Pater: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (somewhere else)

Posted by Anonymous , Wednesday, March 9, 2011 8:23 PM

"Let it snow" was composed in 1945 by an idiot who never stepped foot in Canada. There isn't enough popcorn, kisses or being held tight to justify that kind of statement in a country that spends more time in sub-zero temperatures and blizzards than a North African dictator does checking airline flights to South America.
Avocado Jnr, do you remember how care free you used to be? Remember wearing a simple life-saver in September?
A fleece-lined cardigan in October?
Or a light coat in November?
No neither can I. It was so bloody long ago! Since then, all we've seen in our back garden is all this...
...and this...

So going outside is no longer a simple task. Dressing you for a Canadian Winter involves more layers than a Black Forest gateau. And they need to be done intricately. If the hat goes on first, BIG MISTAKE (it will be pulled off in the time it takes to do up the coat). If the boots go on first, BIG MISTAKE (you know that means you're going outside and start wiggling like a worm on a hook). Gloves, then coat, then hat, then boots. And that's before the front door has even been open. Truly exhausting. For us that is. You love it. Weirdo!

Not that Mater always gets the order right. I mean, come on, boots before coat and hat??? Who does that???

Your first proper taste (in every sense of the word) of snow went better than we expected.

But once the snow had been around for a few days, the task of getting you ready to play in it became too arduous for your lazy parents. So you became a true Canadian - moving from one shelter to the next, trying to ensure that the minimal amount of time and skin was exposed to snow and Arctic winds.

Thankfully you then discovered that other great Canadian invention - Florida. Who knew that only three hours south (as the metal bird flies) is a place of warmth and funny accents? Finally a chance to wear your havaianas and crocks!
Destination picked, all that was left was packing. Mater is so proud that she has created a stereotypical girl who doesn't know how to keep her luggage to a minimum. Pater is not allowed to state his thoughts on the matter. Pater will say that his back is only now starting to get better.
Climbing on the scales and insisting that you being underweight should mean more baggage allowance is not an argument that really carries much, um, weight with Westjet. Believe me, Mater tried.
On a three hour flight, cramped into seat like those proverbial sardines, when would the optimum time for falling asleep have been? Yes, Avocado Jnr, literally as the plane starts its descent into Miami airport!!!!An hour later, we arrived in the retirement village called Boca Raton, at Uncle Toronto's holiday home (thanks for having us!). Before our suitcases had barely reached their respective bedrooms you had flung off your winter garb and donned a swim suit. Unpacking could wait. YOU WANTED TO GET IN THE POOL.

And for the next week, whichever pool you were in you were as happy as a fish in, um, er, water.


In fact, you loved your little boat so much that you started dropping hints to Mater and Pater...


Seven days. So many wardrobe changes. Each cuter than the last.

Okay, maybe the yellow swimsuit was a tad ugly. But you didn't let that stop you. As the neighbourhood dog found out.

Whereas in Toronto it took a crowbar to get you out the front door and into the snow, in Florida you couldn't wait. If you can keep up this readiness to leave on time through to your teen years, Pater will be VERY grateful. If you can teach it to Mater, Pater will be indebted.


So why the impatience? It wasn't just to get to the pool. You quickly fell in love with the beach. Initially it was all that sand. So much potential food! Then it became the seagulls you were certain you could catch. And then it was just the freedom to run around without the winter armour of Canada. The one place you were not a fan of (could've been all the jellyfish) was the sea. No matter how many times we tried, you did not like that type of wet stuff.



You may only be 17 months but you quickly took to that much heralded tradition (by those over 65) of walking the Miami Beach boardwalk. Well "walk" is maybe the wrong word. Even "running" doesn't do it justice. "Bombing your way around" is the closest description.

It will never be good old Toronto Zoo, but Miami's Parrot Jungle was still a big hit with you. Birds in cages. Birds in the open. Birds on Pater and Grandma Toronto's shoulder. You had a blast. And the shows with baby lions and bears and tigers, oh my!
And in all of that cuteness, there was THAT snake. As you will see below, after you had the courage (read: stupidity) to smack a cobra, Grandma Toronto had no choice but to do the same. More or less. The good news is that Grandma Toronto is now the proud owner of a yellow, snake skin hand bag. And shoes. And wallet. And...

Going to the pool, the beach, and the zoo are all great. It would get anyone excited and out of the house in a rush. But your real passion was reserved for one specific activity. Passed from Grandma Toronto, to Mater to you. An activity that requires concentration, perseverance and the ability to push people out of your way when you find what you're looking for. All the male readers are still sporting quizzical looks. All the female readers are sighing in contentment that another has joined their ranks.


And at the end of each jampacked day of fun and frivolity, you discovered a whole new area of entertainment. Why can't Mater and Pater's car in Toronto be so much fun? And who knew that knees and toes were so interesting???


Not that the holiday was all rush, rush, rush. Sometimes a girl just needs to nap and dream about home. Where it's cold. And snowing. And...and...I'm sure there's something else. On the tip of my tongue. I had it a minute ago. Okay, it's gone. Surely there's more to Canada between November and April than cold and snow? Surely? Please!


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Pater: New dog, new tricks.

