But the one little duck, with the feather on his back...

... man, that duck can bake.

Tomorrow is my last day of work before this wee one arrives. My co-workers said an early farewell today; a smart move, since it's day to day lately on whether I'll be there at all. My feet have been swelling up every afternoon, and I've been contracting like crazy.

To say goodbye, Shae volunteered to bake a cake. Shae is the resident foodie at the office, a very funny guy, the general bane of my existence (it's like having my brother in the next cublicle sometimes), and a good work friend.

Now, a normal layer cake with "We'll miss you!" or "Congratulations!" on it would be beneath the dignity of our intrepid baker. Banal pastry would not do. Instead, Shae went to his favourite cake store (that phrase says everything, doesn't it?) and rented a 3-D ducky cake pan.

The results were amazing and adorable.

I feel loved.

Joy conquers fear

When The Hubby and I decided the time was right to be open to a new baby joining our family, I had a few worries and concerns. The first was medical, of course: after my last pregnancy, expecting a baby became a medical condition more than a natural state of being, courtesy of hyperemesis gravidarum. We did a lot of planning and preparing. I wrote a treatment protocol, gained some safety pounds, and searched out a doctor who knew HG, knew it well and was up on the latest treatments and research. Through God, I had conquered my fear. I was ready to try again.

With all that in place, I was both elated and a little overwhelmed when we conceived the very first month we stopped avoiding conception (for information on the scientific form of natural family planning we use, go check out http://www.woomb.org/ . You do not have to take chemicals or use artificial barriers or devices to control the timing or size of your family. Stepping off soapbox now.) "Wow, that was fast!" was my first reaction when I started getting sick in the mornings, followed by a pink plus sign on the test a week later.

My biggest worry was the reaction of well-meaning family and friends when we told them about the new arrival.

There were a few negative reactions when we announced Toddler N.'s conception. Most were very well-meaning, of course, and were simply the mouth moving faster than the brain's editing button. A lot of people think two children are more than enough, and do not understand why Hubby and I would want more. Even so, pregnant women are not the most rational creatures on the planet, and I was a little hurt by some of it.

Little did I know that was just the beginning. You see, people started to really worry when I got so very sick carrying N. Worry breeds fear, and fear can make well-meaning and loving people say some pretty stupid things. And some of the things people said crushed me.

I had good, dear and loyal friends who were worried sick about me and sometimes said things that stung -- but looking back on that, I understand why. They thought I was going to die. They were terrified, and fear is always a bad motivator. I know these people love me so very much, and it was easy to forgive them.
 
Funny thing was, the people who loved me most and helped me the most during that experience -- who took on the greatest burdens, whether helping me at home or being available to listen to me complain (thanks, Mom) or just worrying themselves into a frenzy -- were the people least likely to say the really, really stupid things. In fact, it was acquantances rather than good friends, and extended family rather than immediate family, who said the real doozies. The worst, the very worst, was when people ordered me to not have any more kids, as if these people who did not love me and did nothing to help me were somehow burdened by my ill health. They acted as if it was their decision to make.
So, going into this pregnancy, I was reluctant to share the news. I didn't want to worry those I love and who love me, and I didn't want to listen to everyone else.

Then two miracles happened.

The first is that I did not develop HG, but managed to avoid it through early, aggressive treatment with anti-vomiting drugs at high doses, and a dash of pure luck (read Providence). I prayed so very hard for this to happen, but I don't think I truly believed it would. I knew the Lord could spare me, certainly; I also knew the tremendous good work He did for my soul by allowing me to suffer HG last time, so after preparing as best I could, I just left the illness to His will. (Praise Jesus, and thank you St. Gianna Molla for favours received.)

The second is no one has said a single stupid thing about this baby to me. No one! Instead, there has been such an amazing outpouring of good will, congratulations, prayers and love. It seems almost everyone has reacted to the news with real joy.

What a stupendous gift to my family! I had prayed about this too, but also had decided that, besides my own parents, I didn't give a hoot what other people thought.

So, to all my wonderful friends and family, my co-workers and former colleagues -- thank you. Thank you for respecting my family's faith and our decisions. Thank you for loving me through hard times and good ones. And thank you, from the bottom of the two beating hearts in my body right now, for biting your tongue out of love even when you think I am insane.

I love you all. Come on over and snuggle the baby anytime (once he or she has arrived, of course!) And while you're here, do you mind washing some dishes and throwing the burp rags in the washer? Thanks.

Weekend with Megan H.

