That brings me to today, Christmas Day 2011. Today is another long, hard day in a long line of long, hard days. But not a bad day — certainly not bad. Just long, and by the end of it my head is spinning and I long for a day where I don’t have to do anything … despite knowing full well that were I actually to get such a day, I’d be bored outta my tree.

Such is the life of the working parent, I suppose…

The last couple of months have been filled in a near-insane level of activity, and almost no break whatsoever. Even when my most recent project delivered and my company closed down for the holidays, the gear just shifted into “Christmas preparation”. This went until last night, at about 11:45, when the last present had been stashed under the tree, and I could sit down and relax for a few moments before Alex got home from work (she doesn’t get off work until 23:30, and not home until midnight).

Barely six hours of sleep … and the mayhem began.

Today is the first Christmas where Monkey will remember the details, where she was excited about Santa Claus, where she knew exactly what she wanted, and we’d be in some serious trouble if the present didn’t come. (For the record, a Dora the Explorer singing guitar.) It was the first Christmas where we had to fend off children from running right to the Christmas tree. It was the first Christmas where I understood why my parents wanted to eat breakfast before a single present was unwrapped.

I think back to those earliest Christmases I can remember, and they are nothing but joyful. Oddly enough, I don’t remember fights with my sister, though I’m certain they happened. I remember wonderful things wrapped in colourful paper, hours spent in our basement (the tree was kept far from view while I was young), playing with new toys for hours more. I remember the trips to Mrs. Sinnott’s apartment for lunch, and afterwards the entire troupe would end up at our house for a massive, and very loud, dinner. Those years are long since past, never to return. I miss them greatly, but the memories haven’t faded.

It’s been 10 years since our last Christmas with dad. That, too, was a very happy Christmas. Although smaller, it was the day my brother-in-law formally proposed to my sister. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room … partly because Craig was stringing Cathy along with some rather inventively-labelled gifts. It was a tremendous meal, too. And it was as loud as any dinner I could remember previous.

Ten years later, I’m starting those same memories with my kids. While I suspect we’ll not have the same insanity around the dinner table that followed each and every Christmas at Gatestone Avenue, Alex and I have strived to make some traditions we hope to keep going. (Whether or not they get more boisterous remains to be seen.)

Today, while still in the midst of presents, we Skyped with some of the family back east — technical difficulties prevented full communication, along with small kids eating up parental patience and stamina on both ends. Tempers flared, tears rolled, and a few things were thrown. Mom then reminded me that Cathy and I had done precisely the same thing when we were kids (even I don’t remember it), and her recommendation was a deep breath and naps for everyone.

Two napped. The ones who needed them most (the extremely tired and the last-shift worker), did not.

Brunch was late in the morning, waiting for Grandma to arrive. Moulded pancakes with fruit salad and maple bacon. A decent meal, if a bit of a struggle (pancake moulds and I have a tepid relationship). Though significantly better than my dinner meal, which was a slow-cooked orange-cranberry turkey breast. The Sahara might be considered more moist. Alex was luckily spared, as she had to work.

That’s been the strangest part of this Christmas, not having Alex around all the time. She’s usually out of the house between 15:00 and 23:50 on the days she works, including Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, two of the hardest days of the year to not be at home. It’s been hard on everyone, but I feel particularly bad for Alex, having to miss the evening events. We had to skimp on Christmas dinner, possibly my single favourite meal of the year, because Alex wouldn’t be here. (Hence the horridly dry turkey breast.)

It’s time to start thinking about closing out the year, which we’ll do from the West Coast, and look towards the events of 2012. I’m looking forward to a good time.

Happy holidays, everyone!

Unlike your other birthdays, I didn’t get to spend all of today with you. I had to go to work, so you spent most of the day with Mommy, and then with Grandma just before I got home. But in case you don’t remember today, Monkey, I hope you remembered yesterday.

That’s when we partied.

Okay, maybe not “partied” in the ways that you will in the years to come. (C’mon, you’re only four, for cryin’ out loud!) But you did have a party, with friends you met at school (and not kids that were invited because their parents are friends of Mommy and me), and some of the kids from the neighbourhood. It wasn’t huge — we topped out at maybe 5 kids running around all at once? (Well, 6 if you count me…)

We all got up early, as we had a lot of things to do before your friends arrived. Chocolate blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup. (Does it get any better?) Then you and I had to race out to run a couple of errands: take the rented hedge trimmer back, and then go get your Rapunzel-themed birthday cake from Safeway in Westhills (along with a few other commodities). Then it was a race back home.

Not 10 minutes after we got back, the castle arrived. You’ve been missing your bouncy castles, Monkey. Ever since the Calgary Farmer’s Market moved, you’ve not been getting your bouncy castle fix. Mommy agonized over it, but found one for you that fit rather nicely on the front lawn. You couldn’t wait to get inside.

Choo Choo, you had a little bounce, too, and despite a current inability to jump, I can already tell that you’re going to love these things.

The first guest to arrive was a special guest, Princess Kim, a woman from Mommy’s high school who does girls’ parties dressed as a princess. It really fit with the princess theme that we were drilling into everyone.

(A note to future dads who find that they are having girls: Yes, you will have to deal with dolls, and hair, and princesses, and painted nails, and all the things that will make you cringe in abject fear. Remember one detail: if it makes them happy, then it’s good. Because when the princesses are happy, you’re the King, baby.)

Next up was Camilla, followed soon by Nicole, both from your Spanish preschool. I’m still rather amazed that you don’t seem to have trouble at preschool, but you also seem to have no ability to speak it (yet for a while in Costa Rica, you spoke far more Spanish than English). The final guest was Sophia, the little girl from across the street whom you adore. I hope the two of you are friends for a long time to come.

You bounced, you ate cake at 11:00, you danced with Princess Kim (who also painted your nails, and attempted to do crafts with you), you bounced some more, you opened presents (our home has finally seen its first Barbie), and you bounced.

By noon, Camilla and Nicole were gone, and the bouncy castle saw the arrivals of Coen (the little boy from next door) and Zane (the boy from a few doors down), along with brief appearances from a couple of the other kids in the area. There was bouncing, and there was giggling and laughing, and there was me chasing people with the garden hose (hey, seemed like a good idea at the time).

After a small lunch of berries (fresh, of course), you and Choo Choo both passed out like lead weights. For a brief time, the echoing cacophony that had erupted throughout the yard vanished, and it was silent. It was glorious. And Mommy and I realised that, yes, we aren’t the only people in the neighbourhood who have to yell at their kids to get their attention…

You went for your final bounces just after 15:00, and waited right up until the last second before the man pulled the plug on the bouncy castle so he could pack it up and take it away. I felt sorry that it had to go, Monkey, I really did. I almost wish there were a way to get one in your room all the time.

Tonight, Grandma stayed for dinner, and we finished off your Rapunzel cake. We opened your presents (ah, who am I kidding? — you opened your presents … there was no “we” involved, here), and you stayed up late watching Kiki’s Delivery Service.

I hope you had a good birthday, honey. And I hope this is one you remember. Because I hope you remember it for a long, long time to come.

Not bad for only a little over 48 hours, eh?

It started Friday morning, which was Stampede Parade Day. The Calgary Stampede Parade is one of the largest in the world (I’ve heard it’s second, but have yet to hear what’s first, or the conditions under which that define its size), and has been a tradition in Calgary for close to a century. Now that you’re nearly four, it seemed like a good idea to take you to the parade so you could see it yourself, and not drive me insane by having a total loss of focus.

There’s only one catch with seeing the parade: you have to either have bench seating (acquired in advance, usually with paid tickets), or you get there early to get anywhere near a decent place to sit. Rather foolishly, I thought we had plenty of time leaving at 6:35am.

The lines had formed much earlier that morning (the people we sat next to — you remember them, right? They had the little white dog named “Cookie”? — arrived at 6:30 that morning and said all the front-line seats were long gone), and we were met with a sea of people as we crossed under the bridge into downtown.

My other grandiose plan was to stop at McDonald’s for breakfast, since we hadn’t the time to eat before we left the house. That line was equally as bad, and it meant that we either ate, or suffered through poor seating. Given the time we’d have to wait, I felt the the latter was more important. We had at least brought you some snacks, Monkey, so you wouldn’t be starving. I would have to go without…

We found a place, next to a wooden fence at the edge of the massive Impark lots on the south side of 9th Ave., that offered a fairly decent view of the route, and was not totally blocked by the scads of folding chairs that everyone else had (next time, I’ll remember to bring real chairs). And there we sat down and waited for something — well, anything — to happen.

It dawned on me rather suddenly that I had been sitting in almost the same place some 10 years earlier with Auntie Cathy and Uncle Craig (before they got married) to watch my first Stampede parade. I wouldn’t have imagined that 10 years later I’d be watching the Parade with my own daughter on my knee.

