Irish Roadtrip - Where is the Fecking GPS??

I was privileged to have gone on a Road Trip this past May, watching my beloved and his beloved Da, navigate their way around southern Ireland.  My Da-in-law had some things to which to attend in Dublin and he was looking forward to seeing friends and family.  Derek thought it would be an amazing experience to accompany  him. I fancy myself a amateur travel agent, so I started planning their adventure.





 As it turned out, I did such an amazing job on the upcoming trip, that I succumbed to my inner desire and I asked to join them. My father-in-law, Pat, graciously accepted me on their trip, though I really feel he had little to no choice.

Pat has been to home many times since The O'Rourke's emigrated to Canada 1967, with 3 little

Ireland 1988

hooligans and a princess on the way.  Derek had returned numerous times. He and I visited Ireland early in our marriage when I was "flying for 2".  The 1988 trip I have more deeply etched in my mind, as mind was young and sharp and of course, less fogged by cider.  Our 1988 trip included visits with Derek's Grandmother, Aunts and Uncles and long-lost cousins.  I shopped for hand knit baby paraphernalia for my Kate, who I had not yet met.  I was a useless designated driver, though sober, I was unskilled driving the left-hand side of the road.  I was chastised for a short trip on a dirt bike, but otherwise welcomed into this new extended Irish clan.

Auntie Lila

On this trip, our time spent near Dublin was busy and filled with some of the same characters from

Some O'Rourke's

1988.  Our home base was, as always, with Lila.  As a former
 B and B host, Lila just knows how to do it right.  She is a treasure.

On different days we traveled from home to home, and I got a glimpse of the road trip yet to come.  Pat knew his way around. Derek was the driver and we had been loaned a GPS from our now favourite cousin.  It was like having a sexy irish tramp with a brogue guiding us around.  Soon it became evident that there were too many cooks in the front seat.  From where I sat, quietly, I was watching Derek navigate the left side of the road, the GPS falling off the dashboard and my Da-in-law guiding Derek circa 1956.  Both were challenged by right vs left.  We always seemed to arrive at our destination without any spats.

Our hosts at each home were amazingly welcoming and many family

More O'Rourke's

members were gathered together to meet their cousins from Canada.  There were many questions and comments, but my favourite was from a young cousin who asked, with astonishment in his eyes "In Canada, do you really have milk in bags???"

We saw the home in which Pat had grown up, as it is still the home of the eldest O'Rourke brother, Leo.  Leo's has pigeons so some of our visit was in the coop in the back garden.  The pigeons have been a hobby since Leo  was 6 years old.  It was wonderful to see a passion that lasted some 80 years.  
Leo has sired a large group of wonderful people and we enjoyed our night with them immensely.

And more O'Rourke's and the Farrell's

In an area called Rush, we saw a different side of Ireland.  Beautiful seashore, beaches, boats and later,  a moon over the water.  It was here that we joined with another set of O'Rourke's and the "close as family" Farrell's, who we have been hearing about for years as dear friends of Pat and Ethel.  We spent the evening with cousins that were new to me and a distant memory for Derek.  Although I have met them virtually, (facebook) it was another thing to sit and chat. Another warm Irish welcome and a lot of laughing.

So many O'Rourke's so little time.

Father/Son and Grandson Tattoos.  Missing Kevin

The 3 of us spent a day in the city on the Pat O'Rourke Tour of all that is Dublin.  It was not a regular red bus tour of the Jameson Distillery or the Guinness Brewery.  It was not a trip to Temple Bar.  No, it was a tour that beats all others.  We were given a

 glimpse of Dublin that very few tourists will ever get.  My Da-in-Law led us to nooks and crannies of the city relaying memories of his past.  He knew all the hotspots, but with a perspective and with a history than only a true Dub would know.  It was the only time we wore the old man out.  He was determined to show us every interesting spot in Dublin from O'Connell bridge to  Grafton Street. We wandered from pub to pub. We ended up at Madigan's where I learned than anything is tasty if there is enough gravy on it.  It was at Madigan's that Pat was nicknamed "the milkshake man" as he asked for blackcurrent in his Guinness.  How embarrassing.
 What a great day.

