After over a year of talking about it, trying it out in various forms, thinking some more, we've finally gone and done it: we've sold the car. We are now car-less, or car-free.
We were once a happy car-less family, back when our family consisted of three. When we were about to welcome Solanne into the family, I insisted to Derek and I needed a car. I did not want to repeat the long, lonely winter days cooped up in our little apartment alone with Maïa. So we bought a used, old Civic (it was eight years old at the time).
And our little Civic treated us very nicely. Except for a short time of what turned out to be mostly panic on my part, the car was reliable and stable. It got us to where we were going, and we got there all together, dry and warm (or cool, on those very hot summer days).
But we came to rely on the car to get us to places that in the old days we would have walked or cycled to, like the grocery store, church, or the kids' school. It was just easy. And we didn't take it that much, so it was easy to dismiss our use and call it the price of convenience.
About a year and a half ago, Derek and I costed everything out and realised that if we relied on walking, cycling and public transit more, not only would we be more fit (!), but we would save a lot of money–enough to rent cars as needed to visit Nana and Grampa in the country and take road trips to Montreal as much as we wanted, and then some.
So we tried selling the car last fall. The one person interested changed his mind; we didn't renew the ad and kept the car. This spring we decided it really was time and tried a little harder. And we found a buyer: a young supply teacher who gets gigs around town and needed a way to and from jobs. The sale was finalised this morning.
When I told people we were thinking of selling the car, most looked at me like I was crazy. But how are you going to get around? We live in a central neighbourhood, so walking, biking and busing make sense. What about getting to far out places? Buses. What if your kids get sick? Cabs. What if... And I don't know that I have all the answers, and I admit that I am a little nervous about our new lifestyle–because let's be honest, this is what this means. But my parents got along just fine without a car until I was 6 years old. Some good friends of ours live farther out than we do, and they have made the choice to be car-less, and it just involves more planning and in some cases, changing plans.
It is with excitement, and a little trepidation, that I (we) jump into this new way of life. We have some key gear, like two decent bikes, two trail-a-bikes for the girls, and a trailer. We'll need some more, like lights for night riding, cycling clothes, and perhaps a utility bicycle for those times when only one parent needs to get two kids somewhere. But we are well on the road–or path–to leading our new car-free life.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
More planning
We've booked the airline tickets and our various accommodations, set an itinerary, booked rail tickets, emailed family, made lists, made other lists, visited the passport office, ordered activity books for the kids, consulted teachers, alerted our employers, and debated back packs vs luggage. And there's still a lot to do: shop for (wrinkle resistant) summer clothes for the kids and myself, get Euros, book museum tickets, and finally buy a cell phone are the big ones.
We've travelled abroad with Maïa when she was a baby, and that certainly involved more gear (pack-n-play, diapers, food, bottles, wipes, tons of tiny clothes, etc etc), but it feels like there's more to do now. I always say that children are portable, and they are, but there's a lot of planning involved.
Keeping them entertained is key to both their enjoyment and our sanity. They'll be kept plenty busy visiting various cities. It's the travel time that'll get them. So we have story books featuring Florence and Rome, a couple of Roald Dahl books to read to them, sticker books, an ipod, a sketch/scrap book, colouring pencils, they're favourite friends, and a tiny tent for said friends (which kept them incredibly entertained in BC, where we bought it).
School work needs to be kept up, too. Maïa's teacher has assigned one math problem per school day, daily reading en français, and practicing calligraphy. Solanne has no assigned homework, but we'll have both kids do lots of drawing and journaling about their travels.
And we've managed to find lots of fun stuff for the kids to do in each of the cities. Treasure Hunt Florence will keep us busy, finding famous paintings, sketching the David, talking about how we feel about the paintings, counting fountains and towers, and finding hidden treasures. We haven't found a similar guide to Rome (which seems astonishing), but we have quite a few surprises in store for the girls there. They already recognise the Colosseum and the Spanish Steps, and we've been talking about ancient Rome, so I think they'll enjoy seeing the sights there.
The rest of our travels will be in smaller centres, including Cinque Terre by the seaside, and Aosta in the Alps. And, of course, visiting family, where they'll have a chance to practice their Italian–which currently consists of about a dozen words. That was the extent of my Italian when I was five, and I came back having forgotten most of my French and English, so I know they'll pick up enough to get by.
