Sunday before the Sugar Fest

Fraught with broken promises - no apples on the trees, no food at the restaurant - today's day trip still came through in the ways that really count. Here are just a few shots.

Lillian and Morgen on what might have been a decorative wagon at Andrew's Scenic Acres.

Moments after this picture was taken we realized that Lillian was attempting to eat the entire apple - because only sissies throw away the core. If you've never tried to eat the whole apple, I've got news for you: my toddler is braver than you are. Sissy.

And speaking of good apples, we also finally carved Grandpa Lovett's wonder pumpkins this morning. Or, we started to carve them. Lillian was thinking that we were going to eat them for snack, and was a bit upset that we pulled all their guts out instead.

Have we mentioned that she is teething?

Morgen, on the other hand, knew exactly what we were up to and was happy to watch Daddy do most of the messy work as long as her pumpkin could sport a sad face when it was all over.

As the happy-faced jack that we carved a weekend ago has been pronounced "sick" [read: infested by ants and nibbled on by desperate squirrels], perhaps this change of face was intended to frighten away future pumpkin eaters. Pumpkin eaters who aren't Lillian, at least. I'm fairly certain that she isn't afraid of eating anything. And if you haven't tried to eat a whole raw pumpkin, see the above comment re: the whole apple.

Happy Halloween.

Since September

Grad school...again.

Accepting change is good. Compulsive lily-dipping, not so much.

That is why I am hereby announcing that, no matter how strong the temptation, no matter how entrenched the habit, I will end my obsessive surfing of the not-for-profit job boards and focus all of my non-parenting energy on finishing the dissertation.

It is an awesome topic, I know it will make a fascinating book. And I really want to go to space camp/buy a telescope/delve into those questions that I see as connected but that one reviewer of my grant application described as "potentially trivial." Oh, you are wrong, my esteemed colleague. And I'm just going to have to try harder to prove my point.

Which means actually stilling my change-oriented self, and just reading, writing, thinking, and teaching. For at least two years.

Focus, focus, focus.

Two years is not a long time. Right?

So, should I block the job boards from my browser?

And then they gave us the turkey.

It is official: Gavin and I have been in Toronto longer than planned.

I moved here in 2000 expecting to keep it short and sweet - two years, tops - and Gavin arrived in 2001 expecting a similarly brief stay. Ah, what love can do to the best-laid plans!

We inherited this turkey candle from the latest of our grad school friends to leave Toronto in favour of very good prospects elsewhere. They inherited the glowing gobbler from its original owner, who placed it in a position of honour at her Thanksgiving celebration every year while she was here.

Having it on my piano is weirding me out a bit. It feels like the end of an era is staring me in the face with a glossy, waxy lumpy sort of stare.

Is this turkey some kind of amulet? Are we a mere few months from our next adventure? Hmmmm. And, what do I do with this thing? If I should, say, box it up and mail it to its original owner, would that be doing the "ceremonial passing of the turkey" a disservice? There is only one other person in Toronto who could receive it after us, and I'm not sure she would want it...or that she really qualifies, as a British citizen, to inherit the American grad student's turkey candle...thoughts, anyone?

Do you remember this waxy bird? Share some memories with me please - I'm feeling nostalgic. And did I mention, also a bit weirded out.

Sipping like her sister

Lillian's new favourite thing on the first day of their relationship.

After months of looking sneaky, making a fast grab and tearing down the hall with Morgen's water bottle in her hands, Lillian has finally received one of her very own.

It was love at first sight in the store - no second guesses, she knew exactly which one she wanted, and she cuddled it the way some kids cuddle teddy bears. She screamed when it had to be scanned so I could buy it. And then she laughed when I gave it back to her.

And then she screamed when I took it away so I could wash it. And laughed when I gave it back to her.

It has mostly survived her love. Within one week, the bottle was dented, scratched, and the orange cap was broken off, leaving only the twisty-sippy spout for her to play with.

Morgen's bottle says "Hydration is fun" and features elephants and bluebirds. She doesn't love it, but she knows it is hers. It still looks new, except around the spout where she has chewed on it ever so slightly. Lillian's bottle is covered in large-eyed, innocent-looking woodland creatures, and it has more war wounds than can be found on vessels five times its age.

I think I'll wait a year or so before buying a replacement top.