Kinsale Harbour

After a few days of imposing on family and friends, we launched on our journey.  This time there as a proper highway, a "dual carriage way" to take us from Dublin to the south coast where we stayed in a small village.  In Kinsale, we spent 3 nights at the Triton Hotel and 3 days going from pub to fish and chipper by day and on the search for live music by night.  Pat is a fan of the a night out with traditional Irish music and good old Irish chatting.  He was probably not terribly surprised that we were hesitant, as Derek and I are forever yawning by 8pm.   We would try to prepare for a night spent out past 10pm with our much loved naps.  Pat tolerated us.  "Come find me in the pub when you wake up".  It was a bit humiliating.

We did some sight seeing in a small town called Clonakilty. We happened on to a beach the likes of which I have not seen.  I sent photos and texts home remarking that we were frolicking at Inchydoney.  Bridget has since renamed it Itchy Donkey, but refuses to believe we frolick.

Inchydoney 

Following Kinsale, we traveled further west, and stopped in Killarney.  I wanted to sing, but Derek reminded me that it was not Christmas here and that I sing very poorly. We took a car ferry and then drove through the Burren.  It seemed like an Irish wasteland, until  the flowers are noticed growing within the rocks. Finally we found our bed and breakfast in County Clare.  This small town, with a population of about 15 people and one intersection seemed at first site to have little to offer beyond a few stores and pubs and this amazing B and B, the Ballyvaughan Lodge.

However Ballyvaughan's claim to fame is its whisky bar. I had had a full day and night and after our gravy dinner, I wanted to head back to our home away from home. I was, however, dragged to this whisky bar.  I was convinced because the barkeep made the "Best Irish Coffee in Town".  We saw pictures of Steven Spielberg and the actress I like to call "1 of the Desperate Housewives".  Derek's Da was very familiar with the Irish Whisky.  Derek not so much, as he "doesn't like hard liquor".  He was convinced of it's benefits. I stumbled and dragged the 2 of them back to the quaint Ballyvaughan Lodge as now, after my Irish coffee, I was an alert drunk.

 

Breakfast - Ballyvaughan Lodge

 










This is where my father in law gave me my favourite memory.  "Where is the next pub" he asked, to which Derek replied "It's 1 in the morning and you are 80.  The next pub is in your bed".

Where's the Next Pub

Ballyvaughan is close to the Cliffs of Moher. We took a ferryboat under the cliffs.  It was a cold, rainy day, but I was fully, yet embarrassingly dressed for it.  Neither Derek nor Pat acknowledged that I belonged with them.  I found this confusing because not only was a dressed in green, I was sporting the red rubber boots I found at the back of an army surplus store in a dodgy part of Dublin.  I know they were really proud of me.

Red Boot Diaries

Under the Cliffs of Moher

Shopping here was a mad search for perfume made locally, as I purchase a new scent with any trip..  After the trip, I am reminded of the good times every time I smell my new scent.  I was excited beyond belief to find out that there was a perfumerie that we could visit AND TOUR, on our way to Galway.  It was difficult to convince my road trippers that this would be time well spent.  Derek stopped at a chocolate factory instead, knowing that I would be satisfied with this compromise.  Whenever I smell chocolate now, I flash back to Ireland, as well as all the other millions of places I have stuffed my face.

On the boats again

Galway was a nice surprise as we had not seen this cool city before.  After much circling and back- tracking around and around the one-way streets, Derek could stop for a brief moment so that we could find and check into our hotel. Off he went to find the Car-park. Pat and I dragged our suitcases across the cobblestones and dragged them up the front steps of the Skeffington Arms.  It was with pleasure and delight when we saw the faces at the reception desk as Mr and Mrs O'Rourke checked in.  My father-in-law, my sugar daddy, the man who cheered me through my first Guinness.

A half pint of Guinness, done

Where's the music?