As for the backpack vs luggage debate, backpacks won, hands down. We'll be on and off enough trains that it makes more sense to strap something to our backs than try to roll luggage on endless cobblestone, while trying to hold small hands. The down side, of course, is the restricted space. So we're carefully planning our wardrobes, which is a challenge when you're going from the Mediterranean to an elevation of over 2000 feet. I'm not quite sure how we'll pack for that... stay tuned.
We've travelled abroad with Maïa when she was a baby, and that certainly involved more gear (pack-n-play, diapers, food, bottles, wipes, tons of tiny clothes, etc etc), but it feels like there's more to do now. I always say that children are portable, and they are, but there's a lot of planning involved.
Keeping them entertained is key to both their enjoyment and our sanity. They'll be kept plenty busy visiting various cities. It's the travel time that'll get them. So we have story books featuring Florence and Rome, a couple of Roald Dahl books to read to them, sticker books, an ipod, a sketch/scrap book, colouring pencils, they're favourite friends, and a tiny tent for said friends (which kept them incredibly entertained in BC, where we bought it).
School work needs to be kept up, too. Maïa's teacher has assigned one math problem per school day, daily reading en français, and practicing calligraphy. Solanne has no assigned homework, but we'll have both kids do lots of drawing and journaling about their travels.
And we've managed to find lots of fun stuff for the kids to do in each of the cities. Treasure Hunt Florence will keep us busy, finding famous paintings, sketching the David, talking about how we feel about the paintings, counting fountains and towers, and finding hidden treasures. We haven't found a similar guide to Rome (which seems astonishing), but we have quite a few surprises in store for the girls there. They already recognise the Colosseum and the Spanish Steps, and we've been talking about ancient Rome, so I think they'll enjoy seeing the sights there.The rest of our travels will be in smaller centres, including Cinque Terre by the seaside, and Aosta in the Alps. And, of course, visiting family, where they'll have a chance to practice their Italian–which currently consists of about a dozen words. That was the extent of my Italian when I was five, and I came back having forgotten most of my French and English, so I know they'll pick up enough to get by.
As for the backpack vs luggage debate, backpacks won, hands down. We'll be on and off enough trains that it makes more sense to strap something to our backs than try to roll luggage on endless cobblestone, while trying to hold small hands. The down side, of course, is the restricted space. So we're carefully planning our wardrobes, which is a challenge when you're going from the Mediterranean to an elevation of over 2000 feet. I'm not quite sure how we'll pack for that... stay tuned.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Brilliant
Solanne had homework this week, which for a kindergartener has the potential to be a drag, but she loved it. She had to prepare a book report (of a sort) and a presentation to go along with it.
It was only last night that I realised that her teacher, Madame A, had set up the class precisely so that Solanne, and her classmates, would get excited about homework. For Solanne, it's a privilege to present her book to her friends; she's the only one allowed to do it on her big day as Petit Coeur.
Here's how it works: at the beginning of the year, Madame A set up a routine of a having a daily "Petit Coeur" (little heart). Each child had their turn at being Petit Coeur, and the role comes with some serious perks: the child gets to lead circle time, bring the attendance sheet to the office with the friend of their choice, skip nap time, have the pick of what activities she wants to do... and the list goes on. For the first two months, that's all it was.
By December, each child got to bring something in to present when they were Petit Coeur. Last month, they got to prepare a "science experiment." Solanne brought in oil, water, and syrup and poured them all into the same container and showed how one floated on the other; a first exploration of density. This month, Solanne got to pick her favourite (French) book and complete a sheet: title, author, illustrator, favourite character. And she had to prepare a presentation on it. This is the basic format that she'll have to do in Grade 1 next year, once per week, with library books. And she was so excited about doing it.
Of course, there's no guarantee that she'll still love these book reports next year, but Madame A is at least setting up favourable conditions for her to enjoy it and get interested in it. There are no guarantees with kids anyway, so I'm just soaking this up now and am happy to watch Solanne's face light up as she practices her presentation for tomorrow.
It was only last night that I realised that her teacher, Madame A, had set up the class precisely so that Solanne, and her classmates, would get excited about homework. For Solanne, it's a privilege to present her book to her friends; she's the only one allowed to do it on her big day as Petit Coeur.
Here's how it works: at the beginning of the year, Madame A set up a routine of a having a daily "Petit Coeur" (little heart). Each child had their turn at being Petit Coeur, and the role comes with some serious perks: the child gets to lead circle time, bring the attendance sheet to the office with the friend of their choice, skip nap time, have the pick of what activities she wants to do... and the list goes on. For the first two months, that's all it was.
