The Twizzler

We just got back from a maple festival, the annual Festival des Sucres.  French all around us, crafts and face painting and balloons and jumping tents for the kids, and of course “la tire”, though I have no clue how they got snow in the 7 degree weather.  It was a lot of fun, and the kids even practiced the bit of French they know, saying whispering “merci” when prompted.

The timing was perfect, because the kids have been interested in French ever since my Quebec trip, and we’ve gotten a couple of books out of the library recently about such festivals in Quebec.  So we were all pretty excited when we saw the ads around town.

Our camera crapped out a few minutes into the day–it just shows black with occasionaly streaks of random colour–so we missed some of the best parts. 😦

Kenan’s balloon sword and pirate face: 

Shana got some pantouffles and is wearing them proudly around the house, commenting every few minutes that “I remember Grandma has some, and they look really comfy and soft.”

Kenan wants to pray himself before most meals.  Here’s a fairly typical prayer of his from lunch:

Dear God, please make Minuit be alive, and I hope I’m buried with my [stuffed] puppy and its carrier, and thank you for this food, Amen.

Shana can’t be outdone by her little brother, so she responds with a prayer like this (notice her extra measure of faith re: Minuit!):

Dear God, I know Minuit is alive, and I hope I’m buried with my puppy too, and thank you for this day, Amen.

A positive story from Kenya on MSNBC.

“They called Kofi Annan, but me, I didn’t call Annan. I called my brothers.”