I needed to go to Edmonton for business, so Megan joined me for the weekend once the work was done. Here's some random shots -- more pics at Meg's site.

Little L.

Because of my work with the HER Foundation, I know a lot of women across North America I have never met in real life, and I "know" their babies and children.

One of those women, the brave and tenacious C., lost her two-month-old daughter today.

L. was diagnosed in utero with a serious heart condition. C., ill with hyperemesis gravidarum, continued to fight for her baby, planning for delivery in a children's hospital where doctors operated on L.'s tiny heart right away.

After multiple surgeries, L. was transferred to her home town children's hospital, then released and sent home with her overjoyed family. She was doing well, growing, blooming. She was beautiful.

She was readmitted a few days ago, and died suddenly today.

I have no words for how sorry I am, and for how utterly devastating this must be for C. and her family. How do we understand the death of an innocent child?

The thing I am struggling with the most tonight is this: My God, don't HGers give enough? After such horrific, sometimes life-threatening, isolating and frightening pregnancies, don't all of my HG sisters deserve to go home with a healthy baby? A live baby? A baby who learns to crawl and walk and dance and sing?

The author Anne Rice, after her reconversion to Catholicism from atheism, was once asked by an interviewer if her husband's death from cancer made her wonder why God took him. She shrugged and said, "I never look at it that way. I think God was just as sorry it happened as I was, and he cried along with me."

Her thought gives me some small comfort tonight. Until I think of my unmet friend and her enormous grief.

I know life isn't fair, I know that. But sometimes its cruelty is breathtaking.

Lucy has arrived

Lucy Parker J. arrived Sunday evening. The proud mommy and daddy are recovering nicely, and Lucy is trying her very best to learn the art of breastfeeding. Her mother is doing an awesome job teaching herself and her little one this new skill.

S. would like to be able to do her own announcing of the details, so I will leave it at that. S, feel free to use my comments box!

I must say I am immeasurably proud of S. and her husband T. They are doing a wonderful job, and both of them were troopers during a long labour and delivery.

I could use some oft-repeated verse here, but instead I'll say this: I never knew who I truly was, my true strengths, talents and abilities, until I became a mother. This is not true for many people, but it has been for me. I have grown into my authentic self through parenting my small brood. And though self-discovery is exhausting when changing diapers, breastfeeding and trying to run the older kids to pre-school, I wish the same self-revelation for you.

God bless you over and over, my dear friend.

Baby Watch

For those that know my friend S., a brief update: today may be the day.

DO NOT CALL S! Megan, if you call her I will have to kill you.

If you are desperate for updates, call my cell phone.

On crises and desert times

When the Hubby and I planned our escape from the Great White North, we expected life to change, and change a great deal. What we didn't expect from our first year of southern living was a year full of illness, intense stress, disillusionment and crises of faith. But that's what we got.

The kids were hospitalized twice.

I couldn't get a job in journalism to save my life, despite eight years with the Mother Corp. and the statue in the living room.

My grandmother almost died, and I had to take a trip home I couldn't afford, at Christmastime, paid for by my mother-in-law (bless you, N.) so I could say good-bye. Thank God she lived.

I took a job doing something I always said I'd never do, simply to pay our student loans. We went through three sitters in five months. We are still waiting for our permanent nanny, five months later. (For new readers: a live-in nanny is a lot cheaper than day care when you have three kids.)

I had the worst Valentines Day, birthday, Easter and Mother's Day of my life.

As a family, we have struggled to attend Mass, and I have struggled with my prayer life and my faith. I feel very far from God lately, and I know I'm the one who put the distance there.

As a consequence of all this, my marriage has suffered. Nothing terribly serious, but something we need to work on.

There are many bright spots in all this.

A. has learned to ride a bike with no training wheels. His four front teeth have all fallen out, and his adult teeth are coming in nicely. He can read, which forever amazes me.

Big I. is no longer Little. He is a brown, sturdy, upright little man who has an incredible imagination and a lively wit.

Toddler N. is almost two, has about 150 words and is the most stubborn child on the planet. Her head is a mass of strawberry blonde curls. She loves to sing.

The Hubby 's training is going well and he is enjoying life in the military. He still has that zany sense of humour, and is well-liked at his latest assignment.

I like my co-workers very much and can live with the work I'm doing, but I know I am not doing what I am meant to do in life. To quote Stevie Cameron: "All I have ever been, all I have ever wanted to be, is a reporter." So I continue with this work because it pays the bills, and dream of a time when I might steal a few hours here and there to sell the odd article, to build my reputation here and get away from the Dark Side.