Posted by Anonymous , Monday, January 31, 2011 9:31 PM

Warning: This is a mighty long blogpost, so take the phone off the hook, brew up a cup of coffee (or tea, depending on nationality) and slice yourself a fat piece of cake. And if you're Grandma London, make that a slice of birthday cake. Happy Birthday, Grandma London!!!

The reason it's so long, Avocado Jnr, is because you're at that great stage of getting good at things you learnt months ago, but also amazing yourself (and me and Mater) with new interests and achievements. And there's no way a short post can cover all of that!

So what are the old things? Well, eating is no longer the chore it once was. Gone are the days when we have to trick you into putting mush in your mouth. True, we seem to spend a lot of time tricking you into not rubbing food through your hair, but apart from that, you've pretty much gone solo. With honed motorskills and your five teeth (three on top, two below), you feed yourself cereal in the morning...


...deport yourself like a lady in a restaurant...

...drink from a cup (okay, so you've only done it once, but it was caught on camera and therefore a considerable achievment for you and Pater)...

...and eat bananas whole.

But it doesn't end with just nourishing yourself. We haven't got you shopping for your food. No, we've done the next best thing and have you unpacking for us (please don't report us for child labour)...

When you're not eating, you like nothing more than sitting down quietly and pondering over the mysteries of life. NOT! You're a psycho!!! Running around. Climbing onto the sofa. Pulling your toys out after they've been tidied away. Opening everything and anything. Grabbing hand towels off their rails. And we love watching you do it. We love blowing bubbles for you in the bath. We love cuddling with you in front of Elmo - the only 15 minutes in the day when you actually stay in one place. We love making you laugh. We love dancing with you (preferably to Kung Foo Fighting). Pater sometimes wonders who's entertaining whom.

Amazingly, considering your Pater and Uncle Tel Aviv, you also like hanging out with friends and family. I guess it's not just Mater's looks that you inherited. Thank God!

Remember how much we enjoyed going to the zoo? Sadly, winter is here and our trips have been curtailed by a certain Mater who claims that 10cm of snow and biting cold winds are a reason not to visit Toronto Zoo. Luckily, Pater did manage a few last trips at the end of autumn. And sometimes he even took you with...


And it wasn't just animals that you discovered. Avocado Jnr, meet your shadow. Shadow, meet your Avocado Jnr.

As always, your lack of fear, bravery or sheer stupidity had no bounds, whether it was chasing Canada Geese...

...or stroking Kimono Dragons...

But cooing over your furry and feathered friends is sooooo yesterday. Goodbye Fauna, hello Flora. Maybe it's because they're easier to stick in your mouth, but plants have, um, surplanted animals. The only thing that remains is your sheer bravery (read, stupidity). We couldn't get a photo of you trying to climb a huge cactus at the Allen Gardens Conservatory (for the obvious reason that we were trying to scream and jump at the same time in an attempt to prevent you climbing said cactus), but here are some photos of you getting friendly with less dangerous elements of Mother Nature in the last few months.

Perhaps you're most impressive advancement has gone hand in hand (foot in foot?) with you learning to walk. You always enjoyed music classes with its hand puppets, bubbles and strange out-of-work actors who smile inanely while they sing to you...


..but now that you want to run around, explore, climb and generally scare the bejesus out of Mater and Pater with your antics, where better to hang out than Gymboree and other less famous (read, expensive) indoor playgrounds? Well, at least, where better until the army lets screaming, crazy toddlers run riot on their assault courses (Mater take note: That would make a great birthday party location).

Pater knows what a lot of readers will be thinking. "So what, my baby did all of that by 16 months (your age at presstime)." "Everyone knows that that walking, playing, feeding yourself, growing teeth etc etc are all standard "achievements" of babies between 1 and 2." "Come on Hass Avocados, give us something we don't know." And even, "when is this blogpost ever going to end?"

Well here's my retort: read the top of this page. This blog is not just a record of your growth, Avocado Jnr. It's also for the grandparents. And they need to have the hope that someone in their family will end up with a degree from Harvard or Cambridge (depending on nationality). They need to boast to their friends that you are definitely showing signs of Nobel Prize worthiness.

So Pater has left the best to last. Everyone knows that babies your age are meant to show boundless curiosity. But that's where it usually ends. What does this do? Can I eat it? No? Why not? Cry. Oh looks there's a piece of food on the floor. Move on. You on the other hand perservere. Oh boy do you stick to it. If the Nobel Committee gave out prizes for stubborn persistance in the face of pure logic, you my dear Avocado Jnr would pip President Obama to the post. Mater wonders where you learnt this pigheaded need to succeed, often in the face of certain defeat. She wonders if it was nature or nurture. Pater just pretends he never heard the questions, fully aware who you inherited it and learnt it from. But wherever it came from, of one thing we're both sure: it's terribly entertaining to watch, we're pretty sure it's teaching you an important life lesson, and it earns us major points with your grandparents!

When perserverance pays off, the rewards are priceless...

But if American Idol has taught has anything it's that, sometimes, "try, try and try again" does not a good voice make. Not that this has stopped you...

And the prize for never giving up, never whining about it, never realising how puny your muscles are, goes to...

Oh and Happy Birthday again, Grandma London!!!!!

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