We're Going To The Zoo, Zoo, Zoo...

How about you, you, you? You could come too, too, too...except we already went. Sorry. You could come next time, maybe.

So, 0ur city has a small zoo in the park--it's great. It's free. I especially like the free part. And, free though it is, there's some pretty neat stuff to see. There are some monkeys, an alligator, some kind of African fox, some llamas, some animals whose names I can't remember, and even a white tiger! Oh, and a raccoon. Which we told Wiggle Man was like a "maaaaww." And, if you read this post, you'll remember that "maaaaww" is Wiggle Speak for "cat."

So, maybe he'll never be a zoologist. I'm ok with that.

Of course, with all these exotic animals to see, you'd think Wiggle Man would be excited. And he was. Just not by the llamas and tigers and monkeys--oh my. No siree, Bob. My boy liked the ducks.

Admittedly, some of those ducks are a little...umm...exotic looking. Like that guy there with the red all over his face. Only at our zoo have I seen ducks like that. Certainly nothing like our white Pekins, and their friends the wild ducks that often come over for dinner. But, let me tell you--these guys were very excited when we busted out the moldy rolls. Just doin' our part to keep the zoo fowl healthy.

This is my favourite shot of the day. Wiggle Man was checking out the Canada geese (again, something he never sees running around our yard) and I took advantage of the opportunity to get creative with my camera. I actually had to take it upside-down.

I can't wait to go back--maybe when it's warmer, and the bears are awake from their winter naps. I'd write more, but the foul odour coming from the general direction of Wiggle Man is now officially more than I can take. I'm off for poopy patrol.

Friday Flashback

How far back can you remember?

This question is the source of debate in my family. I am convinced I can remember my christening. Not surprisingly, my mother disagrees.

I can remember crawling around on the floor in our kitchen. I can remember being held by our pastor. My mother contends that I only "remember" these things because I've seen pictures of them. I would agree with her, except for one thing: I don't remember these images as the pictures show them--I remember them from my perspective. I remember seeing the floor as I crawled around on it. I remember that our pastor smelled different from my parents. (You know how different homes have different smells--not necessarily bad, just different. I could write a whole post on smells. Maybe I will.)

I have other early memories tied to senses other than sight as well. For example, I can remember the taste of a finger in my mouth as said finger pushed some cake into it on my first birthday. (Again, there are pictures of this.)

Here's my theory: I tend to remember events because of the pictures. I've always looked at our family albums--even when I was very small. I think looking at these pictures at such a young age reinforced the memories I had, and helped me remember them long term.

But my earliest memory that is uncontested by family members is definitely the birth of my brother. I was 3 and a half. I remember my Dad carrying me to our neighbour's in the middle of the night. (Ok, it seemed like the middle of the night. I don't actually know what time it was , but I was three. Nine p.m. would have seemed like the middle of the night.) I remember being ecstatic that they gave me Cheerios for breakfast.

And here's everyone's favourite part: I remember my mother and brother coming home from the hospital. I remember my Granny standing at the top of the stairs calling me to come up. I remember telling them that I'd like to wait for a commercial--my favourite show The Cucumber Club was on. You can check out You Tube too see why I was so enthralled.

I don't think my brother ever forgave me for putting The Cucumber Club above his arrival.

Busy, Busy, Busy!

I'm totally blogging as a means of procrastination. And I like it!

Hubba Hubba and I need to spend today getting some of our stuff packed up. Where are we moving, you ask? Nowhere. At least, not yet. If you've been following my blog for a while, you know that we've been trying to get approval for a 2 year mission in Kenya. That is still mucked up in who-knows-what kind of political/cultural/denominational mess.

The short version of our life is that we share our house with my sister-in-law. So all of our stuff that wasn't needed in our house (kitchen appliances, dishes, furniture) is in another building that will shortly be put to better use. So we must pack.

All the work of packing without any of the excitement of a new place. Ah, well.

