The Trap

At work we talk about "capturing stories". At Emily and Kaylee's preschool they have a class bear. After each class the bear goes home with a different student. They are supposed to take and/or draw pictures of the what they did with the bear. Rob took pictures and wrote captions for each. It was adorable. A simple story based on the daily activities of four-year-olds an their interactions with a bear. Engaging. A story "captured".

I used to think "capturing" was a strange way to think of producing stories. Like the stories are wild and running amok in the world around us. We need to set a trap, be very, very quiet and...BAMMO! Got one!

Now I'm not sure that's too far off. Stories are everywhere and we don't always see them - like the perspective of an average day from the point-of-view of a stuffed animal. Or simple accomplishments or the flow of our lives. Stories everywhere. Only we don't often realize it. They are evasive quarry - these stories. They are good at sneaking by unnoticed.

Try setting your own story trap. I think you'll be pleased with what you catch.

Full Flight

I was thinking about exploring the back roads at the Lake. It's a bit of a family legacy for us. Our dad used to take us up the logging roads as kids and we'd find endless adventures. In recent years if we wanted to go on some such adventure we'd ask Dad where to go and how to get there. With the girls so little, we haven't gone too far.

I was thinking they are getting old enough to go a bit further afield now. But now Dad's gone. He won't be able to tell us where to go and how to get there. For a fleeting instant I was sad, but more because I miss my dad. Then something good began to rise up. An excitement about exploring on our own. Of course we always could have before. Nothing was stopping us, but we tended to rely on Dad's direction. I don't remember all the places we went as kids, but guess what? We get to do our own exploring! Find our way, our own adventures on the back roads for Emily and Kaylee, their cousins, their friends, and even for me.

It stands to reason, in a sad kind of way, that those who give us our wings, might not ever see us really fly. They can't. We rely on these people - of course we do. Maybe the are everything to us for a time. That's how the wings grow. But the very reliance that nurtured the wings' growth, precludes full flight. Then something changes and we take to the air. Glorious and heartbreaking all at once.

My hero Emily

Today I took Emily and Kaylee to Ikea. They wanted to go into the Ikea ball-room. (Smalland) As we were waiting in line Emily burst into seemingly spontaneous tears. I crouched down.

"Em, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I'm...scared...to...go...in!" she breathed between sobs, as only a hyperventilating four-year-old can.

"That's okay, baby-girl. You don't have to go in if you don't want to," I responded soothingly.

I'd missed the point entirely. She took a deep breath and wailed, "BUT I WANT TO!"

Being scared to do something you really want to do - I was instantly sympathetic.

"Well, you might need to be a little bit brave," I told her. "Sometimes things are scary and we need to be a little bit brave." She nodded and settled into a resolute expression that seemed a bit comical on a button-nosed pre-schooler in a ponytail. She was "a little bit brave" and had a blast in Smalland. She even stayed by herself after her sister decided she'd had enough and came out.

Today Emily is my hero.

Pink PJ'd Hockey Star

Emily was supposed to be in be in bed. When they go to bed they are allowed to play in their room for a bit until they fall asleep. We made the mistake of letting them have a nap this afternoon so they had a bit of extra energy. Emily came out of their room in her pj's with her hockey helmet on and socks on her feet (skates) and hands (mits). She wanted us to show her the part in her Brady Brady hockey story book that had the team cheer. They love the team cheer. Daddy showed her and then she went happily back to bed in her pink pj's, black hockey helmet complete with face mask, with socked feet and hands.

I was laughing. My daughter - what can I say? She comes by her strangeness naturally.