Ah What Tangled Webs We Weave

So you may have noticed that I took a blogging hiatus somewhere around mid-July. I meant to come back to it in a matter of weeks. But the longer I was off, the more I realized how much I was getting done using the many hours I spent reading blogs and writing on my own, elsewhere.

The cloud of "you should update your blog" hanging over my head became incredibly oppressive. Not to mention people reminding me that I hadn't posted in weeks, a month, freaking ages, and would I please write something funny.

No pressure.

Anyway, I've had a long time to think about what I want to do with this blog. Originally, I created The Gratton Grapevine in an attempt to keep family updated because I never had the time to call or write long emails. Looking back, the first blog posts aren't much more than pictoral essays of "Here's what we did on the weekend/holiday." As I started to realize what kind of blogging world was out there, and the different ways in which mommy blogs were used, I started writing for a broader audience. My readership grew (not substantially, but it did) and I grew increasingly divided between the original purpose of the blog (a family scrapbook) and some other drive to become a known entity.

My quandry became this. I could continue to move this blog away from its original purpose (or start another blog under a pseudonym) and work harder, more efficiently, at networking and building a community and a name for myself in the blogging world. Or I could say "F*ck it all" (sorry mom, dad... see, you can't really swear on a family blog), and return to the original premise of The Gratton Grapevine. Which involves far less effort.

And a lot less pressure.

And possibly collapsing everything behind a password-protected site. I'm still debating that one.

To whit. This is my long-winded warning to anyone and everyone who is not interested in knowing and/or seeing that we went to the park and played on the swings, or that David cooked a phenomenal meal, or that Chilco cut his leg and needed 4 frickin' expensive to the tune of $450 stitches, that you might want to back out now. If you haven't already done so.

I will still post funny stories and/or anecdotes, but I will no longer feel that every entry has to be crafted to fit a larger cross-section of readers. Or that it needs to meet the writerly basics of a coherent beginning, middle and end.

Now... In the words of Bill Cosby, "I told you that story, so I could tell you this one."

Last night, after a relaxing mid-week family day (Remembrance day holiday), Nate asked to do face painting. I hauled out the kit that I bought for the block party, but forgot to take with me.

We flipped through the idea booklet and Nate picked Spiderman. (Superheroes are de rigeur right now in the Gratton household.)

Here are the end results:











And so we soar into new adventures. With even more sentence fragments. And possibly more than one post every four months.

Toodles.

PSA

I haven't disappeared.

I'm just on holidays. I thought I would get a chance to write, but it hasn't turned out that way.

See you sometime around Labour Day weekend.

Please resume your regularly scheduled programming.

Some Burning Questions for You

Otherwise known as Wordless Wednesday with some thought attached.



This is a picture of Jakey looking at himself in my camera lens. I wanted to write a couple of posts this week, but as SciFi Dad was opining today, sometimes you sit down to write a great post, and it doesn't come out the way you envisioned. Scratch that because I'm a step behind. I have great ideas for posts and when I finally sit down to the keyboard (usually later at night), I find that those ideas have flown the coop.

So you're stuck with another picture post and, instead of writing, I'll just ask you the questions that are flopping around in my brain, but won't formulate into a coherent post this late at night.

This is what's been bugging me.

Do you think that the second child gets short shrift?

We all joke about how there are a million photos of the first child (guilty) and a lot fewer of the second (equally guilty). Two weeks ago, as Nate was learning to ride his bike, I realized that Jake, over the last two months, has finally grown long enough legs to reach his tricycle pedals and so taught himself how to ride it at 21 months.

Originally, when we bought the trike for Nate, he was 27 months old and David and I dedicated lots of time to teaching him how to get on the vehicle, pedal and maneouver. Jake we essentially ignored and he taught himself, at a much younger age.

I know you can argue the second wants to run to keep up with the first; the second is more independent; the parents are more relaxed. But I wonder... does Jake get less from us than Nate did?

For those of you with three or more, what happens the third time around?

Non Sequitur

As I recollect, growing up, I did everything my mother asked me to do the minute she asked me to do it. As did my brother.

So I'd like to know how I was blessed with two children who fail to answer my bidding as it is bid.

Must be my husband's side of the family.



Damn genetics.

Wordless Wednesday... Almost

The August long weekend in pictures:

Stanley Park Pool

Après Swim Hotdog

Some Road Hockey

A Little Mojito Refresher

The Neighbourhood Mascot

A Boy and His Trike

Nate's Right Knee

And So With the Good...

... comes the bad.

Nate learned, on the first day David took off the training wheels, how to ride his bike. The limiting problem was that he could only ride the bike when he didn't realize that David had let go and he was flying solo. Once he became aware of his state of perfect balance, he lost it.

So, David took the pedals off.

It sounded counter-intuitive, at least to me, but it worked. Within minutes, Nate could glide fifty feet at a time, perfectly balanced on those two wheels. So my return from Chicago and BlogHer'09 saw Nate riding gliding his bike, tickled pink.

This Saturday, when weekend days dawn long with the promise of bottomless fun for liberated preschoolers, David reattached the pedals. And Nate was off. Literally and figuratively.

As his confidence increased, and the speed and risks grew, Nate was off his bike.

Bumps, scrapes, bruises and abrasions.

Tears too, but they were short-lived. Why would you waste time crying when you can fly down the street again in pursuit of that perfect sense of balance?

And with that, my young son, my firstborn, has truly left any ounce of babyhood behind, flying with independence, abandon and a whole host of war wounds that go with that hard-won freedom.

Wordless Wednesday

Another Top 5

Top 5 reasons to never fly “Uflighted Airways”*:

1. They know how to squeeze a penny until it screams.

There are no attendants to “check you in”, so you complete the process yourself at a self-serve kiosk. Which is fine, unless you're behind a family of 17 with 89 pieces of luggage who have obviously never flown before and are blown away by having to check themselves in.

But the real cost savings on UA hit me on the way home from America. When completing my self-check-in, I was asked to spend $XX to upgrade to “first class”, to spend $40 to purchase 3-5 cm of extra leg room, and forced to pay $15 USD for a single checked bag. But all my booze and food were free.

Ha. You didn't actually believe that last sentence did you?

2. The flight attendants are incredibly happy to serve you.

On the way to America, a man in the window seat of my row was given his glass of water. When he asked “for ice please”, the flight attendant ignored him for a few seconds, then thrust out her hand towards him and demanded, “Give it to me.”

3. The pilots sound very interested in their jobs.

On both flights, the pilot intoned in a flat monotone as fast as possible, “Wearearrivingatthegate10minutesaheadofschedule. Theweatherisyadayada. ThankyouforflyingUflighted. Wehopeyou'llthinkofusinthefuture.”

4. They want you to exercise your bladder.

The Airbus 315 seats about 102 people in economy.

When on the flight to Chicago, the flight attendant announced at the beginning of the trip, “There are two washrooms located at the rear of the plane for economy class. Do not, under any circumstances, use the two washrooms located at the front of the plane. I repeat, you will not use the washrooms at the front of the plane. They are not for you.”

I understand that’s where the champagne and caviar parties take place.

5. They revolutionized the boarding system.

Instead of the tried and true method for boarding a plane (back to front) you now get a number on your boarding card. I have no idea how it’s generated, possibly by alphabetical preference or by the number of times you’ve flown with them, but either way, I was seated in the middle of the plane both times, but the last group to board. Which mean no room in the overhead bin. Perhaps “preferential” boarding was one of the pay options I missed during the check-in process (see #1).

I can't wait to fly Uflighted again.


*Name has been changed to protect the very guilty.