We had a perfect end to our road trip with an extra day in this lovely city of Galway. There were outdoor pubs and music everywhere and street buskers and shops galore.  The on again / off again rain to which we had grown accustomed at this point of our trip, was especially troublesome in Galway.  As it is best to see Galway on foot and we had been soaked enough times, we finally resorted to an umbrella from the hotel  Because umbrellas and rain gear (and might I say, red rubber boots) are the standard uniform in Ireland, it is commonplace to grab an umbrella at one spot, get where you are going and then just leave it at the next place for someone else to use.  It is a great custom and imagine it is the honour system that dictates the practice.  We were lucky enough to snag just the right umbrella.  However, this  particular umbrella, I wish I could have kept.

Derek and his Da

It was honestly, the best trip I have ever taken.   

You Have To Be Kidding - It's Hallowe'en Again this year??!!

The challenge of a blog that lasts for more than 365 days, is that it comes time to reflect again, on a topic previously pondered.  I re-read my 2013 Halloween blog post and by God, I loved it!

PUMPKIN BRIDGET

There is a HUGE Halloween Skeleton Hanging in my Closet:

http://tenajsllew.blogspot.ca/2013/10/huge-halloween-skeleton-hanging-in-my.html

How can I top this?  Then I realized that I certainly don't have to top it.  I am just going to allow the story to grow

 I have lots of memories of Halloween gone by.   Unlike last year's post, I will recount the best.  I will not whine about Halloween.  I vaguely remember"happy/scary" faces sketched on a pumpkin and icy seeds and muck to be scraped out.  I am remembering clowns and leprechauns Harry Potter and a Mad Scientists.  Slowly costume choices became less adorable.  With time we moved from clowns to vampires.  It is a sad day when an adorable baby boy decided to become Dracula.  It is a sad day when a tween daughter wants to go out as a hooker and doesn't even think to ask to borrow her mother's clothes.

Every year was just more creative than the last. I recall fancy pillow cases and the yellow popcorn bowl filled with a variety of choices, from chocolate bars to rockets, caramels to suckers hoping to  satisfy even the most challenging food restrictions.  We had last minute face-painting and costume malfunction saves. Yes, I admit, we had tears and they weren't all mine.  Little ones anxiously waiting for 6 pm to burst out into the night with one parent and the  inconspicuous "traveler mug". The parent left to "shell out" could oohh and awww over the cute little costumes.  It is quickly learned to avoid guessing the costume. It can be difficult to distinguish between and angel and a princess and it is really important to be right.  The end of the night was children's fantasy free for all.  After bedtime there was a no holds barred pilfering of the best of the best.

I ROCKED HALLOWE'EN.

I did not rock Halloween, but I think I faked it admirably.

Now I have moved from the front line, just trying to get through another Hallowe'en without revealing the true Skeleton in the front closet.  "Of course Mommy loves Hallowe'en.  What's not to love?".   I am no longer drowning in anxiety, trying to meet my self-imposed expectation that my children's  Halloween be amazing, or at the very least, neither physically or emotionally damaging.

Pumpkin Carving by some Creative Hallowe'en Colleague

Now I can sit with an all-knowing smirk of a veteran.   I wear rose-coloured night vision goggles. I smile as I hear of the preparations that young parents are making.  Some really do rock Halloween and my witch hat goes off to them. The pumpkin carving competition showed me that there are many adults who take this day very seriously.   I see entire web sites dedicated to costumes for children.  I didn't even know what DIY meant until recently.  I always Did It Myself, but trust me, the creations of my mind did not compare to the ideas on the web.  My answer to Halloween was a good pair of super man pajamas with a tea towel as a cape.

