Category Archives: Parenting

Little orphan Avery

It’s amazing how you spend your time when you have kids: Avery and I “enjoyed” a morning at Value Village last Saturday looking for an orphan costume. Her choir was performing two numbers from Oliver — Food Glorious Food and Consider Yourself — during the Christmas concert this past Tuesday night, and she needed to look like a street urchin from 1800s England. I pictured a child chimney sweep wearing rags, but I saw my vision was off base after the choir director e-mailed everyone this photo for guidance.

Cute, right? I'd adopt this kid for sure.

Cute, right? I’d adopt this kid for sure.

Just like English aristocracy, Victorian-era orphans looked smart. And evidently, coloured clothing didn’t exist back then. For some reason I figured Value Village would stock an assortment of drab, threadbare capris and vests, each for $2.99. Wrong. There was exactly one pair of olive-hued clam diggers, one cream-coloured turtleneck two sizes too big (orphans’ clothes never fit properly, right?) and two appropriate vests (Avery would borrow my brown corduroy newsboy cap). Not a great selection, but we took the items to a dressing room.

Little orphan Avery rocks her $10.99 rabbit fur vest.

Little orphan Avery rocks her $10.99 rabbit fur vest.

The first vest, according to Avery, made her “look like an old man.” She was clearly gunning for the second vest, a stylish brown number made of suede and rabbit fur, with a $10.99 price tag to match. It was just the kind of coveted item that would have drawn unwanted attention from rival street urchins back in the day.

It looked a bit rich, but we were already pushing the envelope with a turtleneck (a 1970s invention, I believe), so why couldn’t Avery go all out and be a poor little rich orphan?

Clearly the fur vest didn’t go over very well with Avery’s castmates because she wasn’t wearing it when she took the stage for Food Glorious Food. Backstage after the performance I inquired why she hadn’t worn the vest.

The orphan choir -- nary a fur vest in sight.

The orphan choir — nary a fur vest in sight.

“They wouldn’t let me, Mommy.” “Why not?” I asked. “One girl said it was too nice and orphans didn’t wear that kind of thing.”

Sigh. Was it like that in Oliver’s time? Fellow orphans sabotaging his chances for adoption success?

No matter. Avery still rocked the songs and now we have a chichi fur vest that she can sport in Fernie over the holidays. I hear the poor little rich ski bunny look is all the rage this year.

I love a Santa Claus parade!

Kids love parades. Mine had never been to one until this past weekend, but they fully embraced it. I think it was the steady stream of candy canes handed out to them, or perhaps the anticipation of seeing Santa Claus riding on the final float. Whatever it was, they loved the lights and the waving and the crowd’s excitement and didn’t seem to mind standing around in chilly Banff for over an hour.

Avery and two friends wait for Santa (and more candy canes).

Avery and two friends wait for Santa (and more candy canes).

The Santa Claus parade down Banff Avenue takes place every year in early December. It concludes the town’s Christmas in the Rockies festival and is a kid-favourite.

Personally, I am not a parade person. Maybe it’s because I’m a jaded adult (or it’s the painful memories from my elementary school pom-pom years, marching in the Evergreen town parade), but I really do not enjoy standing around for hours watching decorated flatbed trucks filled with waving people crawl by at two kilomteres an hour. It’s the reason I’ve only been to the Calgary Stampede parade once.

Parades involve a lot of waving. Your arm will be tired.

Parades involve a lot of waving. Your arm will be tired.

But the great thing about Banff’s Santa Claus parade (and so I’ve been told, any small-town parade), is how short it is. With only 22 floats it lasts an hour tops. ( And I can easily wave at cute Aussie parade marchers wearing snowflake T-shirts for an hour.) What’s more, you can show up five minutes before the parade starts and get a spot right along the side of the road with no one obstructing your view. There aren’t even any barricades so kids can run into the parade route between floats and grab fallen candy canes off the street. And of course, saving Santa for the last float is a smart strategy to keep kids excited for the duration. “It’s Santa! It’s Santa, Mommy!” Bennett yelled. Avery was excited too, but she had more important concerns (like stuffing 30 candy canes into her pocket).

I’m sure Avery and Bennett will be bugging us to watch Calgary’s Stampede Parade next summer. If we can be guaranteed front-row seating, no wait, copious amounts of free candy and the best floats packed in to an hour, we’ll be there.

Confessions from storytime

In his 2008 book Under Pressure: Putting the Child Back in Childhood, author Carl Honore writes about the moment he realized he needed to slow down while parenting. During bedtime story he was skipping pages and shortening sentences in an effort to rush through the book and turn out the light faster (and, presumably, move on to that cherished window between kid-bedtime and parent-bedtime).

Other parents are finding storytime a drag, too. A recent Disney survey found that though half of UK parents surveyed think storytime is time well spent with their kids, only a third read to them every day. The rest are pleading “too busy.”

Based on my own experience though, I am guessing that what Honore probably didn’t count on — and what the survey didn’t ask about — was a child’s need to have the same story read over and over and over and over again. It is really annoying and enough to put even the most well-intentioned parent off of storytime for good. That, dear reader, is my reality.

My shortened version of Goodnight Moon: Goodnight everybody! The end.

We all know that reading to kids is important. It’s a great way to promote literacy and storytelling. It’s also a nice time at the end of the day to cuddle and bond. I just don’t like reading the same book every night for months. When Avery was little she would go choose a bedtime story from the bookshelf and I would repeat this mantra: “Anything but Goodnight Moon, anything but Goodnight Moon, anything but Goodnight Moon.” And then she would bring over — wait for it — Goodnight Moon for what felt like the 1,000th reading. Goodnight Nobody? What does that even mean??

My favourite kids’ story ever. I didn’t minding reading it 150 times.

Fortunately Avery can now read on her own so I am left to struggle through storytime only with Bennett. At the end of the summer he was on a Flap Your Wings tear. It’s a hilarious book about Mr. and Mrs. Bird, in which they hatch and raise a crocodile baby, then try to teach it how to fly. I really loved that book, and watching Bennett get excited every time on the page where the egg hatches to reveal a baby crocodile was priceless. “That’s not a baby bird!!” he would exclaim.

Read this book for what feels like the 1,000th time? I cannot, I cannot, I cannot.

Sadly, not all children’s books are created equal. He has now moved on to The Little Engine That Could, which is supposed to teach kids that success and reward come from trying hard. It’s a great lesson delivered in a painful format. There’s an annoying train filled with crap toys (a creepy toy clown) and food (spinach and peppermint drops) that breaks down. The clown ominously comes to life and begs a bunch of passing engines to haul the toys and food over the mountain so the train can deliver the goods to the waiting children, etc.

Since I’ve read the story so many times, Bennett has memorized the entire book. This means that if I try to skip pages or shorten sentences, he calls me on it. “No Mommy,” he’ll stop me. “Read it again.” So my eyes glaze over and I stifle another yawn and I summon my Little Blue Engine voice and also the will to go on: “I think I can! I think I can! I think I can!”

Every night I suggest different stories to Bennett. “How about Mortimer? We haven’t read that in awhile. What about The Cat in the Hat?”

Bennett: “Mommy, how about The Little Engine That Could?”

Me: “I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.”

How about you? Which bedtime stories are you tired of reading over and over and over and over again?