Spring

It's really feeling like Spring.

XX helped Daddy regrout the patio and put together the new furniture.

I can testify, they did a good job. (Photos by XX)

We helped Aunt Suzie celebrate her birthday.

Swim lessons have started again.

There is more planting -- seeds into egg cartons and seedlings into the garden.

One of XX's assignments this month is to send some email to her teacher about her plants, but she was more excited about writing to Brad. It took a while as she wants to learn touch typing, but she was rewarded by receiving an email back from her adored big brother the next morning.

We also built a fairy house, wishing we had LaLa, Aunty Kimba and Kyra's expertise. It worked out anyway, the fairies came to visit in the night and left the gift of a tiny seashell as thanks. The next day, Red ate the house.

Goofiness abounds, as well. What do you do if elastic waist pants won't stay up? Take them in, of course. And what to do with that little tab of fabric in the back seam? It's obvious (if you are XX) -- put a tail in it.

There was "makeup" day.

And Spring means bunny ears (and earcuffs).

Ahh, Spring.

A Girl and her Dog

Don't you wish all your plans, never mind your impulses, turned out like this?

XX and Red look out for each other during naps, or better yet, take them together.

They stick together at work time.

They love their playtime.

There is even the occasional quiet moment.

I often pick up my camera to find photos of XX's toys, her feet, or the dogs. The other day, there were 30 photos of Red. I think she got him here.

This is not to say that all is perfect in Redland. He recently ate two old books, both of which we loved.

He ate my flash drive. I briefly considered eating him for dinner, even though dog doesn't quite belong on a vegetarian menu.

He tore apart his bed. Then Boris's.

He's a smart dog, but he took quite a while, in my opinion, to be housebroken. And we still don't trust him.

Perhaps worst of all, Red ate the tail off XX's beloved dà xiàng. We "operated" to fix the poor amputee. Thank goodness for sparkly pink yarn .

Still, there is no doubt in anyone's mind: Red belongs in this family.

We certainly had not meant to get another dog. It was an impulsive decision at best. He's been quite a bit of work, even more trouble.

But XX tells me often that she's been waiting and waiting for a brother or sister, big or little, and she's so happy she now has her own little brother.

So do we have regrets?

Not a one.

Odds and Ends, and a Tiny Bit of Magic

Thankfully, we seem to have passed the worst of the rainy/windy season. A bad little stretch of too much inside time had XX and Red driving everyone crazy. Mind you, even in the worst weather, we still get out to walk dogs, so it's not like XX is completely without fresh air and chance to run. There's also a small trampoline and a bouncy ball. The wind does us in, though. Two maniacal whirlwinds whiz about the house.

I thought this would help (and it did):

It wore off some energy and pulled in focus. Still, it doesn't match up to a good day outside. Not even close. The morning walks are longer and often, not truly walks. XX has rediscovered her tricycle and found she's now tall enough, strong enough and heavy enough to really ride this fun piece of equipment. Her bike is good, but it doesn't sport the turn signals, lights, horn and music.

We were even able to meet with XX's Chinese tutor at the park. We are lucky having Heng who will gamely meet us anywhere and play and play and play with XX. She was surprised at how she could hear XX's voice calling to her throughout the park. I was surprised to hear XX break into Chinese easily the moment she saw Heng.

This seemed particularly appropriate.

XX had her first school test. At Chinese school, of course. They actually called it "mid-terms," though in fairness, I think it was for the older kids. XX asked when we got there, "What's a test?" It turned out to be each child going up to stand at the teacher's desk, and read sentences. The teacher would nod or correct, then make marks in her book. It looked excruciating. The kids looked away, shifted from foot to foot, shuffled off at the end. Except XX. She was serious and focused, though. At least she had that much good grace. She answered quickly to nods and "duì!" and came back to her desk. "I LOVE tests, Mum!"

She's the kid raising her hand every time in every class. Not just raising. Waving around, calling out, "Oh oh! I know!" Hermione in the flesh.

She went to violin last week and her teacher said, "Let me see you. Hmm. I think you need a new violin." XX was sad to give up her first violin with the little star stickers showing her where to put her fingers, and the bow with its extra padding for a beginning hand. She said a sweet goodbye, then gleefully worked with a "big" violin. She's now at a 1/8 size. XX makes up her own pieces, some with as many as 9 movements. They're crazy, often unmusical, and have names like, "Party for Small Dogs," but she is serious when she plays and always wants to take a bow at the end. Big surprise.

We went to visit Aunt Suzie, who has some new chicks. XX is an animal lover, but she dislikes feathers with a passion. Still, she wanted to feed and hold these little babies. As Suzie pointed out, at this stage, the birds are more fuzz than feather. That apparently changes rapidly, so I'm glad we got there when we did.

We went outside this weekend to do some science, but it was also an excellent day for bubbles.

Were I a smarter mother, I might have thought of some way to incorporate the bubbles into our science lesson. I am not that mother.

At a friend's party last fall, there was a fairy who blew bubbles while little girls danced around trying to catch them. The fairy said if they could catch one, it might turn into a marble. She was able to do it.

I thought little of it, other than it was adorable to see all those tiny hands reaching and faces hoping. XX, however, was outside a few weeks later with her bubbles. She said she was trying to make marbles.

She's at the age where "they" say she should be able to discern between reality and fantasy. But she is tiptoeing around that line. A good mother would help her daughter step over that line and might have told her daughter that this was all make-believe, bubbles do not cook into marbles.

But I am not that mother either. I am the mother who dislikes lines, and looks carefully for fairies at dusk in some special gardens (you've seen the gardens -- full of flowers, nothing too neatly in rows). I see ghosts out of the corner of my eye. I love wands and sparkles. And who can deny the abundance of Magic at springtime?

And so I couldn't resist. After all, there will be enough time to pop bubbles later.

So, on occasion, when XX goes out to blow bubbles, she watches and makes inspections on the grass, in case she finds one of these:

She keeps her marbles (she has 8 found over months so that they are all special) in a beautiful pink, silk pouch given her by her Auntie Linda. Each discovery has been cause for shrieks and dances on the lawn.

And that's definitely Magic.