Noah, Montreal, and music
Noah’s in some kind of hyper developmental phase that knocks my socks off. No one ever told me having a child was going to be this good. And it’s not about the mind, although that does excite me, I admit it. It’s just about the enthusiasm.
We went to Montreal for the weekend. I know I used to write about these things in advance but lately this is how it goes. It was a combination of a Via (train) sale, corporate rates at the Fairmount Queen Elizabeth, and my recent PR-fed travel bug that made me book a random self-created long weekend in October, and Carl actually managed to clear his schedule, and we actually went. The train is soooo easy from my house: get on at the station 5 minutes away. Given that the QE is above the Montreal train station, getting off and checked in and settled involved a 2 minute stroll and a couple of elevators. It was super easy-peasy.
Noah loved every minute of it. He even got brave enough to try a little french (Merci, S’il vous plait, Je m’appelle Noah-et-toi?) and we swam in the hotel pool and messed about in the underground shopping (oh god, the shopping). The weather sucked so we did less exploration than planned and more relaxation and that was just fine. And we ate a ton of good food. And we got amazingly cool made in France art stuff.
This is what I love about Montreal: you stay over the train station and when you want to eat but you don’t want to be bothered patrolling your child at a restaurant, you go down to said train station and there is not one but about three full-on deli counters with fabulous bocconcini, roasted vegetable, prosciutto, or brie and tomato sandwiches -plus- a full-serve patisserie with not only eclairs and pain au chocolat, but terrines like… rabbit terrines. And duck confit for your potato pie. I am so not kidding. And this is the train station, mon dieu. So you haul that back up, with a bottle of wine, to your room via the elevator and then you admire your view up to the mountain while you eat, my god, fresh bocconcini with your wine while your child watches Teletoon… in french, so you can pretend it’s educational even.
And then you go down to the hotel pool and swim in the salt water and sit in the whirlpool and trade off sitting in the warm wading pool with Noah.
It was glorious. We all cried when we had to come home. Even Mr. Bada, who came along but “doesn’t like french.” He does, however, like croissants avec jambon et fromage. And Noah was great on both 5-hr train rides.
So developmental leaps: Noah was really tired out today and after dinner I let him have a popscicle (homemade smoothie sort, if anyone is keeping score) in front of a video (Metal Monsters from the library, which is scenes of… yup… a junkyard with cars getting crushed). Noah eventually got bored of the crushing and was exploring the big bookshelves when he pulled out a few books and shrieked: These are music books!
(Consider this a tone like: Why didn’t you tell me we won the lottery 2 years ago!)
So I said yes and we sat down and looked at one and Noah pointed out the treble clef and the bass clef and that when the notes go up you sing the higher pitches and when they go down you sing the lower pitches.
Oh yeah. I’d forgotten that we signed him up for music lessons at Montessori, which I had assumed would be like… singing Old MacDonald. But no. Noah recognizes middle C in both treble and bass clefs. Who knew? I did not.
And that, smarmy mother story though it is, is how it goes these days. You’re sitting there minding your own business when suddenly there’s a shriek like “THIS PAPER SAYS BOG!” (well actually it says dog, but you know, reversals aside that’s pretty good) or you get a random fact like “Mummy, did you know bats sleep upside down?”
Of course there are also the moments like “C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me… P IS FOR PENIS, THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.”
(Errrrr… good for you? Stop saying Penis? Cookie Monster doesn’t have one? How does one respond? Well if one is me, one hides in the bathroom laughing.)
We are having some power plays; he’s four. But also incredible moments of sheer generosity. Like having two gummies left and offering one each to Carl and I.
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One sad moment though: Noah came home upset because of a “new game” at school that his teachers banned. It turns out it’s that Chinese burn (I know, I know) game where you twist someone’s arm until it… burns. This makes me sad. The Lord of the Flies age approaches.
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I still haven’t decided how I feel about the slow revelation of minor bits of people in the system to Noah through play, but my instinct says it’s okay where it was at. It hasn’t come up much since, and Mr. Bada decided to go as a boy fairy. It will be interesting to see if he gets any candy.
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S is for Smiling, that’s good enough for me.
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