I try to keep Christmas in our house fairly low-key in terms of gifts – well, as much as is possible, given the whole focus of the holiday! Olive gets one gift from Santa plus the little things in her stocking, and I give her one gift as well. She has about a million aunts and uncles and I often try to coordinate experience gifts with them (Science centre passes, days out, helping with the cost of extra-curricular activities, etc), but there’s never any shortage of gifts to open. Despite this, I have a few gift-related traditions I try to keep up each year.
First, she gets a new tree ornament each year – this year it’s this adorable handmade one from Etsy that I personalized to celebrate her hard work in Taekwondo – and second, I get her a book.
Poetry has made its way back into my life in a big way lately. I’ve always admired the precision of a few carefully chosen words and the way a single sentence can shock you into silence with its perfect composition.
So – happy Sunday. One of my favourite poems for my daughter and the full text written out afterwards.
Oh hey there, I’m just popping in with a very quick post to say that I may have drastically underestimated how adept Olive is at trolling me and/or I am killing it with this whole parenting thing.
Almost two weeks ago, Olive turned five.
I didn’t write much about it then, and I told myself it was because I was so busy with her birthday party and her family dinner and the excitement and preparation and post-party exhaustion that came with both.
That was partially true – I love birthdays, and I love making hers special, so I am usually completely pooped by the time it’s all over – but I also just really didn’t know how to write about it without leaning heavily on cliches, or composing a post that was just a single long exhale and a slowly whispered, “Five?!”.
So much of this seems beyond the realm of possibility.
I’d like to take a moment to enthusiastically discuss how wonderful four-year-olds are.