William and Kate, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge — the future king of the United Kingdom and his wife (I’m not sure if she’ll be a “Queen” or a “Princess Consort” at that point) had been in Canada for the last couple of weeks on a whirlwind tour of the country (supposedly a “honeymoon” — Mommy and I have had some pretty whirlwind-type trips, but nothing that hectic), and were going to see the Stampede Parade, too. And before the Parade started, they would do a pass through the Parade route, themselves … in reverse. [Insert joke about driving on the wrong side of the road here.]

By 8:40, we were already fairly tired of waiting (and my ass already bruised from the hard ground and stones I had to sit on — you sat on me, I should add), but we were rewarded by the Royal Drive By (albeit far faster than anyone would have desired, and it was difficult to actually see the Royals — Kate was on our side of the car). Pretty much everyone clapped and cheered.

We didn’t really see much for another hour. Given our place on the route, that wasn’t entirely surprising, but it did seem a bit much, all things considered. Marching bands, clowns, and lots and lots and lots of horses. And a guy riding a bull (memories of Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles, indeed!). Our Mayor, Naheed Nenshi, rode a horse, too and seemed quite happy to do so. We saw Rick Hanson, who was the Parade Marshall for 2011 — he drove himself (hey, he drove himself around the world — a paltry couple of kilometres is nothing for him, right?). The biggest cheers were for the Canadian Armed Forces, notably the Army — almost everyone stood and cheered loudly for them. (One day, I’ll explain why, Monkey. That’s a very long topic, and pretty much entirely another blog post.) The quietest moments were when our faithful Ministers of Parliament drove past — the “Honourable” Rob Anders was met with embarrassed silence (guess what, Calgary, you aren’t allowed to be embarrassed — you voted for him, remember?).

Mommy met us at the Safeway downtown where we ran into two friends of mine: Evelyn, who I worked with for many years; and a childhood friend of mine, Neil, who also lives in Calgary. You then went home, and I went to work.

Yesterday, we went for our first (and possibly only) free pancake breakfast. The pancake breakfast is a tradition that has existed in Calgary for almost as long as the Stampede itself. It’s so rooted in tradition that when someone actually charges for a breakfast (and the money doesn’t go directly to charity), they get the stinkeye from just about everyone. People take their free breakfasts around here pretty seriously.

The Stampede Caravan runs a very efficient and very tight ship when it comes to pancakes. You, Choo Choo, and I walked up to the Sunterra, where the Caravan had set up their event. (We had gone last year, too, but I’m not sure if you remember that at all.) By the time we arrived, the parking lot was packed with people waiting for pancakes — they hadn’t yet started flipping them.) You declared you wanted to see the animals first, which seemed like a good idea, since we had to wait anyway.

Butterfield Acres was also there, just like last year, with pony rides and their portable petting zoo. Chicks, bunnies, goats, and lambs. You shrieked in eagerness, then raced in to give out hay to the goats, pet the bunnies, and be reminded several times not to pick up the chicks. (Choo Choo, you petted the lambs, which you loved, and the goats. You couldn’t really reach the bunnies, and we weren’t allowed to pick them up.)

Despite the several-hundred person-long line, it took a mere 15 minutes to get our pancakes. (Like I said, the Stampede Caravan runs a very efficient operation. They set the standard for how it should be done.) Your pancake, thanks to one very nice cook, was shaped like Mickey Mouse. We got our pancakes, found a curb to sit down, and dug in. Even Choo Choo inhaled her pancakes.

Afterwards, we went over to the pony ride, which I had promised. Just as you got into line to get on a pony, Erin and her friend arrived (which I had known about, but forgotten about). You love riding ponies, I’ve noticed — a far cry from the day we tried to get you on a pony in La Sabana Park in San José, when you cried in terror at the idea. It’s just a shame that you couldn’t go around more than once, though, and had to come out.

We went shopping for dinner afterwards, and “helped” by picking out chocolate milk, and deciding that we needed to take a pie as well (which you summarily dropped on the floor, forcing my hand to purchase it). Although you wrecked the pie (actually, a 9″ creme brulée), the Sunterra manager very kindly swapped it with a new one, reinforcing the reason why I prefer to shop there.

This morning, we were all going to go to the Stampede itself. It was Family Day at the Stampede, meaning there was free entrance to the park before 9:00, and a pancake breakfast for the first 20,000 people. You would think we could do that…

Choo Choo was against us, however, and woke up several times last night without going back to sleep. Eventually Mommy decided to stay up with her, letting you and I get a little more sleep. But I woke later than I’d wanted to, and Mommy was too tired to go (she has to work until midnight tonight), so it ended up being just you and me, and we didn’t get to the park until just after 8:00 … and about 1 minute after they ran out of tickets for the pancakes. Once again, Daddy was going hungry.

It also appeared that the Stampede hadn’t really opened yet, either. Most of the exhibits didn’t open until 9:00, with a number not opening until 10:00. That left us with … well, not to much to do. Thankfully, Mommy had the foresight to have me bring you something good to eat (although the Stampede has lots of food, most of it is … well, not exactly healthy). Down went an apple sauce, banana, and a heck of a lot of grapes. And you were still hungry.

We wandered through the BMO Centre and the Corral looking for the kids midway — something I thought would be a little easier for you to handle. Immediately, I felt nostalgic for the days when I was about your age, and my parents took me to the Canadian National Exhibition (“The EX” or the “CNE”) in Toronto. It was always the last hurrah of the summer, and the clown-faced logo of Conklin Shows is something I’ll not likely ever forget — something you’ll likely never know, either, since Conklin sold out to North American Midway Entertainment. It’s really not quite the same thing.

We picked up 12 tickets, which I figured would be good for three rides. I didn’t know what you’d like yet, and felt buying too much was a bad idea. First stop? The carousel. I know you love carousels — you’ve been on several, now — and you asked quickly for the “horsie ride”. Although not nearly as nice as the one in Heritage Park (a vintage machine that is infinitely more attractive, at least during the day) or the one at the zoo (zoo animals being a major plus), you loved being on it just the same.

Then, to my surprise, you asked to go on the “boat ride”. The “Rockin’ Tug” is a kid-friendly version of the classic Swinging (Pirate) Ship ride, except it sits on rails rather than being suspended from a massive hinge. And, unlike its larger sibling, the tug actually spins around.

I thought you’d chicken out. Really. Maybe I had a lower expectation, Monkey, given some of the things you’d said you wanted to do and changed your mind at the last second; or maybe I was even extending some of my fears from when I was your age. But you not only eager climbed up, you virtually stunned me by cheering and screaming “wheeeee!” the entire time. You’re hooked.

After that, we tried to get into SuperDogs. I emphasize “tried”, because the line to buy tickets (I wasn’t even aware that SuperDogs even needed tickets — my memory had always been that of a walk-in event) was almost as long as the line for pancakes.

So we had some of Those Little Donuts instead. Infinitely yummier, if you ask me.

We tried to find a petting zoo in the agricultural area. You’d think for an agricultural-based event, there’d be more kid-friendly things. But there was no petting area that we could see, no pig races, nothing even remotely fun for the kids. Just an endless stream of horses (even you got tired of them all), a few cows (surprisingly few for an agricultural-based event), and a bunch of miniature donkeys. We went back for rides, and got sidetracked by kettle corn (and for good reason).

We went back for another round on the carousel, and again went to the Rockin’ Tug. By this point, my lack of coffee/lack of real food/subjection to the extremely loud and annoying squeaky horns that every little kid seemed to have/lack of coffee (hey, trust me, it’s that serious) had finally caused a near epic-level headache to form. I couldn’t wear my hat, and having you on my shoulders was causing intense throbbing. I wasn’t sure we’d even survive a trip on the Wacky Worm without me losing what little not-really-lunch I had.  But you loved it — I remember being totally terrified of my first rollercoaster — and I got off with my dignity intact.

And then we had to go home. My head was threatening to explode. As it stands, I had to take two strong pills and crawl into bed for about 45 minutes before I could function again. “Next time”, I say now, knowing that I’m probably deluding myself.

I hope you had fun, kiddo. And Choo Choo, next year you’ll get a chance to go and have fun, too. But maybe during the week — this going on “Family Day” just equates to a little too much torture, methinks.

This year, we’d resolved to get you on that train, Monkey. And … well, we did try. But apparently we’d waited too long (trying to coordinate with other parents) and … well, we blew it. This year, like last, probably all you’d have done is stood and watched as other kids got to ride the train.

But, thanks to a fluke chance, you got to ride something those other kids didn’t even know about…

There are things you’re just starting to understand about your Old Man (that would be me), Monkey. One of them is that Daddy loves trains. And that Daddy will — if given the chance — go to long lengths to do train-related things. Like last year’s little chase of CP 2816 through the mountains, or the model train show (although we couldn’t go this year, as it was the same weekend that I was recovering from surgery).

