they were really cute! There were about a dozen of them, with four adult ones. I had never seen them this close -they were impressive, and much taller than I had imagined. Very gracious, too -quite swan-like, but with an everyday outfit instead of a flashy white one.

They were all together on the lawn, but they immediately retreated to the water when I slowly walked towards them. The one on the forefront was very protective, and kept hissing at me to go away.

It made me curious so I researched them a little. They are among the most "talkative" animals, with at least twelve different sounds that apply to different contexts. Unsurprisingly, the "hissing" was a very clear warning (I didn't need to speak goose to understand that!)

They are also monogamous, staying with the same partner throughout their lives. Both the male and female take care of the young, and they usually lay their eggs at the same place where the female was born, year after year. Little goose chicks stay with their parents for about a year. These ones were probably just a couple of weeks old.

So what I saw was two families, who apparently teamed together to raise their young. When they have babies, the geese lose the feathers that enable them to fly for about six to eight weeks, which explains their current occupation of an unusual territory. Even though their return here is always much celebrated in the spring, they are only passing through, since they spend their summers in a milder climate up North. The two geese in the back were probably the female ones, and the hissing one was certainly the alpha male: that's their protective pattern, the females leave with the chicks, while the male bravely stays put and tries to scare the intruder away.

They often have a few nests close together like that (usually on small islands, just like the one there), and will gladly take care of each other's kids, even spontaneously adopting ones that are lost or whose parents have died. Isn't it cool?

Never all at once

So. Here we are in our lovely house, with things finally beginning to settle after a somewhat rocky year.

Am I sounding especially obnoxious, oblivious, rub-it-in-your-face these days? Well. There’s a genuine feeling of being lucky and blessed, of finally having arrived to where we’re supposed to be. In don’t really mean in the material sense, a lot more in the our-kids-can-spontaneously-go-play-outside-safely, can-grow-underneath-these-trees sense. It brings us immense peace of mind. I am writing about this state because 4+ years into this blog, I know this is what will feel the most precious to me down the road, remembering and reliving this honeymoon phase with our home. Right now we can’t imagine ever taking this for granted, but despite the nice weather none of our neighbours seem to spend any time outside, so who knows, maybe we will.

It's also very important for me to try and stay honest and real, so here it is. Despite this important aspect of my life that is now exactly where I always hoped it would be, everything is not rosy. Is it ever? I’m not sure. Lately, I keep repeating to myself this tiny bit of wisdom read from a comment on a recent APW post: “Usually not all parts of your life are in focus at the same time.”

And right now it rings so true. I’ve been having a hard time feeling entirely cheerful and completely shaking off the underlying sadness lately, despite all these good things in my life (and I know they are numerous). First, it’s the long commute (we haven’t moved far at all, just 2 km away from where we used to live, but traffic keeps getting worse and worse for seemingly no reason, and M and I travelling together necessarily maximizes this insanely lengthy period that drives (ha!) me nuts each day), which translates into the kids having long days at daycare, and me having long days away from them. Longing to spend more time in this house I love so much, more time with them, but not being able to right now, is the root of the problem I guess…Those of you who have been reading for a long time might remember how I used to post about family/work balance, how I was constantly striving for it in my previous job… How ironic this seems now, because in hindsight, I had it pretty good, with lots of flexibility and understanding, not to mention a much shorter and straightforward commute. My balance now, with two kids, a full-time job, and a downtown office with fixed hours, is... flatlining.

I don’t mean to be complaining; we are managing, I am managing. We can still make it work –good home cooked meals are put on the table (nearly) every day, we bake together, we try to fit in little activities. It’s not downright bad… It’s just… not what I want it to be. I’m finding it hard being in the moment instead of running ALL THE TIME, I'm finding it hard being as attentive and attuned to the needs of my kids as I would like to. I’m finding it hard having such little time for everything, for myself especially.

Add to this the nagging feeling of being professionally lost, which keeps growing and growing inside of me -has been for years now, but never this acute before. I’m not sure what’s going on, what I’m supposed to do, how to unstick myself. I don't know how many times I need to plead with the universe for *something* to happen. There you go.

That weekend

You know how once or twice a year, you have a near-perfect, heartwarming weekend?

When the weather is just great, and for the first time in your life you keep having this feeling that you're on vacation even though you're at home?

When an up until then unassuming tree in your front yard becomes a show stopper overnight and reveal itself, for a few absolutely glorious days, to be the most beautiful pink blossoming crabapple tree on the street?

When your son learns to ride a bike without the training wheels on?

When the house suddenly starts to feel more settled, when you finally begin to
see it all come together?

When you kiss your kids on the forehead and they smell like the sun and fresh air?

When (like probably half of the people here), you have lobster for dinner?

When your family showers you with love for Mother's Day?


When you go for a run and everything smells like lilacs?

Yeah, that one.

It happened, it's happening

F has officially made her entrance into language.