I have also been thinking about my other passion, health, and wondering if I have a future there, wondering how old is too old for medical school. I can't even think of going until the kids are all in high school or beyond, so perhaps it will never be anything more than a dream. But I know I could do it; I was always a straight-A student, and nothing can gross me out too much anymore, not after all the IV needles and vomit I've endured. I might puke, but I wouldn't pass out.

My parents are coming to visit this week. My dad hasn't seen the boys since Isaac was a baby. He and the kids have been plotting days filled with ice cream and beaches and parks.

So I sit, halfway through 2008, and ask myself to consider my blessings rather than dwelling on all these hard times. This is what I come up with:

1. The kids are healthy and whole.
2. My husband loves me and I love him.
3. My parents, in-laws and grandparents are well.
4. My friend E. had her first son (yaaaayyy) and my friend S. is expecting her first daughter any day.
5. I've only gained back 10 pounds of the 30 I'd lost since I switched from stroller-pushing to a desk job, and I've maintained that weight for five very hard months. (Hey, you can't know how incredibly happy I am to still be in single digit sizes!)
6. My faith is based on logic rather than feelings (or I don't think I'd have any left!)
7. A house, food, clothing and beer in the fridge.

For Ron Crawley

I don't remember the first time I met Ron, since I was a small child, but I certainly remember the first time we "re-met." I was 18 years old and in Ottawa for my first year of journalism school at Carleton University. My dad had called ahead to let Ron and his wife Col know I was moving to Ottawa.

Ron called my small residence room and invited me out to supper."We'll have Thai food," he said; you could hear his smile down the phone line. I was a picky eater as a child, but when he explained there was peanut sauce in most of the dishes, I was game.

From that first supper on, Ron and Col took me under their wings and showed me the wonders of a medium-sized yet fairly diverse Canadian city. I ate my first Indian and Vietnamese with them; I visited museums alongside them. I learned more about the labour movement and unionism and philosophy at their dinner table than I learned even in my parent's home, where union was a common and friendly word.

Ron and Col gave me my first computer; they lent me books and taught me words and talked endlessly with me about the press and its role in a free and democratic society.

Ron always believed in the goodness of people and in the power of thought, speech and writing. He reinforced my upbringing of looking at the positive side of things. He always made me feel what I had to say was important, even when he was correcting a false assumption or a hyperbolic idea.

And he always had a quick and ready smile.

My life would be a poorer and less interesting one without having known him, and I think of him almost every time I see a picket sign or pick up a set of chopsticks.

The world is a little less bright now that he is no longer in it. I'm so sorry, Col, for your loss. And Dad: I know you loved him and I'm so sorry your good friend is gone. But the people we love never truly die if we continue to remember them.

Agony in the Garden

I share last year's post with you all, and a happy update: My friend gave birth to her second son, and now is the happy mother of a healthy and growing baby. Please remember all mothers suffering hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) in your Easter prayers, especially those who are considering abortion or who have aborted due to this terrible disease.

I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)

Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it. I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.

Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.

Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.

I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.

My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.

I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.

There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.

I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.

Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.

I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.

"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13

May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.

Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.

I'm so sorry, Jenny

There are no words for how sorry I am about your angel. I shared this verse with you before; I share it again knowing it is hardly any comfort right now. But to Whom else can we turn?

No matter what has happened, know I love you and your children.

Matthew 6:19-21
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

God bless you and your family.

Last Yellowknife post

We're desperately "pre-packing" our house right now. (Yes, I typed "we"!) Although we don't have to pack the house, we do have to separate what we're bringing in the minivan from everything else, and it's a lot of work.

Things are good. We're settling in as a family again. Hubby and I are learning to parent together again, too.

We met Hubby at the airport, signs and banners waving. When he stepped off the plane, I didn't recognize him. He's lost 30 pounds! That was a shock.

It's good to be together again. I missed him desperately.

This will probably be my last post until Victoria.

Goodbye, Yellowknifers! It breaks my heart to leave such wonderful friends. I love you. Know I pray for you.

Come visit!

M5 W1 D5: Thoughts on my last night alone

I have been alone with my three children for four full months and five days.

Tonight is the last night I will put them to bed on my own in a very long time. The Hubby returns tomorrow.

My feelings are a stew right now, but the stock is certainly gratitude. I'm so grateful to the friends who watched my kids and cooked me meals and cleaned my house. Grateful to my parents for listening to me moan and complain. Grateful to my in-laws (both sets!) who helped me during a tight financial squeeze. And to the staff at the MFRC, who were an unfailing help and support through this, the longest, hardest and most accomplished winter of my parenting life.