Virtually the day after we realised that there was no way we were going to get tickets to ride Thomas, my friend Graham sent me a message that CP 2816 was exiting it’s winter maintenance for a shakedown run out to Carseland and back (about 80 kilometres, there and back). It was supposed to be a Canadian Pacific Railways employee-only event, but Graham has a little sway with a few people and very graciously secured two tickets for us.

And thus was born the Super Secret Monkey Surprise.

It was thus created for two reasons. First, I didn’t want to tell you in case some plan changed. It’s a weird situation when it actually makes more sense to surprise you rather than to let you know about something fun that might not happen. Second, you were coming down with something nasty (and particularly on Thursday night and Friday morning, you were really, really, really sick) and taking you out on Saturday might not have been the wisest of moves. But, once Dr. Mom had given her approval, you and I set out for our little adventure.

You kept calling it the “Super Duper Monkey Surprise”, which you were keen to recount to anyone who’d listen. You rambled on and on until we got to the Royal Canadian Pacific offices on 9th Ave. downtown, where we entered and went through a side door into the Pavilion, which is a mostly glass-enclosed space that houses Canadian Pacific Railways’ fleet of vintage parlour cars used on the RCP train.

No sooner had we entered the Pavilion itself than you asked if we could ride the train — you’d figured that part out. As if on cue, that’s when CP 2816 pulled into the siding outside, steaming away as its bell clanged.

You were anxious, amidst a bit of coughing. You wanted to go on the ride, even though I’m sure you weren’t really sure what to expect. It’d been a long time since you’d been on a train (I’m pretty sure it was when we were in Scotland two years ago), and aside from Heritage Park, you’d never been on a big train pulled by a steam locomotive.

We hopped on, and immediately went forward, finding seats as close to the steam locomotive as we could. (There was a baggage car, generator car, tool car, the 1900 and 1400 F-unit diesel assists between us and CP 2816, so it wasn’t like we could hear it really clearly.) The passenger cars are all vintage, with giant comfy seats and enough legroom to host a concert. It’s what rail travel used to be, and I (for one) greatly lament its loss in favour of cramped automobiles.

Soon, the train slowly began to back up, and you got very excited to be moving. We had to back up quite a ways down the line (the siding is in part of the staging yard that allows the huge freight trains to line up to arrive and exit from Calgary westwards) before we could join up with the main line. Then, we started moving forwards.

I can’t really remember the last time I rode behind a steam locomotive on main line rail. I was probably around 5 or 6, and it was most likely behind CN 6060 when it still ran steam excursions out to Niagara Falls. (I suppose you could consider CP 2860 when it was running North Vancouver to Squamish as well, but BC Rail was only a Class II railway at the time.) Only CP 2816 and the odd run of CP 2860 ever go on main line rail these days.

It took a while for us to wind our way through the rail yards that stretch from downtown Calgary out to just past Ogden in the east. From there, the train picked up a bit of speed before passing through CP’s intermodal yard. After that, we were off!

And so were you. You didn’t want to sit anymore. You wanted to get up and walk around. This is another reason I love trains — you can do that. Just try wandering on an airplane. You get weird looks. And Monkey, you don’t sit still, so really, a train is the best thing for you. And you saw just about every window and vestibule on the the train. Several times.

We arrived at Carseland in about 45 minutes. In fact, it wasn’t even Carseland proper — it was a wye just to the west of Carseland that also services the Agrium fertilizer plant. It was more than long enough to “turn” the entire train. And, thankfully, it was also dry enough for us to get off and look around a bit … which, of course, means running up to the head end to get pictures with the steam locomotive.

Take that, Thomas!

It was quite windy that day (it’s been quite windy for a few days, actually), and you wanted to get back on the train before too long. That gave you time to have more of your snacks and drink some more water, before resuming your incessant pacing up and down the train. I had to get you to stop for a while until the train moved again, so everyone could get on without running into you.

On the way back, you made friends with another little girl, and the two of you (and the girl’s little sister, I believe) hung out in the vestibules, going from one stool to another to peer over the high doors. You never really seemed to mind your hair blowing in the wind, or the periodic shifting of the cars as the train rolled down the tracks.

Although I don’t think you were quite as bummed as I was when the trip was all over. But you definitely said that it was fun, and how you wanted to do it again.

I’m pretty sure we will.

Even before we moved back to Canada (Alex knowing she was pregnant), she had started to plan her return to work. She wanted to do her job again, not just because it’s something she’d spent many years training for, and not just because it helps the family income-wise. It’s also a value aspect — anyone who’s had a job feels a certain amount of ownership and responsibility about what they do.

And besides, it gives her a chance to get away from the kids…

(Okay, I jest on that last one. Well, a bit — there is some truth to it. But it was a major consideration, too — what do we do with the kids? They had to go into daycare if this was going to work.)

Today, Alex completed her first week of paid, non-mom/non-house work in almost four years. This was a week that I was actually dreading for quite some time; I feared the chaos. Monkey has become quite the handful at times (especially with Alex and I), and Choo Choo’s now walking and in a very clingy stage where she refuses to let go.

Frankly, I expected this week to be abject hell. I expected that we’d have to order dinner almost every night, the kids would be confused as hell and downright unmanageable, that there’d be tonnes of stress, and I’d be wanting to sleep at the office. That’s what I expected.

Plan for the worst, hope for the best. Kicker is, I forgot to actually hope — I just planned, but not remotely as well as Alex did. She planned our meals, made sure dinners were made in advance, arranged for the daycare for the kids (I dropped off in the morning, she picked up in the afternoon; Alex’s mom will come on Fridays), and so forth. I probably worried more about myself than anything else; Alex had handled it all.

So here we are, end of that first epic week, and Alex was happy each and every day. No missed buses, no late starts, no tears except for when I handed Choo Choo over to the daycare (on her first day, there was an intense grabbing combined with something that sounded like JEZZUSCHRIPESDADWHATTHEHELLAREYOUDOING?! and a small river of cascading down her pudgy face. Monkey, on the other hand, disappeared almost instantly. I only knew she was in the daycare because I heard: “I found a doll!”

Alex, to her vast credit, made it look almost effortless, like it was a recipe she’d made dozens of time and rolled it out with no more effort than scrambling an egg. For someone who hadn’t turned an hour in a few years, it looked beyond old hat.

If nothing else, it’s a chance to remember that no matter how well you think you know someone, they can still surprise you. I’m proud of you hon, you continue to amaze me.

Mommy and I had been looking forward to today for a long time. We wanted your first birthday to be small, surrounded with just a few of us, making as much fuss as we could without completely overwhelming you. Today wasn’t really about you, so much as it was about us. You see, we’re actually kind of sad, today.

Why? Well, you’re no longer our baby girl. You’re grown up.

In the year that’s passed, an awful lot has happened. While I can’t say you’ve travelled as far as your sister (who’d seen four countries before she was a year old), or have as many teeth (she had more than six; your third tooth has yet to pop through), you’re easily as tall as her, and you’ve been walking around on your own — Monkey was still a week from that. You’ve come a long way, kid.

This is a bit of a hard day for Mommy and I. By most definitions, you’re no longer an infant — no longer our baby — you’re a toddler. You’re toddling. You’re growing, despite all of our wishes that you remain forever small, forever ours.

It started early, just after 6:00, when you woke up, cooing in your crib. I brought you to Mommy, softly singing “Happy Birthday” to you. I didn’t see you again until just before I left for work, giving you a kiss on the head.

When I came home, you were awake and playing, and make that “GAH!” sound you frequently do, and panted quickly for a moment, which appears to be your current way of saying “Daddy” (or at least “someone I recognise”). We played while Mommy worked on your birthday cake.

Mommy made you snowmen cupcakes. (I really want to take credit for the idea, but Mommy really make it all her own — she did a fantastic job!) They were yummy chocolate cupcakes with a sugar icing on them, with chocolate arms, a candied papaya nose, and a gumdrop hat (you didn’t eat the gumdrop, the arms, or the nose, by the way). Your snowman came with a candle in the shape of a “1″ — the very same candle Monkey had on her cake for her first birthday.

Grandpa and Granny came out from Ruskin for the party (Grandpa having taken the bus, in an effort to reduce his carbon footprint), and Grandma came over later in the afternoon. You didn’t have a nap in the afternoon, so it was a bit of a question to see how’d you do with exhaustion.

We did presents first. You got a Fisher Price Little People barn with a variety of animals, a walker/ride-on cart, some bath toys, crayons, some clothes, and Mommy knit you a little stuffed pig. You wanted to play with the torn pieces of wrapping paper … of course.

You were the first to get your snowman, brought to you with candle alit. You poked it tentatively at first, but them pretty much dived right in. It wasn’t quite the level of cake carnage your sister had unleashed nearly over three years ago, and we didn’t give you ice cream to amp up the messiness, but you still required a bath afterwards. You decimated the cake, filling your hands with chocolate cake and icing.

Although your sister took to the sugary dessert like a flame to gasoline, your lack of a second nap seemed to take you down fairly quickly. (Although I should point out that — as of this writing — you’ve woken up twice since going to bed, likely due to teething.) And thus ended your first birthday.