NOT MY FAVES BUT GONE

 I see all the candy at the store and try to delay the inevitable purchase as I always have.  It seemed back in the day, that if I bought treats in anticipation of Halloween, they were gone before the 31st.  I guess the difference is that when there are no chocolate bars this Friday night "I only have myself to blame". The age old question is "how many is too many". There is (a) weight watcher count of x # of calories per piece, so "count your points ladies". Then there is the next plan (b) Enjoy a few, until just nicely satisfied.  Then of course, (c) "eat until you barf".  I try hard to stop between b and c.  My strategy this year was to try to buy my "less than absolute favourite" chocolate bars, in hopes that I will hold off force-feeding myself late into the night.  I try to convince myself that if I buy M&Ms rather than Smarties, I will not demolish them.  If I choose Snickers over Kit Kats then some will be left.  I will buy Twix bars instead of Caramilk.   Little did I know that Casey is a fan of the Twix bar, which I really consider more of a cookie, myself, but she begs (literally) to differ.

LOVE ME, LOVE ME

Our children will be elsewhere this weekend, celebrating in style.  I feared they would chair a support group of Adult Children of Halloween Party-Poopers, but they survived.  The girls like their crafts and their make up.  They are busily stringing beads and glue-gunning as we speak. I know this as I received a SnapChat from Kate.  Yes, I am such a cool mom, I get SnapChats. For those who are not cool enough to understand SnapChat (like I wasn't last week), it is a picture text on my phone that showed Katelyn creating a  (DIH) Flamingo costume. (If I could I would include the photo, but SnapChat is by design a snapshot which disappears forever in about 10 seconds). Just to give you an idea though, there were feathers, beads, lace and, wait for it... a glass of white wine.  THE KID is BRILLIANT.  She is not even a Mommy, but she has a helper.  I applaud her.

GUMBALL MACHINE

Bridget explained that she could come home neither last weekend nor this weekend, as it is"Halloween".  How did this October 31st celebration come to span a 14 day window?  I am happy for her and am overwhelmed by her level of creativity as well.  She is "going out as" as a camp counsellor.  Just to be clear, from July to August this summer, Bridget WAS a camp counsellor at the Toronto Island.  I thought this Halloween costume choice was a bit of a cop out.  However, I am pretty sure Bridget's camp counsellor costume does not strikingly resemble the outfit she actually wore to camp.  Weekend # 2 requires a different costume.  God forbid she should repeat herself.  Weekend #2 she is truly showing off her creative and less than modest nature.

Kevin does not have the creative touch of his female siblings. I am not crafty and the apple didn't fall far from the tree.  I am not sure whether he is "into the Halloween thing".  We introverted Trick or Treaters have a harder time with costumes and revelry.  I am sure if Kevin does dress
up, it will be an understated and very clever T-shirt of some sort, that requires no more than a marker and a cape.

SUPER KEV

 That is more his style than pink feathers and short shorts.  It struck me as interesting and just plain wrong, somehow, that there are actual websites that will provide people with ideas for exceptionally clever  DIY Halloween costumes.  I maintain that if a costume is to be considered clever, the person wearing it really should have cleverly thought of it himself.

Although I am  a self-proclaimed Halloween Grinch, I will to try to embrace this Halloween weekend.  Kate, Kevin and Bridget are grown and they now are more than capable of dressing up, as Kate would say, "all my byself".  I am not consulted and my approval means almost nothing. My job here is done.

SUPER CUTE

We now live in a rural neighbourhood of about 30 houses surrounding 2 lovely ponds. This will be our first Halloween away from our family forever home in Orangeville. I am very curious to see the Halloween rituals in our small community of colourful characters. There are some children here, much to other's chagrin.  Most of the wee ones are on the "other side of the pond".  I am hoping they will be out on

Friday night with strong flashlights and painted faces.  I expect there will be some pets also dressed up.  Many of the dogs here have their own fall wardrobes, so I expect they will have costumes.  I found an entire web site devoted to dressing up your pet for Halloween.  I am speechless. And here I naively  thought I was done.

Friday night in our new community, we will try to turn over a new leaf.  We will have copious amounts of the "less popular" chocolate bars. And yes, I have eaten the entire 50 small Snickers. Please don't judge.  We will have pumpkin-shaped dog treats for trick or treating canines.  I will wear my crazy fire engine red rubber boots. Some may think this is my costume but sadly, as many are figuring out,  it is not.  Casey the dog will dress up as Mai the cat and vice versa.   I will decorate our new home with  50 cent pumpkins and Corn on the Door and hopefully for those with traveler mugs,  we will become known as the house with the Halloween Whine.

