The Strawberry and the (mostly friendly) Dragon (who sometimes roars).

This is during our dog walk before we went to our Hallowe'en party, before all the fun ...and before I convinced Haven that the little stirrups attached to her dragon feet would help keep her dragon legs from getting all twisted.

Stirrups in place, hand in hand; let's go.

This is before the running.

And this is during the running, but before the Dragon tears.

This is during the Dragon tears...

...and just after, but before the Mommy hug.

This is the Mommy hug that stopped the Dragon tears...

...and this is the Mommy-enforced smily photo.

These are the "we're tired of the camera so we're going to do whatever we feel like...

 ...like sticking out our tongues...

...and looking super cute so you can't be annoyed" pictures.

This is leaving the park and getting ready to go to the Hallowe'en party.

This is the group shot at the Hallowe'en party. Post food and cookies, pre trick-or-treating.

This is a whole lot of really adorable kids who just can't wait to get their mitts on all the candy in the neighbourhood.

And these are amazing smiles on amazing kids. It was a really fun Hallowe'en. 

The Strawberry and the (mostly friendly) Dragon (who sometimes roars) had a fantastic time. And so did I.

From scratch.

My Mom was a small woman and a big woman. She was small in stature, but heavy; she was overweight for as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories involve sitting on Mom's soft lap, encircled and consoled in her soft arms. I recall laying my head on her soft chest where I could hear her heart, hear her breathing. With my head on her chest, I also remember her amplified voice and laughter as she rocked me.

My Mom loved to laugh and she could laugh with just about anybody. I am a skeptic, but I was blessed with a mother who saw the best in people; if I hadn't lived with her bottomless compassion and absolute absence of prejudice, I doubt I'd be able to look past my naturally-skeptic nearsightedness. And I'm not being hard on myself, I'm being honest. I owe my sense of humour in large part to my Mom's ability to see the humour in just about every situation. Hers was not an easy life, so I consider that type of humour a talent.

She was the first person I ever loved. The first person I reached my little arms out to, the first person I yearned for, the first person I smiled at. Her arms were my first resting place and my safest haven, the spot where I contemplated my first steps. My Mom was the first to kiss me, stroke my little bald head, tell me I was beautiful. My Mom was the first person in my life. She made me from scratch.

I was not a planned child, but I always knew I was a wanted child. My Mom was a divorced single mother of three boys and she met my Dad and was soon pregnant. I was not an accident, I was a gift. And it's not that my Mom told me that over and over; she didn't because she didn't have to. I simply always knew she felt that way. She didn't always approve of my choices, but she loved me unconditionally. She loved me when I couldn't love myself.

When Sonja was born, I remember telling my Mom that I finally understood how much she loved me; how deeply she loved all of us kids. Now that she's gone, I finally understand how deeply I love her. This chasm of silence stretched out before me is sad and scary and horrible; I keep wanting to call her. I need her voice. Her laugh. I need my Mom. There are so many things I want to ask her; so many things we haven't talked about. The finality of death is cruel and I hate, hate, hate that I didn't get to say goodbye.

And so, in my grief I am again that small, thin child who has climbed up onto my Mom's soft lap to be encircled in her soft arms. My head on her chest, my ear over her heart, my tears on her skin, and her kiss on my head. In my grief, this is the enduring image in my mind. A longing for my mother's arms that I know and accept will never leave me. 

I love you, Mommy.

Chucking rocks.

The girls and I met up with some friends today at Goldstream park. We walked along the trails and by the stream and we actually saw a crayfish while we stood on one of the little bridges! 

"I can see it, Mama!"

"Me too, Mama! Me too!"

And once I convinced them that they were definitely not allowed to walk in the stream ("Next time we'll bring boots."), they were happy enough to chuck stones into the water. 

Is it just me, or do they look really big and grown up in these pictures? Especially Sonja. I know you can't see their faces, but maybe it's just something about the body language. Not babies anymore.

A woman actually commented to me recently that Haven is tall. My first instinct was to say, "She's actually small for her age," but then I remembered that Haven did have a growth spurt over the summer; she's outgrowing all her pants. Sigh. 

Well, at least they still wanted to hold my hand on the way back to the car. 

Puppet show.

Sonja and Haven love books. We read a whole lot of books. And they love the library and are always excited to go, but there are some days when I'm super happy there are other things at the library besides books. On this particular day, if the girls hadn't had the opportunity to play with the puppet theatre, they would have been running and yelling through the stacks. For real; it wouldn't have been the first time.

My girls love each other, but they tend to argue often and I have to referee a lot. It's so tiring. So when they play together this well, I tend to step back altogether; I don't want to get in the middle of their fun and I want them to have a chance to work out any differences without constantly looking to me to solve things. In this case, I was more than happy to sit back and click away with my camera. I took over eighty photos in ten minutes; here are some of my favourites.