So happy birthday, my little one. May all those yet to come be far more memorable, and filled with all the best memories.

And by “toddler”, I mean “toddle”, which is about the best way to describe your current state of bipedal motion. You’ve been scooting for the last couple of months, using an improvised push with your left hand to shove your left leg forward while seated, and using your right leg to pull at the same time. But you’ve started walking in short bursts, and are on the cusp of walking on your own.

If only you’d let go of Mommy and I … which we really don’t want you to do.

Don’t get me wrong, kiddo — we want you to be independent, we want you to know the thrill of walking on your own. Now that it’s warm out, we can think about walking down the sidewalk without freezing in the last month’s deep freeze. You can (slowly) chase your sister, Monkey, as she screeches about the house. It’s the start of letting you play more on your own terms.

It’s just that … well, Mommy and I can’t let go. We want to, but we can’t. It means giving up our little baby, just as we had with Monkey. Unlike Monkey, though, we know you’re our last — we won’t be having any more kids, which places a lot of our emotional burden (baggage?) on you. Sadly, if there was a way we could keep you as a baby, I think we might almost consider it…

We’ve been trying to get you to roll over, crawl, stand up — all the things that an infant should do at some point in the first year of life. We weren’t pushing you, per se (Monkey didn’t exactly follow the schedule, either), but we wanted you to at least try. Oddly enough, you seemed to have almost no interest in those things.

But standing? You were all over that. And when you found out you could move your feet and shuffle along the edge of the ottoman? Squeals of joy, I tell you. Naturally, we’ve been walking you around the house, your little hands gripping our fingers. We’ve also been slowly taking those fingers away, hoping you’d start to work on your balance.

It’s had its moments. You’ve had a couple of rather worrying falls (measured in the number of seconds from when you hit until you actually uttered a window-shattering scream), but you’ve always bounced back (metaphorically-speaking, of course) to try again. And again. And again.

I think we pegged you as “first steps” a couple of weeks ago, which was little more than a step or two (at most) before falling into either Mommy or my arms, usually with your tongue stuck out and a gasped giggle. Prop up, reposition, and repeat.

Over the last couple of days, you’ve had more than a couple of steps. We’ve seen as many as 10 or so steps in succession, provided you’re headed to something you want — like the cat piano, Mommy, or even walking to Monkey’s bedroom door to slap on it. But you still want a finger, and you’ll wrench yourself around to get a second any chance you can. I think, maybe, in some small way, you know that Mommy and I aren’t ready to let go, and you’re reminding us of that.

I know it won’t be long, though. Two, three weeks at the most, and you’ll be walking more easily. Doors will have to be locked, drawers secured, electrical sockets covered, hatches battened. And your happy squeal will be heard moving from room to room, the soft thumping of your feet the confirmation of your movement.

You’ll fall a few more times yet, Choo Choo. We all did when we learned to walk. Just know that Mommy and I will always try to catch you, help you; kiss you when you hit the floor, and always get you back on your feet to try again.

You’ll see that pattern a lot, by the way. It’s about being a parent.

Lately, I’ve wanted dearly to stop time. Not because of any perceived notion of aging (as has been pointed out by others, I certainly don’t seem to act my age), but for fear of losing you as you are, now. My little bundle of happy joy, your gleeful cackle when you see someone you know, your little giggle.

I feel like it’s all about to slip through my fingers.

You’re in motion, Choo Choo. You’re a skoocher. You slide along the floor, using your hand to push you forwards. In your sleeper, you move pretty quickly, and we have to keep an eye on you. But it’s cute — oh, so cute. You can slowly push open an unlatched door, to find Mommy or Monkey or me behind it, your smile and happy gasp announcing your arrival and delight in finding what you were looking for.

But you’re also on two feet. You want to walk, so badly. You want to walk on your own. You want to follow your sister, to play with her. You want to run. You’re trying so very hard. I suspect that before your first birthday, which is barely over a month away, you’ll do just that. And then you’ll cease to be my baby.

My little Choo Choo. I wish I could truly express the joy you create around here. Yes, you cry (and oh, boy, can you cry). But you laugh. You squeal with joy. You splash gaily in the bathtub. You wriggle on the floor when you’re on your back, your mouth wide open in delight. You coo and babble. You’re an epitome of baby.

It saddens me to know that you’re changing, that you’re growing older. When you start walking, your need for independence will grow, and just like your sister, you’ll want to walk away, to strike out on your own. You’ll want to see things for yourself. You won’t need me anymore.

Not that I’ve been able to give all that much. Mommy is the centre of your world — I’m just a moon that you see briefly in some mornings before the sun brightens, and that rises in the evening just before you go to bed. The lament of a working parent, I suppose…

I wish there were a way to keep you as you are for a while longer, to save away the moments we have, with you as you are — as my infant daughter, my little joy. I wish I could start my every day for all of eternity stroking your soft hair, across your warm cheeks, and look into eyes that radiate innocence. There is nothing I know that can convey the sense of peace I see in watching you sleep.

But I can’t stop time. I can’t keep you in perpetual youth. I will have to accept the reality of you growing up, and becoming yourself.

So if you find me, one day, poring over old photographs and movies, and I ask softly to touch your cheek and imagine, give a little pity to your old man who misses his wee babe.

I had to convince Alex. It’s a two hour drive, which means potentially ineffective naps and not eating ideally (even if we take all the food with us, it’s selective due to limited space). The weather played well in our favour, but it was still a long way to go. But I apparently made my case well, as we got ourselves up early, got our things together, and headed out the door around 9:30 this morning.

Today was one of those days when you really have to remember that I should never be the one making plans…

The drive out to Lake Louise was pretty nice. Unlike our last trip, where Alex was clinging onto the armrests for dear life (the wind combined with blowing snow was a little on the freaky side), the sun was bright until we got to the mountains, and the snow seemed to be falling only far above us. The worst we had was some moronic driver in a Ford Flex who seemed content to pass me, suddenly veer right in front of me, and then slow down.

Oh, and having to listen to Monkey’s Spanish pre-school music CD about ten times while in the car. I still can’t get the music for “The Ants Go Marching In” (“Las hormigas en marchando van”, I believe) out of my head.

Things seemed to be going just beautifully … right up until we pulled off at the Lake Louise exit and saw 20 other cars ahead of us in the off-ramp. I’ve never seen that many cars in front of me before in an off-ramp. Anywhere. Ever. I’m not entirely sure if I said “uh oh” aloud.

Sure enough, the Ice Magic Festival draws a crowd. A big one. The multiple parking lots up at the Lake itself were now full, and a small flotilla of people were diverting cars just off the highway into parking lots. We were #3 in the lot we pulled into. By the time we got out of the car, some 10 minutes later (Kate needed a feeding), the lot was nearly full.

From the lot to the Lake? Five kilometres. Once upon a time, I’d have walked it. Maybe even in the winter. With a 3 year-old and an infant? Not a chance. Thankfully, there were shuttle buses. But because there were buses meant that we had to carry less … Alex and Monkey couldn’t go skating on the lake, now, since we didn’t to lug sharp things around like that. Nor could we bring our stroller, since it was too big for the bus — I had to carry Choo Choo in the Baby Bjorn. (My back still hates me — Choo Choo’s not as light as she used to be.)

So we trundled over to the stop to wait for the shuttle bus. The stop already had an hour’s worth of people. (Keep in mind that just as we got off the highway was when the Lake lot was closed.) The buses were small and running not nearly frequently enough. After a quick conversation with the attendant, we opted to go find the kids’ activities, including the “Little Chippers”.

The activity (note the singular) was an ice-sculpting “contest” where every kid who participated won a prize (extremely egalitarian, I must say), which was a little stuffed husky dog. We opted to get Monkey sunglasses first, which she needed rather badly, then went in search of lunch — a $6.50 pot pie (overpriced, but thankfully tasty) along with a cold cornish pasty — then went back to the Little Chippers.

The Little Chippers was a rather simple premise: give kids a block of ice about the size of a phonebook, and an ice pick that looked a little like a wide and rather menacing fork. Chip away until you have something reasonable, show it to the attendant, and get a stuffed animal. (Given some of the finished pieces, I think “reasonable” was a fairly low bar to get over.)

Monkey took a bit to get into it, and seemed only to stab at her ice with a similar zeal she normally reserved for dinner — which is to say, virtually none. It took a bit of coaxing before she finally let loose and managed to make a few marks. It wasn’t until Alex “helped” by chipping out the shape of a heart that Monkey seemed to get the hang of it. The final product was more reasonable than most, and — I think — worthy of the dog.

It also came with a couple of coupons — a coffee for mommy or daddy (Alex, in our case), and a hot chocolate and a cookie for the child in question (not me). We acquired our winnings, and then headed back towards our car. The plan, now that the shuttle line had grown to nearly two hours (and even with running much larger buses, more frequently), was to drive up to the Lake lot, run over to the ice castle, take a picture, and run back to the idling car.

