And the dreams that you dare to dream...

Okay, these pictures are from June. But I just had to tell everyone about the best fundraising idea ever! Put every truck you can imagine in one place and let families come and explore them. Make the admission price a donation to a charity and you will have a perfect day. They had a "Touch a Truck" day just like this in Ottawa and my boys and their cousin were in seventh heaven.

by the way

I may have forgotten to mention,

but someone is...

We went to the doctor today because my children have canker sores in their mouths and, yes, I am one of those mothers who thinks that canker sores are inevitably strep throat or something even worse. Did I ever tell you about the time we spent five hours in emergency because I was positive that Leo had flesh eating disease? As it turns out, he had a scratch.

Russell is not at all co operative with doctors. His big brother is a pro, as long as there are no needles involved. He sticks out his tongue, says aaaah with aplomb, and sits perfectly still for the thermometer and the ear and eye explorations. He knows exactly where to find the Spiderman stickers. Russell is almost completely the opposite. It's not that he screams or cries or protests in any way. He just closes his mouth as tightly as he can. Our doctor couldn't even get her tongue depressor past his bottom lip. He lets his body go completely limp and he averts his eyes. It's the classic ostrich pose. "If I can't see her, she can't see me."

I worry that he's afraid of doctors, somehow permanently scarred because of that broken collarbone and all those x-rays and hospital visits. He stops speaking as soon as he enters the doctor's building. Really, I'm surprised that our doctor believes me when I insist that he is speaking in sentences because he gives her no evidence at all.

Today, while ineffectually examining him, our doctor noticed that he has a bruise on his forehead. "How did you hurt your head?" She asked him.

"He bumped it." said Leo. At the doctor, Leo speaks for Russell.

"How did he bump it?" asked the doctor.

"He fell and hit it on something that was lying on our floor. There are a lot of things lying on our floor."

Thanks Leo. The doctor may, at least, be reassured that I do not beat Russell but now she thinks our house is a disaster. Geesh, what's with five year olds giving away all my dirty little secrets?

It's true though, our house is a bit of a disaster right now. I'm so paranoid about having things to fill these summer days that I've developed a bit of a clutter problem. It's so bad that Kurtis is afraid to throw away any of the empty cereal boxes or old ice cream containers in case they've been earmarked for our burgeoning "guy" city or the fleet of rocket ships that lines our computer table. We're being consumed by cardboard. Someone may have to call that Hoarders show and arrange an intervention.

My mother has a theory that she made us all 'gifted' by letting her house be really messy and basically ignoring us for most of our lives. The theory is that she provided all of the raw fodder for us to develop our minds and then left us alone so that we could get to it. I don't know about the 'gifted' part but I do know that I am now unable to recognize a mess when it surrounds me. It just looks like home to me.

So my children grow up in a mess. It's who I am and where I come from. I can't protect them from it. I don't feel the need. I'll be happy if I can just protect them from flesh eating disease.

Jane Jacobs as a mother

Yesterday, Leo told me that he remembered being in my belly and, in a rather startling revelation, he informed me that there is an entire city in my belly where he lived before he was born. Supposedly, it has trees and squirrels and buses and houses and "even a tower, like the CN tower or the Eiffel tower or one of those ones like that."

Obviously, I was a little surprised. having no idea that there were pigeons and stray cats roaming around inside of me. No cars, however. Leo made that very clear. No cars and no people other than a few bus drivers and him, when he lived there.

I asked him when I had built this city and he told me that it must have been a long time ago, before Aidan was born, because he was pretty sure that Aidan had lived there too, when he was in my belly. And Russell had definitely lived there after him. He was sure about that because the bus drivers told him to leave his back pack behind, when he came out to be born, because Russell was going to need that backpack. We then had a long discussion about the back pack and how, when it comes time to buy a new back pack for him to take to senior kindergarten in the fall, we will never be able to find a back pack that is as good as that blue and orange back pack that he had before he was born.

Somehow, Leo always seems to say exactly what I need him too. My life is so full of impermanence and futility these days. I don't make anything that lasts. Brownies disappear in a day. Laundry is washed and folded and worn and re washed and re folded and re worn. I unload the dishwasher only to turn around and load it again, almost immediately. I tidy up blocks and books and paper clutter, all to no avail because ten minutes later my house is twice as messy as it was when I started. At the end of the day, or the week, or the month, it's rare that I can say "Well, I accomplished this." "I changed that." All I do is keep the daily cogs turning, keep the pool chlorinated, keep the children alive.

But I have built a city somewhere inside of me. Long before I became a mom, before I resigned myself to this tidal life, I was building homes and trees and spires and back packs inside me. I hope it lasts. Not for the sake of any more babies. I'm so grateful for the babies I have but I'm done with babies. Just for my own sake. I might need it someday.

I thanked Leo for telling me about the city. I told him that I was amazed that I had been able to build it all by myself, that I couldn't really believe that I was smart enough or strong enough to build a whole city on my own, that I didn't know I was capable of building things like that.

"Yes, you can, Mom. You could build me!"

It's true. He's way more complicated than a city. I told you he always says exactly what I need to hear.