To all of you, thank you a million times over. Please give me a chance to return the favour; call me anytime you need a hand.

And thank you, God, for giving all these beautiful people to me as my family and friends.

As for the other feelings floating in that stock? Excitement, certainly, and elation. But also some nervousness and fear. Will we fit back together as a family easily, or will we squabble and fight? How has he changed? How have we? Can I let go? Will the kids be royally ticked off and show it? I'm expecting the worst, but hoping for better; after all, we have a very long drive ahead of us.

If you're the praying type, drop one for us tomorrow, will ya?

M4 W4 D4: The adultness of life

I was a very sensitive child. Oversensitive, really. I always had intense emotions. I was wildly happy, deeply sad, overwhelmingly hurt. I also had an uncanny ability to sense a person's true mood, even when they were faking another one.

This was not easy on my parents. I was always bursting into tears about something, out of sadness or happiness. I realize now it must have been intensely stressful.

A. is the same way. His goldfish died on the same day that we sold the tank of tropical fish (angelfish, a gourami, and sundry others. Yes, we had two tanks of fish!) Losing all of his pets on the same day was just too much for his little heart to bear, and he sobbed about it for 20 minutes, curled in my lap. Then he looked at me and said, "Loving is hard, Momma."

Oh yes, it is hard. A.'s first lesson in the adultness of life: Loving is hard.

I've been watching that happen around me this month. Friends struggling with love and family and loss.

A family that attends our church lost a son to suicide this week. My heart is broken for them. How inexpressibly awful. And yet they pray and hope and struggle to work through this grief. My admiration for them knows no bounds, as well as my sadness for their son and for the disease that took him from us.

I've also been watching three sets of friends struggle with married love. I'll say no more about that here, except I love them all and am praying for them.

In my own family, my grandmother saw her heart doctor in the past two weeks, and was greatly relieved she would not need another heart operation. But my mom and I want to shake her because she would have been fine if she'd listened to her doctor rather than a cab driver. The doctor told her to take her meds. The cabbie told her not to. She listened to the cabbie. So now she is on a much "tougher" drug for life.

One of my life's mentors, a childhood friend of my father's, is very very sick again. His cancer has returned, and he's too sick and weak for chemo. This man has now had cancer three times in his life. I'm praying for a miracle at this point. His mother's prayers produced one when he was a teenager. He is one of the kindest people to ever walk the Earth, and we will all have lost something if he leaves us early.

Loving is hard.

And yet, with all this, my life continues with its busyness and happiness. I have always felt deeply, but then the feelings move on. Happiness is never really far. I wonder if I am essentially shallow.

But then I remember the quote another blogquantance recently posted, from Albert Camus: "In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."

I have always had that invincible summer. God willing, I hope I never, ever lose it.

M4 W3 D5: The big news

Acting Sub-Lieut. Hubby called tonight. I am happy to announce he has signed a lease on a personal married quarters, or PMQ, for our family. For you civvies, that's a house.

And what a house! Four bedrooms, a front yard, a back yard, living room, dining room, kitchen. Only one bathroom, but who cares! It sounds like an enormous palace to me!

For those of you who do not know me in real life, Hubby, the three children and I live in a single wide trailer with two bedrooms and a small addition. The computer nook and the front porch/mud room comprise the addition. There is a small square of grass in the front and a small rectangle on the side.

The new house is two streets away from the public school in which I have already enrolled A. It is a brand new school, and I can walk him there every day. It is also close to the MFRC, where Little I. will be attending pre-school twice a week.

There is a maple in the front yard and little flowers poking up through the grass.

Hubby is finalizing the details of his moving leave, so I can't post much about that until tomorrow. However, the children and I will see him very, very soon. And then we will be headed to our new home.

The final lump of sugar in this sweet news: We will be in Victoria in time to see one of my "sisters" marry the love of her life.

"Rejoice to the LORD always, and again I say rejoice!"

M4 W1 D6: Beyond three months

I have now been alone with my kidlets for more than three. stinking. months.

THREE CALENDAR MONTHS! (Bangs head on keyboard)

Ok, ok, I'm ok now.

Mom and dad, don't read this part: I haven't had sex in three months! I want my husband back!