Yes, for those of you who know Lake Louise well, this was a dumb idea. But for me, who’d forgotten, this was an act of desperation. I was facing four hours of driving, and I was beyond ticked with how the day had evolved. I’d spent most of it in the car, in a restaurant with overpriced (albeit reasonable tasty) food, with a 20-ish pound deadweight strapped to my chest that was pulling my back out of whack.

I was being rather miserable. I’m amazed that Alex puts up with me when I’m like that…

Surprisingly, no-one tried to stop us as we turned up the road towards the Lake. Instead, it was a short drive up the windy road, and a quick half-figure-eight around the lot before we found a spot … at the far end. By this point, we were also dealing with a now-spilled hot chocolate, which had soaked and (potentially) stained Monkey’s coat and pants. “Grumbling” is far from what was going through my mind. Alex, as always, was the calm eye of the storm. Choo Choo had fallen asleep.

While Alex remained in the car, Monkey (planted up on my shoulders) and I trucked over to the lake as quickly as I could walk. Not surprisingly, the paths were filled with a seemingly non-stop onslaught of people not paying attention, and attempting to take pictures hoping the throngs would notice their plight, take pity, and stop walking for five seconds. Basically, too many people and not enough brains…

The ice castle sat on a cleared space of ice that formed the public skating rink in front of the Chateau Lake Louise. I wished, rather dearly, that we hadn’t been in a rush. There were horse rides, which Monkey begged to go on, stands selling hot beverages that I had no money for (my wallet was in the car), and the skating rink looked like so much fun.

Snap, snap, Monkey stand here … no, there… stop moving… look over here, please… here…. OVER HERE! Snapsnapsnapsnap. Ah, good enough! Monkey, come here! Let’s go!!

Fifteen minutes from when we left the car, we were back and loaded up. Back down the hill, onto the highway, and back east towards Calgary, my lower back pulsing, my shoulders cramped, my neck and lower back of my skull oozing with a dull throbbing. I can only hope that someone had fun on this little idiotic idea of mine.

Next year? We’re going to watch videos on YouTube, instead…

2010 was the year we made contact … wait, sorry, wrong catchline. 2010 was the year my family welcomed new members, notably my youngest, a daughter (code)named Choo Choo. It was a year I changed my career outlook (yes, again), and found that I’m not (completely) useless. This was a year of family, for me, and that’s perhaps the most important aspect.

But despite all that, I hesitate to call it “a year of change”.

Got me as to why, though. Let’s be honest, there were a lot of changes, not the least of which are the ones noted above. But at no time did I feel like this is a sudden (and possibly unwanted) shift in my life. It actually feels like things are more settled this year, despite the apparent upheaval, than in previous years. Maybe one day I’ll make some sense of that little quandary.

In the meantime, let’s review 2010:

• Began the year with tea at the Banff Springs, seeing my friend Sonny for the first time in about 15 years
• Started working with some old friends at a new(er) company, Evans Hunt
• Went to Edmonton for a “surprise” weekend (mostly for Monkey) and spent a great morning in the waterslides with her
• Celebrated my Nana’s 97th birthday, which would also sadly be her last
• Found out that I’m K+, my kids are K+, and my wife is anti-K
• Spent many a sleepless night worrying about Choo Choo before she was born
• Though originally disheartened, came to love and be thrilled by the 2010 Winter Olympics in Canada, and felt the massive pride for the successes of our athletes
  • Yes, I Twittered obsessively during the Men’s Hockey gold medal game
• Bought our first flat-screen TV, to go along with our Apple TV
• Welcomed my youngest, (code)named Choo Choo to our world
• Watched Monkey’s first Easter egg hunt
• Found out I’ve got something called “narrow angles” in my eyes, and got laser surgery in both of them
• Went to Drumheller, and visited the Royal Tyrell
• Guided (albeit not as well as I could have) the technical launch of my first all-Drupal website: VisitCalgary.com
• Experienced the abject terror of losing your child in a mall
• Said “thank you” to my Nana — I never say “goodbye”
• Went on my first train chase with Monkey
• Went to dim sum a couple of times, but not nearly enough
• Introduced Monkey to sushi — I think she likes it
• Went to Heritage Park a couple of times, and even saw Thomas the Tank Engine (hey, I’m a parent and I like trains, it’s a win-win)
• Went to the Zoo lots (it helps to have a pass)
• Saw a few movies, but not enough for my liking (the favourite of the year was Toy Story 3, and no, not just because I’m a parent)
• Went on the first Great Family Roadtrip:
  • Overnighted in Medicine Hat, AB; Whitewood, SK; Moosimin, SK; and Swift Current, SK
  • Went to Winnipeg
  • Went to some place east of Camper, out in the middle of nowhere, as part of Alex’s family reunion
  • Stopped off in Regina, Moose Jaw, and Portage La Prairie
  • Drove the whole way and back again, and the kids didn’t seem to mind at all
• Got diagnosed with a hernia (yay, me)
• Celebrated Monkey’s 3rd birthday, her first in Canada (beyond the day she was born, that is)
• Finally got right ticked off with Shaw’s horrid home internet service, and switched over to Telus … we’ll see how it all goes
• Did some kitchen renovation:
  • Installed a new sink and tap
  • Tore out the Florida ceiling
  • Installed new lighting
• Had new windows installed in the house
• Returned to being a developer, rather than a pure manager (I’m still adjusting to this one)
• Took Monkey out on her first real Hallowe’en
• Grew a moustache for Movember (my first, and last time)
• Went to the Currie Barracks location of the Calgary Farmer’s Market almost every weekend for a year, until the location finally (and sadly) closed in December
• Went on our first family flight out to Abbotsford, to spend Christmas in BC
• Visited with some old friends from Radical Entertainment
• Went to downtown Vancouver for the first time in about five years, and remembered how much I love it there
• Had my first green Christmas in many, many years
• Didn’t ride nearly enough trains

Whoof. That’s a lot for one year. Can’t wait to see what 2011 throws at me. Bring it, New Year — I’m ready for you!

That “first” Hallowe’en was largely missed by myself (sadly — traffic was not daddy’s friend that night), and your experience was limited to what the mothers at Avalon could put together. From what I understand, fun was had by all. But it wasn’t the same as going door-to-door, saying “trick or treat”, and loading yourself so full of candy that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

I gotta say, you made me proud tonight.

We sort of started for Hallowe’en a few weeks ago when we went to the Calgary Corn Maze. We bought a pumpkin that was destined to be the one that sat out in front of our house tonight. However, while at the Calgary Farmer’s Market on Saturday, Mommy and I decided to buy a couple of more. After you kicked another pumpkin, Monkey, we ended up with three. (In the end, no matter the appropriateness of your actions, four pumpkins proved correct.)

Mommy was on the prowl for you, as well, and found a cowgirl princess costume. For Choo Choo — no, Mommy didn’t forget you — there was a pumpkin outfit. Sadly, Choo Choo, you didn’t get to do much tonight. You were in the stroller, thoroughly pissed off at the utter lack of attention you were getting towards getting to sleep. (You’re not sleeping right now. You’ll sleep at night … mostly … but napping during the day is driving poor Mommy insane. We can only hope you grow out of this.)

We carved up the pumpkins this morning after breakfast. Since we had four, it made sense to carve “self portraits” into them. That was Mommy’s idea. But instead of actual pictures, we went with something more symbolic — a monkey for Monkey, a choo choo for Choo Choo, knitting needles and yarn for Mommy, and (of course) an Apple for me.

Then we trucked off to Westbrook Mall so you could trick-or-treat there for the first time. You practiced your “trick or treat” very well, and we soon unleashed you to the unsuspecting store clerks. You needed the odd reminder, but generally were very good about saying both “trick or treat”, and “thank you” when you received your candy. And considering you were one of the few kids (young kids, at that — I was surprised at the number of older kids) who travelled on their own, you showed no shyness, and seemed to be respectful of lineups.

Choo Choo, you would have loved trick-or-treating. But you were wetting your diaper. Sorry, but that’s just the honest truth.

We had pizza with Nana and Grandma, who watched the house and gave out candy to the total of 14 (possibly 13, there may be still some debate) kids who came to our door. Then the four of us, Choo Choo in the stroller (and crying) headed out to the second house down the block, where you rang the doorbell, and said your first evening, in-the-dark, wearing-warm-clothes-under-your-costume (a very Canadian thing to do) “trick or treat”.

You literally ran away from that house exclaiming, and I kid you not:

Let’s get more candy!

That scene was repeated another 10 or so times down one side of our little crescent street before Mommy and Choo Choo headed home, and you and I tackled the other side. Many times, you would turn just as we’d turned up a walkway, and said forcefully:

I’m going by myself. You stay right there!