WELCOME NEIGHBOURS

Fodder +

Barbados Hiatus

When I started writing this blog early in 2013, I was very enthusiastic. I wanted to write about everything.  I could write all day.  I was inspired by all I saw during my 'sabbatical" in Barbados.



On my return home, to my routine, structured life, I continued to write.  I found it cathartic and I felt I was leaving a piece of myself for my children to have.

My peeps, for whom I write my blog

At one point I hit a blogger's block.  I couldn't find any inspiration and I felt it was the absence of subjects on which to reflect. This passed and I was back to writing long posts about anything.  I could write about the colour of my hair. 

Over the last while, I realized that a blogger's block can come from many places.  I discovered that it can come from an overload of inspiration.  Someone mentioned that there was a lot of "fodder" for my blog.  I realized I had too much fodder.

Solving the world's problems in Dublin

In the last 6 months I have travelled to Ireland, on the trip of a life time.  On returning to structure and routine, we discovered a new place to call home.  We then proceeded to completely empty our empty nest and move all our belongings north.  We acquainted our adult children with their new home base and have entertained family and dear friends as we introduced them to our life.  There have been special events, tattoos, apartment shuffling and new cars.

Good bye Elm Avenue

 There have been ups and

Hello Mulmur

downs.  There have been highs and lows.  There has been fodder. 

Now, I find life again regaining some routine and structure and so I will recommence.    I will go back in time, not necessarily chronologically, but I will work to recap this period of fodder.

City Mouse Country Bumpkin

View from our front porch

We are now living in the glorious County of Mulmur Ontario. It was a "smooth" transition from our family home in the metropolis of Orangeville. We are now officially " country folk" in a small community which used to be a summer vacation get away for "city folk". Springwater Lakes has grown and transitioned from a cluster of weekend cottages surrounding 2 spring fed ponds to about 30 homes of people who have learned to bear a commute south on winding winter roads.

 Rural living is proving to have a set of charms I had not anticipated. The "intersection" in our neighbourhood has no stop signs. Such a difference from the standard 4 way stops of Orangeville with typical Canadian courtesy, making driving almost frustratingly polite. Here our 2 gravel roads come to cross and I am yet to meet another car there. Even if we did meet, the well-respected 20 kilometer per hour speed limit makes it pretty simple to negotiate.

I didn't know one could go 20km/hr

A second note is the practice of dropping kids bikes at the bus shelter . I find this lovely that bikes sit without a massive chain looped through each wheel. I also think that the children's bikes and go carts along the roadside are the best subliminal reminders of the 20 kilometer speed limit. Red Fischer Price wagons are everywhere but do not seem to be a child's toy. Everyone has a wagon.  They are used for different things.  Some roll their garbage to the curb,  Some serve as a beer cart.  Ours is a fire station to carry water for the bonfire.

Back in the Wild

Our animals are also learning what it means to be back to their roots. The cat thinks she is a tiger. She is stalking different prey up here.  No more city mice for her.  She is primed and ready to take down a coyote.  On our walks she darts around us always within earshot but without acknowledging that we are there. She reminds me of our children when they were teenagers. The dog thinks she is a cow, grazing constantly. She seems to fancy the grass growing over the septic field. She is also pooping like a rock star. A coincidence? I think not.

Beautiful by deadly

My behavior is changing too. I now swim in the pond, rather than shower. Access to the basement laundry room is difficult at the moment.  There is a narrow winding staircase that I have sworn not to use. Therefore, here in the country, I rarely do laundry. I am yet to put any make up on. I wear red rubber boots and have been known to walk up the road to the mailbox in my slippers.
I am working hard to gain a reputation. Despite my quirks people have been very friendly and not just Canadian "polite" friendly.  People have actually invited us over. There is definitely a "cottage vibe" going on, so much so that I keep procrastinating on cleaning.  I just keep thinking " I will do one big 10 second tidy before we go home".  Wait a minute...




