Like a bindi, a drop of maple syrup sat on his forehead above his eyes. He didn't seem to mind the sticky substance. I didn't notice how it got there, but I did watch him devour a treat of maple toffee on a stick that had been poured and rolled in the snow as we watched.
The four of us visited the sugar shack yesterday. It was a field trip with the girl's preschool. I was going to go with her and the boy and the then the husband wanted to come too. So we all went.
The boy loved the sweet candy on a stick he licked at until it disappeared. He did not like the school bus. He did not like the wagon ride. In fact, I don't know if he liked much except the toffee.
The girl liked the school bus. The girl liked the wagon ride. The girl liked dragging her friend behind her by his hand through the maple trees. Needles to say she liked the maple toffee on a stick.
I liked my maple toffee too. At least what I was able to eat of it until it was dropped in the dirt. I don't want to point fingers but, really, someone should know how to be more careful after thirty-seven years.
After an exciting (for the kids) and tiring (for us) morning we headed back into the bus for the ride back to school. The boy cuddled on my lap. The girl looked out the window. Just in case the kids hadn't had enough sugar the teachers handed out maple cookies to all the kids as they headed home.
If it didn't feel like such an Ottawa tradition it might feel strange watching my eighteen month old lick sticky maple syrup off of a stick, but that is all part of life in this town.