A couple of times you forgot to say “thank you” (I had to chastise you for that), and a couple of times you walked right into people’s houses (I had to laugh every time you did). You didn’t say much to the nice people who gave you candy, but you were generally polite.

Next year, with luck, both you and Choo Choo will be able to go, since Choo Choo should be walking by then. We might not get far with the both of you, but it should make for a very cute evening. We’ll have to start thinking of costumes that would for the both of you.

Given the fact that you went out with just a small basket, you did surprisingly well. And that so few kids came to our house only means that Mommy and I won’t be raiding your supply this year. Though if I can make one suggestion for next year: learn how to do an inventory.

There are times when
I wish you could feel
The aching of my heart
And know why it is so

There are times when
I see your sense of wonder
And for a brief moment
I feel it, too

There are times when
We hold each other tight
The universe stops
And there’s only us

There are times when
I wish
I had a different job
We had a different house
Lived somewhere idyllic
Had no wants nor cares
Where we lived in our reality
And fantasy was the world beyond

But we don’t

There are times when
I cannot be with you
And the moments apart
Ring of eternity

There are times when
I see you seeing me
And all I want
Is an eternity with you

There are times when
I could kill
Or be killed
Knowing that you would live

And then there are times
Like this
That I think about it all
And love you ever still

But tomorrow is the first weekday after Labour Day (which is today), and it means that we must part again. In a few years, it will mean you have to go to school. For me, it means going back to work.

In a way, they’re pretty similar…

When Mommy and I sort of figured out this deal almost a year ago, the original goal was for me to take a month off shortly after Choo Choo was born. But the dates were moved as other events seemed to align with our desires. Hence our trip to Winnipeg, and our most recent week at Fairmont Hot Springs. It’s meant a lot of time for me to be with you, to do things, to watch you grow, to hold you when you’re sad and to applaud you at the things you’ve learned.

When I tucked you into bed tonight, Monkey, I told you that I had to go back to work tomorrow, that I wouldn’t be with you every day anymore. I saw the look of profound sadness on your face. Not the sadness of when you fall down, or when you don’t get your way (which is often, I might add), but the realisation that I won’t always be there.

I think that was a painful moment for both of us. You looked at me, and said quietly, “I love you, daddy”, and then you kissed me. It’s a moment I hope to remember for as long as I live. Not because of the pain, but for the spontaneous emotion — real emotion. I will miss being with you all day, Monkey. I hope you know that.

Of course, this also means I’m going to miss more milestones with you, Choo Choo. Mommy had hoped today that you would start rolling on your own. Sadly, it didn’t come to pass. But it will, and likely when I’m not around. Your first tooth is coming in. You’re going to be sitting up on your own. Your first word. And the odds are against me that I’ll be around for your first steps. I hope I will see these things, but I have to accept that I’ll learn of them from Mommy.

The entire month with you, dear wife, has been a gift I won’t soon forget, for it may be a long time until we can experience something like this again. I hope I have lived up to whatever dreams or notions you had for this time off, that it turned out — at least in some way — like you had envisioned.

Sleep well, my darlings three. And know that I love you all, and miss you each minute I’m not with you.

It’s hard for some of us to truly believe that you’re three. You’re still a baby to us, in many ways. And yet even someone who’s never met you before can carry out a (reasonably coherent) conversation with them. You know what you like and what you don’t like (even if you actually do like it and you’re just being difficult), and you no longer parrot what we’ve said — you have your own thoughts.

And I gotta tell ya, kid … today, you made me a very proud daddy.

I think the hardest part for you today was when you woke up last night with a bad dream. Instead of crawling in bed with me, as you normally do, I intercepted you at your door, and ushered you back into your bed. It was unfair, I know, and for that I apologise. The reason was we didn’t want you to accidentally wreck the string of paper rings we’d hung there after you’d gone to sleep, and you might have accidentally taken them down.

When you woke up, you saw the rings and seemed unsure of why they were there. Even your name written across the bathroom mirror in two-foot letters, with a big “3″ didn’t seem to register. Mommy and I put this down as you not having woken up entirely yet (clearly, you needed your coffee as badly as I did). It wasn’t long before you realised that, yes, today was your birthday. Your special day.

(Choo Choo, I know that somehow you felt a bit maligned. Forgotten. Ignored. Your day will come, and then we’ll make sure you feel special. I just hope you kids realise Mommy and I have to do this at least another 17 times. That thought is a little daunting right now.)

We had blueberry pancakes. You wore your Ariel princess dress and your crown. (Which isn’t much of a surprise. You’ve worn that crown every single day since we got back from Winnipeg.) Then, while you read and played a bit, Mommy and I proceeded to get the house ready for your party.

It wasn’t easy. There were a lot of things we had to do to get ready, and the truth is we wouldn’t have got it all done without help from both Grandma, Nana, and Auntie B (your Great Aunt Brenda). But at five minutes before party time, you were dressed (still wearing the crown), and waiting.

The first ones to the door were Jenn and Braden. Braden can’t walk yet, but we were still thrilled to see him. It wasn’t long before others started arriving. When Michelle and Lindsay appeared, you shrieked, ran out of the house, and gave Lindsay a huge hug.

Mommy and I had to do all of the inviting this year, so I invited all of your family — you saw them all yesterday at Grandnana’s memorial dinner — while Mommy made sure your Fairy Godmother Sue could come, along with some of the friends you’ve made. Sadly, Christina and Luke couldn’t come, Luke was feeling very sick.

You played downstairs with some of the kids, you talked with your relatives, and you ate most of the Goldfish crackers. When the cake came out, you screamed “cake time!”, leapt off the couch, and ran into the kitchen and took your seat at the table. After a rousing chorus (I totally forgot to use my alternative lyrics), you blew out all but one of the candles without assistance (you needed help to lean in for the last one).

Although you take forever to eat ice cream, you loved your ice cream cake. And so did everyone else.

As is always the case with a good party, it was over all too soon, and people were headed on their way home. You said goodbye to everyone, and even hugged a few of them.

After dinner, the four of us sat down to open presents. You did the unwrapping, I recorded the event on video, Mommy kept track of who gave you what, and Choo Choo lay on the floor being intolerably cute.

I gotta say, kid, for a group of people who were told not to bring anything, they brought some pretty freaking cool stuff. You got a lot of neat things, especially to add to your growing collection of things in your play kitchen downstairs. Now you have a shopping cart, food, and ice cream to go along with it. You’ve got more colouring things, some dress-up dolls, a couple of more books, and your Auntie Cathy struck again with some awesome clothing.

Oh, you don’t believe me that you liked these things? We have video kid, cries of delight and all.

After a bath, we rolled you into bed for a long birthday sleep. It’s been a long, great day for you. And for us.

That, and two cups of coffee, of course…

Although Swift Current was inundated with fog when we got up, the sun had burned its way through before we hit the road for Alberta. The sky didn’t look threatening, but there was enough doubt there to suggest we might see some rain along the way. As I stands, the only things that hit the windshield today were bugs.

A curious thing I’ve noticed about Saskatchewan, and I’d love to know the reason for it. East of Swift Current, there are lots of little towns scattered along the Trans Canada (keeping in mind that the Trans Canada more-or-less follows the route of the Canadian Pacific mainline, which was how people got out here in the first place way back when). West of Swift Current, however, there ain’t much. It’s almost a void. It could because the terrain transforms from grasslands to scrublands, and eventually to badlands. Even parts of Alberta were settled only when Canadian Pacific built a water viaduct through Brooks to bring water to an otherwise desolate area.

A little over two hours after leaving Swift Current, we passed across the border into Alberta. Oddly enough, I felt really good about that, even though we still had over three hours to get to Calgary. We were still far from home.

We shot through Medicine Hat, and turned into the town just east of it called Redcliff. Mommy’s friend Marnie lives there, and she’d dropped a hint (through Facebook — I wonder if it’ll still be around when you get around to reading this) that we should stop in on our way back. Marnie was pregnant with her third baby at the same time Mommy was pregnant with Choo Choo, so there was some desire to meet the newborns.

Monkey, we didn’t see much of you. You played with Marnie’s two older daughters. Sadly, I think this officially turned you into a little girl, too. Until now, Mommy and I have done our best to try and butch you up. You have a grand total of two dresses … one of which was actually a gift for Choo Choo, but you fit it (until recently, anyway). But you discovered the joy of dress-up, and ran around as a princess. You were beyond happy, so much so I’m certain you were sad to leave. But we had to get back to Calgary in time to pick up Asia from her kitty hotel.

Grandpa had told me on the way out that the worst stretch of the entire Trans Canada Highway is the part between Calgary and Medicine Hat. At the time, I’d disagreed, having an albeit vague memory of Medicine Hat to Swift Current. I drove the final stretch home, and I have since apologised to Grandpa — he’s right, that three hours is terribly long and dull. It’s flat, featureless, nearly devoid of any towns, and the only real sense of you moving is the endless stretches of telephone poles and/or electrical towers.