One thing I had not anticipated was the enthusiasm of our friends and family who live in more urban areas. We have had lovely visits.I do the indoor tour of our 2 bedroom home. It is very well-designed to make overnight guests feel comfortable and a bit "away from it all".  It would be a perfect Bed and Breakfast, but we call it our "B and W".  This means that one might expect clean sheets (B) but breakfast (B) is at the discretion of the hostess and depends primarily on the amount of wine(W) consumed at dinner the previous night.   We should provide vouchers for a Greasy Spoon down the road ("see you at noon").  

Lifelong Friends get to wear the Red boots.

We are embracing the entertaining because apparently it comes to a sharp halt in November.

We are yet to experience a winter north of Hwy 89 but Derek and I both hope and are determined to remain in awe of this place. The summer, though some feel was less than spectacular has been beautiful in this oasis.  However, as I watch the brilliant fall colours emerge,  I am reminded that the seasons are changing.  The snow will surely fly next month. I am in denial and it is very comfortable. We have All Wheel Drive and a wood stove. We have cans of soup and a snow blower.  How bad can it be? When I ask our friendly neighbours about the winter, everyone gets this funny look on their face. Kind of like the look I have when women who are about to give birth for the first time ask what labour is like.. "Oh it will be fine. We all get through it." Why burst the bubble of denial.


Until November, when we start to experience a different side of Springwater Lakes, we will continue to smugly feel we have won the lottery. The natural beauty of this place coupled with the tranquil neighbourhood setting has me wondering, from time to time, if this is a dream. I think our neighbours, though refreshingly friendly, may decide that  "if the nice smelly lady in the red boots asks me to pinch her", I will politely say "no".

I still can't believe I live here.

#3 Can Lick the Cat

The arrival of spring is special. As spring arrived in 1994, it marked the completion of our little family with the birth of our #3.  It also marks the anniversary of  the day that I decided childbearing was overrated.  In 2014, it ends our 13 year commitment to raising teenagers.  Our little Bridget just turned 20 years old.  Somehow this seems unfathomable.  How did I survive parenting this little spitfire.  How did we endure these 3 kiddlings?  Now that the youngest is 20, does that mean I am officially done??  Is it over?  Is it finally over???

The decision to have a 3rd child seems crazy to many, it is a given for others and a goof up to some. Bridget's imminent arrival, though a conscious decision, was still fraught with thoughts like "OMG what have we done?" and "weren't things just getting easier?".  We had "our boy and our girl".  We had our millionaire family.   We waited for a cheque to arrive, but Bridget arrived instead.

Millionaire Dollar Family

A pregnancy with #3 was different than with #1 and #2.  News of  the first baby to be born within wedlock, at a stage when everyone is asking "any babies in the picture?" , is met with excitement and congratulations.  No mentions of the downside to parenthood.  No one really describes labour.  Everyone jumps on the Bliss Bandwagon. One hears the simple question, age old question:   "Do you want a boy or a girl?" followed quickly by "I guess you just want a healthy baby".  With a second bundle of bliss on the way, people just seem to see this child as a given.  Forget the "healthy baby" thing now, though, it's "you must want a boy."

When the leap is made from 2 children to 3, people seem more
comfortable making somewhat negative comments.  "Was this a mistake?".  " The 3rd will confirm that 2 really was enough". "Watch out for the third child, they are always difficult".  "But you already have your boy and your girl.  What were you thinking??"

"Well" I imagined saying, "this time we are hoping for a puppy".
 I mean, honestly, people, the bun is in the oven!  There is no looking  back.

Just when I had had it with Negative Nelly's hands on my belly, a lovely friend, a mother of 3 children,

slightly older than ours, confided  that  it was #3 who brightened and completed her family in a way she couldn't describe. Lynn tried to relay the thoughts she had about a relationship that she treasured and finally gave up and she extended her best wishes on the addition to the O'Rourke family.  It brightened up my last 3 months and I will always be grateful to her.  I now understand.

