Runny noses, unusually early mornings, mountains of house work, general grouchiness; I try to let nothing get in the way of our Friday morning trek to bloor west village.
The moment K hears we are going on a bus, he announces his preferred itinerary for the trip. "We going onna bus, thenna twain, thenna toilet, no flush, only dwya hands, hand dwyei". OK then.
I try to stick to the same route, but add some variations every time. We pick the same book at the library and then I try to introduce a new one, which is usually rejected. This Friday however, the favourite book was not there (I knew this day would come), and Khad to look through a gorgeous picture book about the city. The airport page got us through the book, but he did protest with a scream upon the turning of every page.
I might have to switch libraries or find a way to break the "exit tantrum", where he demands to go on the elevator when we are leaving and proceeds to throw himself on the floor and throw a short (but spirited) screaming tantrum. Glaring at him from across the room is enough to ensure he does not dare get inside the elevator, but not enough to stop the weeping, and I am satisfied with that.
Due to his snotty misery, his tantrum sort of spilled out onto the streets this Friday and here he is displaying his passion.
It was the perfect spring day and I decided to add another variation (the book was the first one), a walk down bloor street.
Our friendly road side guitar man. He knows us now.
This is how cool people wait for the bus. Usher watch out!
There is no point to this post, except to say that I just love this routine excursion.
Who would pay 60 dollars for this ugly piece of junk?