Oh, and something else I noticed. When you see a dimensional load on trucks in Saskatchewan, it’s farm equipment. In Alberta, it’s oil equipment.

We screamed into the Rainbow Pet Centre around 16:15, and retrieved our poor lonely kitty. We did our best to shoot across Calgary in building rush hour traffic, and arrived home just after 17:00. Monkey, you were quite content to stay outside and read, rather than go in the house. Though when you did, you really wanted to just get into your own bed. I don’t blame you in the slightest.

We had our first (mostly) home-cooked meal since leaving town a week ago, and it felt good to sit at our own table.

On a positive note, this was an excellent first family trip. It wasn’t an easy one, by any means, but both of you kids did very well in the car for such long times. It’s not easy being stuck in those seats with so little to do. (Well, for Monkey, anyway. Choo Choo, you tended to sleep. Which is exactly the right thing.) We’ll have to see how we do these in the future, as I’m not sure we’re going to be going such a long distance again for a while. I’m of the opinion that the trek to the homestead should wait until you’re both quite a bit older, and would appreciate it a lot more.

Like, 10 years or so…

Monkey, you slept like a log. We had trouble waking you up.

Today was relatively uneventful. Saskatchewan, as those who have travelled across it will also likely tell you, is filled with farms, the odd grain elevator, a few lakes, and not a heck of a lot else. (I should add that the eastern part of Alberta is much the same, and actually a little worse.) Our trip was from Moosomin in the east, to Swift Current in the west. Like I said before, we’re keeping it light in the interests of not overdoing it.

It had rained last night, and was still spotty as we headed out onto the highway. A few times the rain came and went, and it remained mostly cloudy until we were well past Regina. The storm looked pretty nasty, and apparently did a number to Regina, which we saw when we arrived. Our major stop was Regina, incidentally, for lunch. We ate near Victoria Mall, at a Mr. Sub (we’re swearing you off sandwiches for a while, Monkey — you just ain’t eating them anymore).

We then went off in a very painful search for coffee. Tim’s won’t apparently do, so we tracked down what I can only take to be the single Second Cup in the entire city. Which of course, is in a mall. Downtown. Right off a pedestrian area. With no place to park.

With coffees in hand, we headed back to a playground we’d seen on the way in so you could burn off a little steam before we hit the road. You ran around quite happily in what apparently was known as Core Park, until it was time for us to leave. You were asleep not long after hitting the ring road. Choo Choo, you were out pretty much the same time.

We drove to Largest Extant Species of the Deer Family’s Lower Mandible (Moose Jaw), where we had to stop for gas. Monkey, you woke up. Surprisingly, Choo Choo, you did not. We stayed only long enough to get gas, a snack, some juice, and we were gone. We were in Speedy Creek (another name for Swift Current) just around 17:00. The first thing we did was all go for a swim.

Dinner was at a place called “TNT Family Restaurant”. We’ve discovered that eating at anything listed as a “family restaurant” is generally a bad idea. The iced tea was powdered and the pasta sauce tasted like Chef Boyardee. The service, at least, was familial.

Sleep well, my pretties. Tomorrow, we go home!

Then we headed back down to Portage, which is one of the main roads in Winnipeg. After a stop at Timmy’s for a coffee recharge, we set our sights for Saskatchewan and our overnight stop at Moosomin.

The question was what were we going to do in between…

The answer is “not much”. Our only stop was in Brandon. Which is actually grossly understating the stop in general. While I would have been happy to stop on the highway (Choo Choo, you were extremely hungry at the time, and were very intent on making sure there was no doubt in anyone’s minds of that fact), Grandpa found a restaurant on the GPS further in town. While I admit I’m gaining a general dislike of restaurant suggestions on that thing, the fact that we went into town is proving to be very handy.

Lunch was at a place call Cranberry’s Family Restaurant. Overall, your basic average restaurant, nothing fancy by any means. Very strict on their menu, too. Mommy asked for a tuna melt, which was technically feasible since they had other melts on the menu and were offering a tuna salad sandwich, but there was just no leeway at all.

We decided to look for a park that had a playset so you could get out and run around a bit, Monkey. You’ve been really cooped up, and when you run around, you’re generally happier. We found one between 13th and 15th St, a couple blocks north of Victoria. At first, we saw only the park. Then the playset. Then we saw the water park. Given the 35-ish degree temperature, this seemed like the perfect thing for you to go running around in.

No sooner had we set up at a picnic table that an ice cream cart came by. Talk about your fortuitous timing! But you only had a little bit of the fudge bar before you wanted to go running about.

It took a fair amount of coaxing on my part, but I finally got you to run into the water, Monkey. The park itself was pretty simple: a red ring that sprayed, two big blue poles that jetted upwards, a purple candy cane-shaped pole that sprayed downwards, and some sprayed right out of the ground. Kids ran from spray to spray, as they all seemed to turn off and on in a slow cycle. Eventually, you were running in and out, too.

Shortly after 15:00, we started to load back up, and headed out of town. You were both asleep before we got to the Trans Canada again. From there, our trip went quietly until we got to Moosomin. There, we checked into the Canalta Hotel, a very new establishment — so new, the road is still gravel. Granny had spotted it on our way out from Whitewood, and I’d remembered the word “waterslide”. It’s a working hotel, meaning you get work crews in there a lot. That was obvious from the room we got — three queen-sized beds.

After charming the heck out of the clerks at the front desk, you and I went swimming, Monkey. Unlike the Holiday Inn in Winnipeg, the Canalta’s pool is cool. Not “cold”, but it didn’t take long for you to start shivering. And, like me, you don’t like hot water pools, so I couldn’t get you to warm up in the big pool. So, instead, I took you on the waterslide.

The waterslide is clearly meant for kids, because neither I or one other daddy could fit very well inside it (though we did manage to get down pretty easily). I’ve also determined with absolute certainty that I need new swim trunks for waterslides — the ones I have only seem to stick, so we didn’t get a lot of speed. We went down together many times before you went on your own, with the help of the other daddy (I waited at the bottom to catch you). You came down feet first, but on your belly. Although you would later said the waterslide was scary because it was all dark, you also said it was a lot of fun!

We had dinner at the Red Barn Restaurant, which is one of the oddest restaurants I’ve eaten at in a long time. The outside makes it look like a diner-style restaurant, the interior almost makes it look like a higher-end trendy restaurant (and the menu isn’t far off), but you order at it like a McDonald’s. My food was good, so I couldn’t slag the quality, though Mommy said her pasta wasn’t so good.

Bed comes early. Tomorrow’s another long day.

As for you, Choo Choo … well, I’m not really sure what to make of your thoughts. Aside from the fact that you’re only 4.5 months old, there’s also the consideration that, unlike your sister, you don’t sleep a lot. So we’re never really sure if you’re generally unhappy with being in your seat, tired, or hungry. I suspect at some level you’re probably all three at the same time.

Still it was absolutely necessary that we take the day off and not really go anywhere. So we went to The Forks.

I’d first seen The Forks back in 2002, when I was in Winnipeg with the CBC TV 50th Anniversary VIA Rail train. I’d been quite impressed with them at the time, not the least of which was when I learned of their railway heritage. After learning that the Manitoba Children’s Museum was there, The Forks suddenly became my favoured destination. Mommy felt we should go to a place called Tinkertown, which although further away, had far more to do. In the end, it came down to the fact that Tinkertown didn’t open until noon.

Grandpa and Granny came with us, having decided that they would not go to the cottage at the lake, either. We drove quickly downtown, and found a parking spot right next to the entrance. We all walked around inside for a bit, before we went over to the museum. Here we divided. Choo Choo, you went with Mommy and Grandpa back into the market to look around; Monkey, you came with Granny and I into the museum. You literally ran over to the train first.

The Manitoba Children’s Museum has a train inside it. A real one. Ex-CN 9161, and what looks like a passenger/mail combine, which were (and still are) common on the Winnipeg-Churchill run (which this train was representing). The train no longer works, of course. The museum is closing in September for a rebuilding, and I hope they keep the train — it really is a nice centrepiece, and as a railfan, it would be terrible to lose it. I suppose if worse comes to worse, the railway museum isn’t far away, and I imagine they’d like to have it.

You ran around the train, although you were initially scared to go in the locomotive’s cab for some reason. Then you were off down to the wall of long pegs that you can make impressions with. I found a set of tubes that ran on a blower: you put in a shower loofa in one end, it ran through the tubes (depending on how you set the valves), and it popped out of one of three places. That didn’t hold your interest as long as I thought it would, Monkey.

Around the corner was a big tree that you could climb inside, and come down a built-in slide. You did this repeatedly, and almost made friends with some of the other kids while doing it. Then it was back to the train for a while, when you suddenly realised you needed to pee. You’re getting very good at letting us know when you need to go, kiddo — you’re almost totally free of diapers (except at night).