If you're new to my blog, and want to be praying for us--we'll take all the prayers we can get! We'd love to know where God is directing our family. If the mission field is not His plan for us right now, there is also the possibility of pastoral ministry in the U.S.

I suppose I should quit procrastinating, and get to filling boxes.

For real. Here I go.

Wordless Wednesday

Know What I Mean?

Do you ever have one of those days (or weeks, or months...years...) where nothing is going right? It seems you're being attacked from every angle. It's been one of those weeks for me. It seems that everywhere I go, someone's got something unpleasant to say to/about me. Or something I've done. Or not done.

I sat down this afternoon with some Oswald. (Chambers, that is. My Utmost For His Highest--one of my favourite devotionals. The one I come back to when I need a good kick in the seat. Like today.)

Today's devotional directed me to 2 Corinthians 12. I didn't make it through the chapter, because verse 10 stopped me in my tracks. It's the one where Paul talks about being strong in his weaknesses. My first thought was that even my weaknesses are weak. They're not the weaknesses a truly godly woman should have. Like, you know, being persecuted for Jesus or something.

Really?

My weaknesses aren't good enough? It was almost enough to make me laugh out loud.

What if, what if I could learn to lean on Jesus even in my weak weaknesses? The un-pretty ones? What if I could hand my struggles (the ones that would never make a great novel for made-for-t.v.-movie) to Him and trust that He'll be my strength?

What if?

Spring is Coming!

Since I moved south of the True North Strong and Free (TNSAF), I've been struggling with geese. They throw me off every year. That may seem like a weird thing to be confused about, but seriously. It gets me every year.



Why, you ask? Because, growing up in the TNSAF, the Canada Geese leave and go south for the winter. Here? While it's not quite the deep south, some of them hang out here for the winter. And even the ones that don't stay seem to come flying through waaaaayyyy too late.

And then, the same thing happens towards spring. The ones that decided Florida would be a better winter hang-out come flying back through on their way home to the TNSAF, but it's waaaayyyyy earlier than what I'm used to. Because they're just passing through. Our house is like the rest stop on the way, as opposed to actually being the destination.

Regardless, welcome geese. Enjoy the pit stop!

Not Me! Monday--Oscar Edition

Well, it's Monday morning again. You should head over to MckMama's for the best in Not Me! Monday fun, and a whole list of other bloggers who participate. Oh, and I really didn't watch the Oscars last night--unless you count the 20 minutes or so where I got to see Ben Stiller do his Joaquin Phoenix impression, and Hugh Jackman sing every musical known to creation. Hugh Jackman. The man could read a phone book, and I'd probably watch.

So, before I fixate on Hugh, let's move on to what I, ahem....didn't do.

I did not go snow tubing in utterly inappropriate clothing. I grew up in the True North Strong and Free, so I know a thing or two about proper gloves, and snow pants. I did not decide that I didn't feel like spending the money on the aforementioned winter gear, and try to "wing it."

I did not groan over the measurements taken this weekend to fit me for a bridesmaid's dress. I am a mature, grown woman who is ok with the fact that I am not teeny-tiny.

I did not start the morning by dumping Wiggle Man's cereal and milk all over the floor. Nope, not me. I am certainly more graceful than that.

I am not trying to reason with a toddler. Me: "Wiggle Man, just let Mommy finish her writing, then we'll go change your bum." Wiggle Man: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

I am not trying to convince him to dance to "All The Single Ladies." I am not letting him listen to it simply because he turned it on and I didn't feel like arguing that he's not allowed to touch the radio. I'm much more consistent than that, so it couldn't be me.

I'm not hungry again, an hour after I ate breakfast.

I did not put Wiggle Man in his high chair with his breakfast, which I then did not put in the bathroom so I could get a shower without him a) crying for me the whole time, b) trying to open the shower curtain to see me, and/or c) destroying the house. He did not return the favour by splashing milk everywhere.

And there you have it--proof that I am, in fact, the perfect mother. I did none of these things.