Lots has happened lately, so I'll give you a list:

• Spring has finally come to Yellowknife. The boys and I have been wearing our funky rubber boots all over town.
• Baby N. has graduated to a rear-facing large car seat, and is out of the baby bucket. Sigh.
• My darling father-in-law called the other day and offered to pay the cost of sending the children and I to the Hubby's graduation. I soooo want to go, but can't imagine surviving the trip. Plus, Hubby flies out to Esquimalt the very next day. So not worth it. But B., that was such an incredibly kind offer! You are so thoughtful.
• A. has discovered the wonders of big, fancy words. I love to hear him say "gigantic" and "discovery". I did that as a kid. Anyone remember "hilarious"?
• I have lost 15 lbs on Weight Watchers. Hooray! 15 to go.
• Baby N. is crawling well and is now pulling up on her knees. Video coming soon.

M3 W4 D3: There can be no greater love....

I'm on my way out of my little dark night. March break has ended, our routine has returned, and Easter is coming.

I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)

Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it.

I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.

Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.

Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.

Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.

I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.

My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.

I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.

There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.

I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.

Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.

I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.

"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13

May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.

Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.

M3 W4 D1: Spoke too soon

The Hubby called last night. And the news is not great.

His posting is restricted. That means he goes to Esquimalt alone on April 27th. He will then meet with his commanding officer and start to work out the family's move.

That means I will be alone in Yellowknife for even longer than originally expected.

At first, I was nonchalant. Heck, what's another few weeks?

Then it started to sink in. I have been operating with an attainable goal. That goal is now out the window.

I've been a mess ever since. I had a screaming, bawling breakdown in the front porch today as I tried to chivvy Little I. into mittens. I just can't DO this anymore. I can't, I can't.

And yet I have to, so I will. There is no way out now. I have to keep going. Necessity is my only motivation now.

In more amusing news.... I took the boys to a movie today: Meet the Robinsons. It was rated G and looked pleasant.

The boys were terrified after the first ten minutes. Little I. was shaking. A. was almost yelling, "Let's go home!!!!!"

We sat in the lobby and finished our treats. The boys seemed to enjoy the outing based on the fact they ate popcorn and M&M's in public.

Congrats to my best friend E. on finishing her PhD thesis and handing it in yesterday. Hooray and way to go!

M3 W3 D2: Random weekend musings

• I took A. and Little I. to Caribou Carnival this weekend, and forgot my camera. But it was all right, since: a. Little I. slept in the Chariot the entire time, waking only for cotton candy; b. there was NOTHING to do for kids this year (no children's area); and c. I was much too busy eating le tire d'erable (maple sugar taffy) to take pictures.
• My fourth weigh-in for Weight Watchers is tomorrow. My last weigh-in was 152 lbs. That's 11 pounds gone. But I had an extremely bad WW week, so I'm simply hoping I maintain my weight. Having sick kids pushed me right back into some of my old eating habits. I'm just gonna dust myself off and keep trying.
• I have a confession. I have been secretly reading a blog of another Yellowknife mom for quite some time. I just wanted to say, Other Mom, that I know you read here because you've linked to me (thanks!), and I think you're a funny and perceptive writer. I think we share the same sense of humour. We should do coffee sometime, if we can find some time away from our combo of six kids. More mom friends are good.
• My friend E.'s grandmother fell and broke some bones. Praying types, get out those rosaries! Thanks.

M3 W2 D1: A visit to His Majesty

Every year, a man named Tony Foliot (who calls himself Yellowknife's "local colour") rallies a small army of volunteers and builds a castle of ice and snow out of Great Slave Lake. From the moment the castle opens to the public, however, he is no longer Tony. He must be addressed and His Majesty the SnowKing. (I love this guy. He's a hoot.)
I took the boys to the Ice Castle this afternoon, while Baby N. snoozed away at Grandma G.'s. While I didn't get any photos of the ice castle in full, I got some great ones of A. and I. playing with A.'s schoolmate M. (M.'s parents, by the way, are wonderful people who help me out whenever we bump into them in public. The last time was at A.'s play school pool party. M.'s dad P. played with Little I. for half an hour straight while A. and I lounged in the hot tub. Thanks, P.!)
Look at the posts below for pics.

Playing in a winter wonderland, pt. 1

M., A. and Little I. in the SnowKing's tiny igloo (perhaps this is his version of a garage?)

Little I., mighty Northern explorer.

M. whips down the last turn in the snowslide. Little I. and I went down once; after screaming our lungs out, we agreed it was "too scawwy."

A. catches air at the bottom of the snowslide. He and M. went down that thing about 40 times.