We had lunch at the market. While waiting for Choo Choo, Mommy, and Grandpa, a busker drew a quick sketch of Monkey with her fingers in her mouth. We offered a donation, and he drew another one of Choo Choo sleeping in the stroller. You had a berry crepe, Monkey. Not quite as good as the one you regularly eat at the Farmer’s Market back home (in my opinion, anyway), but you didn’t seem to mind.

I had a roti. The last time I had a roti, I still worked in Toronto. This was 1997. It was at a place either called Coconut Grove or Crystal Grove (I can’t remember for sure). It was on Dundas Road just east of Yonge Street. The site is now the location of Dundas Square. My friend Mike introduced them to me, and I’d been on the lookout for roti ever since. I was surprised to not readily find any in Vancouver, and I haven’t really been searching too hard in Calgary. So this was a treat for me, and it was very good. Although I will say that goat generally tastes better than beef in a roti.

After lunch, Monkey, you and I went back to the museum for a while. We passed by a First Nations group that was dancing in a circle nearby, beating their drum and singing. You’ve never seen this before, so we spent a while watching. It was very, very hot (even hotter than on the coast of Costa Rica, as I recall) so we took refuge in the shade of one of the sculptures there.

You played with the pegs, ran around the train, played with the chalk, but soon it was time for us to go back. You didn’t want to leave. In fact, you put up a bit of a fight. I suspect that was mostly due to exhaustion. I suspect this because you fell asleep before we were out of downtown Winnipeg, and slept another two hours back at the hotel. It was your first proper nap since we left home.

We all went swimming when you both woke up. We splashed and played. Choo Choo, you seem to like the water — a lot more than when you have a bath, lemme tell ya. We swam for about an hour before we packed up to go have dinner.

Tomorrow, we begin our long trek home.

Granny drove with Great Uncle Ken and Great Aunt Marilyn so she “would have all-new material”, and likely because after a while, you just can’t stand being around us Sowreys any longer.

At Eriksdale, we stocked up on coffee and a couple of snacks, and then were off again in search of an unnamed and otherwise unmarked access road (I couldn’t even call it a rural road), which would lead us towards the old homestead site. We were working off the collective memory of Grandpa, and his brother (your Great Uncle Paul), and a couple of others who’d been to the site before. In addition, we were also looking out for an old teapot, hung there some 30 years previous by your Great Great Grand Uncle Frank, who would have also been on this trip, but sadly only passed away the day we left home.

I suppose in many ways this is an auspicious trip, though you kids won’t understand that for a few years to come; for you in particular, Choo Choo. You are the fifth generation of Aicken (the fact that you have my last name is mere legality), and this is your heritage. Choo Choo, you’re the most recent direct-line descendant of your great-great grandfather.

We almost didn’t make it. About 3/4 of the way there, we found the road had been flooded by the rising of Stewart Lake, likely as a result of all the rain Manitoba has been receiving this year. We weren’t sure how deep it was, or even it we could ford it. Thankfully, members of the Webster family, who now farm the area, showed to us that the water was really quite shallow, and even regular city cars wouldn’t have a problem. Even then, quite a few people took to the back of Paul’s pickup truck, which was the first across the 500-600 metre stretch. We followed soon after.

Rounding a few corners, and fording another flooded section, we found the teapot, right where Frank had left it. It’s rusted considerably over the years, but it’s still recognisable. You’d never be able to boil water in it, though.

Despite being prepared to be eaten alive, especially by deer flies (I think this scared you most of all Monkey — you’re a bit of an insectophobe right now, except for ants), we saw virtually nothing. All of us, except maybe myself (I can’t really tell) were bitten. Choo Choo has a nasty one on her wrist, but doesn’t seem to notice.

The ground was wet and very marshy, and the near-constant plodding of cows turned the wet soil into a very unstable and icky mess. Still, we managed to get into the homestead site, and Grandpa gave us the tour as he understood it. He even explained a story of some stone markers they’d once found, and now believe to be the grave of an unnamed sibling to Frank, who likely died as a baby. Given their location — roughly 12 kilometres from anything — it’s amazing they lost only one child, and seven lived to ripe old ages.

A little further down the road, we came to a corner, where Grandpa said we would find the northeast marker of the original homestead land. There’s a survey pole there, but the plot marker seems to be buried under considerable amounts of grass and mud, and none of us had brought a shovel to find it. A stand of poplars, which thrive throughout the area, offered a fair amount of shade from the heat. It seemed like as good a place as any for a picnic.

After lunch, a group headed further up the road to find the site of the old schoolhouse (gone probably almost as long as the homestead). The five of us (Granny was still with Ken and Marilyn) started towards Teulon, where we would have a big ol’ family dinner. It seemed like a great opportunity for both of you kids to get some sleep — you didn’t get any yesterday, and it showed.

At Eriksdale, I was more-or-less forced from the van to get coffee for Mommy and Grandpa. He drove down a sideroad for a couple of kilometres to keep you both asleep, then turned around to pick up the coffee and me. Then it was off again towards Teulon.

We had a pre-dinner party at Dennis and Daphne’s house, which was a wonderful setting: a huge yard, and lots of space for you to run around in, Monkey. You played with Rachel, Hunter, and Micah, as well as ran around with some of the bigger kids. Hunter shared all her dolls with you. You found a Woody doll (from Toy Story, currently one of your favourites) and were thrilled. Mommy and I were thrilled, too — we got to have a drink!

Just after 18:00, we all took off into central Teulon (basically, right next to the long-abandoned CP Arborg subdivision line), and had dinner at the Teulon Rockwood Centennial Centre. This was the best meal we had since leaving home, and possibly the best we’ve had in a month! (Well, for us, Choo Choo — you’re still breastfeeding at the moment.) Afterwards, Monkey just played with all the other kids.

We returned to Dennis and Daphne’s for a short prayer service (led by Grandpa), while you kids ran around. Sadly, that’s when you got whacked in the head, Monkey, and I lost my temper with Micah (after telling him to put the badminton racquets down before he did hit someone). It wasn’t pretty after that, and I was fairly relieved to be leaving after making an ass of myself.

The drive back to our hotel was about an hour. We had to stop at one point because Choo Choo simply couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel for her nightly feed. Monkey, you passed out (as usual) just before we got to the hotel. We unpacked quickly and got everyone to bed. I think we all passed out before our heads hit the pillows.

It took a lot longer than I thought to get here.

We kept our stops few. Beyond the stop at the Manitoba border (where we should have turned our watches forward, but forgot), we stopped only in Brandon for coffee and our sandwiches for lunch, and in Portage la Prairie to eat our lunch. The last stop was far too short, as we had very little time left to get to Winnipeg before our evening event. That was a shame, since Island Park is truly a wonderful place for a picnic, mosquitos notwithstanding. You got to play there a bit, Monkey. Maybe on our way back, you’ll get a chance to play a bit more.

It was after we left Brandon that you had your first real problem with the trip, Monkey. You’ve spent nearly half of the time since we left Calgary in your car seat. Sometimes, it’s hard for a little Monkey to be patient. You’ve been so patient on this trip, honey, but eventually you have to hit a limit. You were, shall we say, upset. It took a few minutes for you to calm down so that we could drive again.

You didn’t have a nap today, either, which would lead to your second problem — a real full-scale meltdown at bedtime. It just reinforces the need for you to sleep during the day. I’m not sure how much you’ll sleep in the days to come with all the activity that’s planned, but hopefully we’ll find a way.

With some direction from Grandpa’s cousin (and the man who had married Mommy and I), we found our way to our hotel in Winnipeg, the Holiday Inn on Pembina Highway. It was only when we got inside that I realised that it was the same hotel I’d stayed at in 2002 when I was last in Winnipeg, with the CBC TV 50th Anniversary VIA Rail train. I’d had a drink in the hotel’s lobby bar after a hard day, just before our worst day of the tour.

Mommy suggested that I have a shower. Almost right afterwards, we all hopped back in the Sienna again (sometimes, I’m sure it feels like we never get out of the car, kids) and drove out to the Immanuel United Church on Kimberley Ave. in eastern Winnipeg. There was the first of three Aicken-Campbell family reunion events. This is important for you two, since you’re descended from the Aicken family, and this year is the 100th anniversary of the Aicken family in Canada. That’s why we’re out here.

Choo Choo, you became the Belle of the Ball, being handed from person to person without so much as a single sound. Monkey, you made near-instant friends with Rachel, who is your third or fourth cousin (we’re not really sure) and followed her around almost like a little puppy. You also made friends with Micah, Mary’s little boy, and the two of you squealed as you rolled around on the carpet.

Dinner was simple, yet scrumptious: skewers of lamb and chicken, salad, and potatoes, all from a local Greek restaurant. You had KD, Monkey — the elders had enough sense to know you weren’t going to eat Greek.

Tomorrow is another big day. We’re off way up north to find the old Aicken family homestead, which is where much of the Canadian branch of the Aicken family began. Sleep well, I think it’s going to be a long one.