When we were expecting Bridget, I was informed by all whom had "never been wrong" that we were having a boy.  We were not interested in finding out the gender of the little one.  On April 14 at 1am, I was told to get back into bed and  "relax with a cup of tea".  At 4am, Bridget made her way, kicking and screaming into our world, all 6 pounds of her, soaking wet. When we realized that we had a little girl, we just laughed.  It was the first of a lifetime of laughs with Bridget.

 Katelyn was so thrilled to have a sister.  She brought pink cupcakes to

Waiting for #3

kindergarten to mark the big day.  Afterwards, when she actually met Bridget she was not too taken with the little alien. Baby Bridget, though overdue, was a scrawny scaly little thing, unlike our plump pink little baby Katie.  I know all parents feel their baby is gorgeous and the most beautiful child ever.  I am objective. I am confident that Kate was the most beautiful baby in the nursery, as I readily admit that Bridget was not.

When Kevin was told that he had a little sister, he replied "and I have new shoes too".  In addition, he also was heard to say "I am so lucky to have 2 sisters."  As Grandma would say "Oh, God love him!".

One comment that proved accurate was that there are different challenges that come with the third child. With the arrival of #3, we were effectively out numbered.  It was time to go from man-to-man to a zone defence. Her first year was manageable as Bridget was strapped in and immobilized in her car seat.   Being born into a family with 2 children on the go, meant the new baby was effectively carted from event to event.  A car seat was nothing fancy back in the day.  It was pretty much a liner and a buckle. It didn't even have a handle, let alone a Sony sound system and a built in Tassimo.  They were pretty accurately named "bucket seats".  Bridget was carted on my child-bearing hip, like a 2-4 of beer.  She came to recitals.  She came to brownies.  A baseball landed right in her car seat.  With gasps from the crowd, Derek held Bridget up for all to see that she did not in fact catch the foul ball.

It has come to be accepted that birth order has an influence on how the child is raised and affects their character.  "They" say that each child is born into a different family.  There are many studies about the traits of the high-achieving eldest, the neglected middle child and the spoiled youngest.  I am not sure how these tendencies are reflected in our children, but I do realize that the 3 kids were raised with the intention of consistency, and in actual fact, they were all tormented and tickled, but perhaps in different ways.




To best illustrate this, the 1st child can look at the cat, the 2nd child can pat the cat and the 3rd can lick the cat.

We carried Kate up and down the stairs until she was too heavy to lift.  Kevin was taught to carefully crawl backwards down the stairs, with a spotter behind him all the way.  With #3, after nap time, we would hear a series of thump, thump,  thump, clunk.  "Oh, Bridget's awake".

Birthday Party???

Bridget celebrated her birthday this year while  in the midst of exams.  There was no lavish party.  We gathered for pizza at Grand'maman's, in north Toronto.  The guest list was reminiscent of Bridget's birthdays in Florida.  We visited my parents each April and celebrated with hot dog picnics and Sara Lee cakes.

 I would like to recount birthday parties thrown in her younger years.  However, to be perfectly honest,  I don't really recall any of Bridget's birthday parties. I am aware that there were parties.  Bridget would have made sure that she was not missing out on anything.  I imagine there was a pinna-ta of some sort and day-old Easter

Ice Cream cake.  Let's face it.  I was pooping out.  I cannot find a photo of any party, so I am including

this photo of Bridget and Kate because it looks like they were having fun.  I am hoping this passes as a birthday photo.

From my picture hunt, it seems that although Bridget was apparently neglected in the birthday department, she was none-the-less baptised.  She also made her First Communion.  I am unsure whether she made her Confirmation.   It appears that she is not yet married.

Parenting Bridget for the past 20 years has been a welcome challenge and a privilege.  She came into the world making us laugh.  She continues to do this.  Apart from Crazy Bridget stories, that all enjoy, I have resilient Bridget stories and compassionate Bridget stories.  To say she "stirred things up" would be an understatement. She has always been regarded by Derek and me as a welcome addition to our Millionaire Family.


Bridget is priceless.

Millionaire Family + 1