Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Bad, bad blogger...

Bad blogging, but good Easter.

I tend to be a "glass is half full" person. Maybe even a "glass is brimming over" person. Usually this works to my benefit, like when Eric and I were living in Europe and we would occasionally find ourselves in a less than ideal living situation. Instead of focusing on the swear words burnt into our new team apartment carpet, I would learn to appreciate the lovely foliage on the tree outside the window (true story...that apartment was bad. Really bad.).

The unfortunate part of this trait is I tend not to notice when I am less than happy. I am so busy spinning my positivity rituals that I obscure my true state from myself. This is a long winded way of saying that I didn't even know that the constant rain of 2009 had been getting me down. As I trudged along a gray sidewalk, under a gray sky with dirty, gray, urban raindrops dripping down my nose, I would dramatize for the kids how happy the plants and flowers were to get a drink from the sky. "See guys, rain is so gives life and...waters stuff." I convinced myself that gray days are meant for novels and coffee and warm sweaters. Which is true. But I don't have much time for novels these days. It mostly means soaking wet runs into Molly's school five days a week. And frizzy hair. And general malaise.

So, after weeks and weeks of telling myself, among other things, that "frizzy hair also means volume and people kill for volume, so I should be grateful", the sun came out.

Ahhhh, so this is why Vancouver is my home. When the sun shines, the city sparkles like no other I have ever seen. That spring in my step? I didn't even know it left me in November. It is springtime. It is glorious.

Even more glorious is actually getting out into the natural world. Instead of beautiful flowers and groomed hedges coaxed into conformity by landscapers trooping around the city in pick-up trucks, I yearn for real nature. The wild kind. And where better to find untamed wilderness than...our garden in Point Roberts. And you can substitute the word "untamed" for "untended". This is due to one-quarter of sheer laziness and three-quarters of pure ignorance. That adds up to a whole, right? Math was never my thing.

The only thing tamed in Point Roberts is our previously spectacular wisteria. Due to some overzealous "trimming" by Eric, it is now spectacularly denuded of any greenery. He claims it is now "taking a season off". I think this is code for "DEAD". To be fair to Eric though, he at least tries hard to oversee our green, green jungle. I just marvel at it and do nothing.

Back to "glass is half full": the upshot of the desecration of the wisteria is that we had a huge pile of gorgeous, ancient, twisty and heartstopping-ly beautiful amputated wisteria wood to burn in a bonfire. Hooray. So we invited friends down to hunt for eggs in the garden on Good Friday. We lit the fire and the kids ran themselves ragged. The trampoline never stopped bouncing. The swings were swung like never before. Every inch of the grass on the lawn was trod upon by little feet. There were roasted hot dogs and marshmallows, chicken wings (Thanks Ewart!), veggies and salads galore. And eggs...lots and lots of chocolate eggs. It was perfect.

In this picture, you can see the playhouse Eric is building for the kids. It is a kit from a sweet Craigslist score.

This is Eric instructing the kids on the hunt of them was "don't let go of your sibling's hand". Harder than it sounds when you spot a pastel plastic egg in the bush across the lawn and your sibling is dawdling. There was quite a lot of um, urging on...

Did you notice who was missing from the above pictures of the egg hunters? Lucas was not such an avid searcher. He hung out by the fire, gazing pensively into the flames, questioning his role in the universe. Either that or he was gathering strength and strategy for his primary activity for the rest of the afternoon: snagging chocolate out of untended baskets. A couple of times I spotted him with foil stuck in his teeth...I think that in the interest of avoiding detection he wasn't taking the time to peel them. He'd just stuff them in and spit out the foil...sort of like an owl who eats mice whole and poops out bones and fur.

It was a simultaneously peaceful and chaotic mess of fantastic fun. My glass was brimming, for real.

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