Peek-a-boo skier

While skiing at Sun Peaks last month, I took this picture of my little guy. I think it is my favourite photo this year. Last night, istockphoto.com accepted it in my portfolio. Kinda made me warm and fuzzy, like this toque.

Jones Park

Across the street from my house is a little park. Jones Park. It was named after the woman who originally owned the land, long, long ago. As the story goes (according to my wise and wonderful neighbour), when the depression hit, many Vancouver land owners couldn't pay their taxes. So the city appropriated their land, and then when the owners passed away, the city tore down their houses and turned their land into a park. And so the legend of Jones Park lives on.

My neighbour also tells me Mrs. Jones used to shoot at trespassing kids with a b.b. gun. I'm not big on guns (Paris and I watched Bowling for Columbine again a few weeks ago just to reinforce our views) and I have not been a big fan of b.b. guns ever since I was shot at and hit when I was a kid. (I still have the bruise... honest!) (Fingers crossed behind my back.)

However, there is something appealing in the idea of Mrs. Jones and her loaded spunk and barrel. There is also something appealing in the idea that her land is now a community park where kids from all over congregate to throw rocks, climb trees (I had to rescue Kje last week from his own tree climbing escapade), teeter and tooter, slide down and then climb back up, swing and twirl, chase and hide, play soccer and fly kites and catch their first kiss. I often think of crotchety Mrs. Jones playing with them, now that she can't do anything about those rotten, meddling, trespassing kids.

Here are my two favourite things in Jones Park (besides my picnic blanket that is).

Sleeping Beauty and so on

I was invited to a princess party last weekend, which I must add I am getting used to. After 14 years of boy parties, with snakes, dinosaurs, bowling, tarantulas, video games, pillow fights, Hot Wheels, and ketchup chips, it is a bit refreshing to attend a party with frilly dresses, magic wands, sugar and spice and everything nice.

Here is a pretty picture of my princesses picking flowers (yes flowers, not weeds).

Perhaps it is time to add new category to my blog. The Girls.

Pathways

The boys and I went for a bike ride this evening and crossed over one of my favourite neighbourhood parks. We call it Batman park. There is a path worn into the grass from more bikes than just ours peddling across it night after night. Day after day, tires digging up raw dirt.

It is a bumpy, windy path, just bumpy and windy enough to add a bit of zing to the ride, like an old fashioned jaw breaker or a lemon sour or a cream soda float. Sweet and sour, but mostly sweet.

If I ride slow enough, the dips and turns take on another element of trickiness, like that wobbly first ride on your bicycle when you took your training wheels off but were too afraid to go the speed needed to balance properly.

The air is still crisp, spring is still new, but my neighbours are out like August mosquitoes, biting at bits of the outdoors.

The grass is getting longer, birds are chirping louder and the playground is filling up with hoots and hollers.

Spring is wobbling along, cutting her new path, dips here, turns there, bumps and windy bits all over.

I've never been a big fan of spring, always wanting to rush right into summer. But this year I just wanted to go slow and enjoy the ride.