Turning Thirty

Spring photos.

Today my son Chris celebrates his thirtieth birthday. When I turned thirty myself nearly thirty-six years ago, I thought it was the beginning of the end. I had never expected to live so long (!) and here I was with no clear idea of what I wanted from the rest of my life.

I met my husband just over a year later and the rest is, well, history. I became a mother on the warm May Sunday of Memorial weekend in 1986, and didn't really know what to expect from motherhood. The screaming baby I'd anticipated was, in fact, very quiet and easy. He slept all night at two and a half weeks and simply came along with us wherever we went.

Of course, the simple early months ended as soon as my active pre-toddler struggled  to climb out of his crib, playpen and stroller. For the next five or six years, my "escaper" had to be watched every waking minute and held tightly whenever we went outside. Fortunately, hockey became a favorite sport. After Chris' first hockey practice, he lay in Bob's recliner, sprawled in the chair from exhaustion, and I realized that I had inadvertently found an activity that would both capture his interest and provide a healthy outlet for his restless spirit.

An active, headstrong child is a challenge to raise, but I'm very proud of the way he turned out. My now thirty-year-old is skilled, competent and successful in business and in life. More important, Chris is a good person with a kind and generous heart, whose boundless energy and creativity are contagious.

I now view the decades as a continuum rather than discrete blocks of time, and thirty is simply a point on the maturity scale, with lots of room for growth. For Chris and all who reach this milestone birthday, I hope thirty is the gateway to a future filled with a happy family and good friends.

Mr. Toad Finds a Home

Spring photos.

I think of him as "my" toad. Anyone who grew up in my hometown of Temiscaming, Québec would recognize my nostalgic memories of a childhood filled with wildlife, including lots of amphibians.

I was more familiar with frogs than toads, since one of my favorite spring activities was collecting frogs' eggs from the pond on the dusty old Ville Marie road. Like many other kids, I stored the eggs in a milk bottle filled with pond water, and watch the black dots in the gelatinous eggs develop into polliwogs and, finally, frogs. We released the frogs into the garden when they started to jump around too much to contain in a makeshift terrarium.

I remember seeing toads in wet, leafy areas, minding their own business and quietly eating insects, worms and whatever else seemed appetizing, but I'm not sure I'd even picked one up until a couple of weeks ago.

My husband Bob grew up in the city and had never had a close encounter with a toad until he found one lounging in his Weber grill a few weeks ago. Bob called me to "deal with it" so I picked him up carefully, rinsed him off in the birdbath and laid him it carefully in the grass. A few days later we grilled again and Mr. Toad was back under the grill cover, resting on the propane tank. Same routine to get him out of harm's way.

On Sunday Mr. T. was nowhere to be found and I feared that one of his predators (raccoon, skunk, owl, snake ...) had eaten him. However, this afternoon, he was back on the propane tank and I deposited him on the edge of the birdbath. He soon disappeared into the grass.

The grill is covered and cool now, and I can picture Mr. Toad safely asleep under the cover after enjoying a tasty bug dinner.