By December, each child got to bring something in to present when they were Petit Coeur. Last month, they got to prepare a "science experiment." Solanne brought in oil, water, and syrup and poured them all into the same container and showed how one floated on the other; a first exploration of density. This month, Solanne got to pick her favourite (French) book and complete a sheet: title, author, illustrator, favourite character. And she had to prepare a presentation on it. This is the basic format that she'll have to do in Grade 1 next year, once per week, with library books. And she was so excited about doing it.
Of course, there's no guarantee that she'll still love these book reports next year, but Madame A is at least setting up favourable conditions for her to enjoy it and get interested in it. There are no guarantees with kids anyway, so I'm just soaking this up now and am happy to watch Solanne's face light up as she practices her presentation for tomorrow.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Familial journey
We are on our way.
Some time in the next few weeks or months – we haven't yet settled on the date – the four of us will be off to Italy.
The passport pictures have been taken, the lists have been drawn, toiletries purchased, wardrobes planned. We've scoured the tour books and set up an itinerary. We've searched the web and found kid-friendly activities in each of our destinations.
Cousins have been contacted; all are looking forward to our visit.
But this is more than a family vacation.
I will see my aunt, the woman, who along with her older sister, helped raise my father. The woman, who ten years ago when I visited for the first time in two decades, referred to me as her other granddaughter. A woman who knows what my father was like as a child; a woman who holds pictures of my father with round eyes and rounder cheeks; at least, that's how I imagine him since I have never seen them. The woman I will likely never see again after this visit.
Her eyes are so much like my father's that I feel lonely when I look at her. She tells me the same. And we laugh at the idea that we share those sorrowful eyes, dropping down in the corners, with him and with each other. And now with Solanne.
The children carry an Italian name like an amulet, wrapped around them always, but mysterious and whose history is still beyond their understanding. They will, for the first time, meet others with the same name. Some with the same eyes. All with the same long, invisible thread of DNA knitting us together, binding us across languages, across time, across leagues of water.
And we will visit my ancestral village, a town of fewer than three thousand souls. Breathe in the air that fed my father and his family, the air that is said to be unique in the world in its ability to both age Parmesan cheese and cure prosciutto ham to perfection. And we will visit the tiny house my father called home, carved out of the ancient hillside, that held that cobbler's family of six children.
Strange that I feel tied to that land, more than any other. Not to the town, or the villagers, but to the land. I have been there twice in my life, once with my father and mother, once on my own, long after my father had died. Some tie, perhaps that strand of DNA born of that land, makes me long for that place and root me in it when I am there.
I promise to post pics and stories here about our adventures, from preparations, to the journey, and the long road back.
Some time in the next few weeks or months – we haven't yet settled on the date – the four of us will be off to Italy.
The passport pictures have been taken, the lists have been drawn, toiletries purchased, wardrobes planned. We've scoured the tour books and set up an itinerary. We've searched the web and found kid-friendly activities in each of our destinations.
Cousins have been contacted; all are looking forward to our visit.
But this is more than a family vacation.
I will see my aunt, the woman, who along with her older sister, helped raise my father. The woman, who ten years ago when I visited for the first time in two decades, referred to me as her other granddaughter. A woman who knows what my father was like as a child; a woman who holds pictures of my father with round eyes and rounder cheeks; at least, that's how I imagine him since I have never seen them. The woman I will likely never see again after this visit.
Her eyes are so much like my father's that I feel lonely when I look at her. She tells me the same. And we laugh at the idea that we share those sorrowful eyes, dropping down in the corners, with him and with each other. And now with Solanne.
The children carry an Italian name like an amulet, wrapped around them always, but mysterious and whose history is still beyond their understanding. They will, for the first time, meet others with the same name. Some with the same eyes. All with the same long, invisible thread of DNA knitting us together, binding us across languages, across time, across leagues of water.
And we will visit my ancestral village, a town of fewer than three thousand souls. Breathe in the air that fed my father and his family, the air that is said to be unique in the world in its ability to both age Parmesan cheese and cure prosciutto ham to perfection. And we will visit the tiny house my father called home, carved out of the ancient hillside, that held that cobbler's family of six children.
Strange that I feel tied to that land, more than any other. Not to the town, or the villagers, but to the land. I have been there twice in my life, once with my father and mother, once on my own, long after my father had died. Some tie, perhaps that strand of DNA born of that land, makes me long for that place and root me in it when I am there.
I promise to post pics and stories here about our adventures, from preparations, to the journey, and the long road back.
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