We were all in the car last week. I was teasingly telling M and LP off, because they still call her “bébé” all the time. “She’s not a baby anymore!” I said. How long are you going to call her that for?” So I turned to her, and asked: “Are you a baby?”

And for the first time, she replied. With a resounding, wonderful, mischievous: “Noooooonnnn!”We all burst out laughing. I couldn’t stop there, this was way too fun. “And is LP a baby?” “Non!”, she answered, aware that this was a silly question but wanting to play along. “Is mommy a baby?” This little game continued until we got home. She was answering questions. She was part of the conversation, part of the game!

Since then, her progress has been phenomenal. Up until that moment, she had around 20 or so words. But now, she's been steadily adding at least 3 or 4 new ones each day. This delights her brother. “What is that?”, he says, pointing to a kitchen stool. “Chaise!” (chair!), she answers confidently, smiling. Then he turns to me: “Mom, that’s not exactly it, but let’s pretend it is, OK? It’s very close. She’s good!”, he roots for her, as if I needed convincing.

She has a new song too, “Toc-toc-toc, pique-pique-pique, roule-roule-roule”, which sounds adorable in her gibberish-like pronunciation, and which is accompanied by hand gestures (knocking, pretending to prick your hand with a finger, making a rolling motion with your wrists) and is then finished by throwing both her arms in the air and saying “ou-pi!” (Youppi, or “Hurray!”)

That stage when everything suddenly clicks is just incredible. It’s not just that they become talkers within a matter of literally a couple days, but it’s also that… they get it. They understand. The world for them is not based on feelings and abstractions, anymore. For the past few weeks, she’s just been so… alert, so…kid-like. When they start talking, it also means that they have realized what the words mean. They recognize that some sentences are interrogative, due to a certain form and a certain tone, and they know that these sentences require answers from them. As long as it’s a yes/no question (her “oui” sounds like “hé” or sometimes even "aille" like she's Irish) I can ask her things now: did she have a good day, did she enjoy her lunch, is she thirsty, does she have a boo-boo? 18 months ago, she was still in my womb! Pretty unbelievable, when you think of it.

Last night after dinner, we all got up to start putting away the dishes and left her alone in the dining room for a few minutes. When I came back, I asked, rather rhetorically: “Are you done with your meal?” But she said, with surprising authority for such a tiny, 23-pound human being: “Non. Assis.” (No. Sit down.) So I did. And she had one more bowl of vegetable fried rice.

5:40 AM

I've taken up running again. There's a long five minutes of my brain fighting hard against the alarm clock when it rings so early, but after that, it feels fantastic. My life-long relationship with exercise: never want to do it, always so happy I did it anyway. I have to make peace with it -life just doesn't feel exactly complete or like it's flowing like it should when I'm not active. Endorphins I guess?

I don't golf, so it made me discover this beautiful park that sits on the back of our house in more depth. The course is older than the town, dating back from the fifties, and was designed by an American architect. I'm already getting attached to the trees, the sinewy weeping willows especially.

This morning, the near full moon was still visible, and after a turn this pond suddenly appeared, pristine, covered with smoke-like fog on the surface. With the cedars and the row of houses (including ours) distantly visible in the back and subtly glistening, I had one of these fleeting moments of being transported by beauty. I *had* to go running. What excuse do I have, when this is directly accessible from my backyard???

I love these early morning outings, when I see no one, no car, hear nothing but the wind and the birds, when all of this is just mine.

We still can't believe our luck. I don't know why we ever doubted that moving was the right thing to do, as long and weird and tough as the very long transition was. We love the house, but this "park", this expansive view, this nearly daily putting green for M and LP, this private jogging track, this winter opportunity for sledding, snowshoeing and ice skating, is really why we truly feel like we've found our forever home.

I never, ever, ever, do

Usually we all leave together in the morning and both drop the kids off. But today I took my own car, since I have a much-needed appointment with my hairdresser after work.

And I guess I should say that this week our schedule has been a bit peculiar as LP started feeling a little under the weather (some kind of a mild virus (?) that seems to have gone away now) and we spent two (rare and precious) afternoons together at home, without M or F. He was excited to go back to daycare this morning (it was circus day! And we made a cardboard top hat and bow tie for him to wear with black jeans and a striped shirt, so he would go as the ringmaster) but also, I think, aware that it meant we would both leave this cozy cocoon we were in for the past few days.

So I said goodbye while the kids were still having breakfast in the kitchen, then stopped by the door to put on my trench coat and grab my keys.

And suddenly LP arrived running. "Mom!"

"Yes, mon loup?"

"I wanted to tell you something."

"Yes, what?"

"I wanted you not to forget something."

"...?"

"That you love me."

A local taste

I came across this episode of Anthony Bourdain's The Layover, shot here last summer.

You can, among other landmark figures, some more annoying than others, see his friend Martin Picard. THE guy, the chef, you know, the one from The Launch?



The.Layover.S01E06.Montreal by educkling

P.S. If you want to come visit we have a comfortable sofabed in the basement.