Número Dos

It’s been 15 weeks since “Dos,” as Numero Two will be called on this blog, rushed into this world, and I thought it was time to post a little bit about her. Posts on this blog have been excessively rare for many reasons but mostly from lack of time and worries about privacy. But, I wanted Dos to be introduced.

Here is a cheat sheet on the wonderful, glorious, lovable Dos:

• She’s giant. At 15 weeks she’s 16 pounds. She currently fits in 12 month clothing but won’t for long. She is in size 3 diapers.
• She has acid reflux which means she spits up ALOT and has to take Zantac so she’s not miserable. Bibs are like tissues to her. She also hates sleeping without touching a living being so she spends most of her sleeping hours on me in some way, shape or form.
• She is excessively smiley and happy. Her good mood is so ever-present that when she does cry, you know something is very wrong. She posed in her Christmas dress for our holiday card picture right after Thanksgiving. On Christmas, I put the dress back on her and she screamed bloody murder … like someone was sticking her bum with a tack. I couldn’t figure it out and guessed maybe she didn’t like the dress, so I took it off. She immediately started smiling in relief once I took it over her head. The neck was too tight and she just outgrew it.
• She’s cutting two teeth. She will vomit if you give her berry flavored Tylenol but can tolerate grape.
• The doctor had her start eating rice cereal at 3 months to help alleviate the reflux at night. She didn’t blink and takes cereal in a bottle like a champ once a day.
• I wish they made full sized cribs in the shape of bouncy seats. Not for the bounce or vibrate but for the ability to make her feel like she’s in a cocoon. It’s the only thing she will sleep in that doesn’t involve me.
• She cannot get enough of watching Lolo. She thrives on following her every leap, scream and skip around the house.
• She’s in love with Nuk brand binkies and her raccoon lovies.
• She talks up a storm and is prone to doing so in the middle of the night both in her sleep and wide awake.
• She hates reclining except when she’s sleeping in the bouncer. She does little ab crunches to raise her head as if she can just sit on up and join the action. She would much rather be in the thick of the muck with Lolo.

Dos in the bumbo seat for the first time.

It took close to 100 shots to get the money Christmas card winner.

Typical smiley Dos.

Brunch with the family.

The girls.

She started small.

Oh Atlanta!

I’ve been playing my “relaxation” playlist that Mr. Banks created for me quite a bit around the house lately. It’s supposed to calm me through the birth of our second child which is any day now. On that playlist is my all time favorite Alison Krauss song, “Oh, Atlanta”. Well, Lolo just flat out took a liking to it and started randomly singing it ALL THE TIME, so I thought I would capture one of her concert sessions on video.

Snow

Yes, this is obscenely late, and all the other blogs have already posted how they were plastered with snow last week. But, I still have news to report even if it’s late and outdated. It’s still my news.

We officially got 24-inches of snow the day after Christmas and had an interesting time shoveling ourselves out when not going stir crazy inside. Again, this year Lolo enjoyed about 7 minutes with the snow before wanting retreat to the comfort of her viewing chair with a nice cheese stick and “warm chawk-waht” which is hot chocolate on the luke warm side if you didn’t know. It’s how all the cool kids take their cocoa.

Uncle Charlie and Mr. Banks even shoveled the elderly lady’s driveway across the street.

Hi Cheese, Hi Tiger

We took Lolo into the city last Saturday to see the tree and ice skaters in Rockefeller Center. Of course, it was crazy and packed and nutty and mind blowingly busy. But nothing can really prepare you, even if you went last year. Nothing pulls you into the reality of the mayhem you signed up for like swimming in the hoards of tourists looking up at a giant tree as you cut off their ankles with your stroller. She knew she was going to see the tree and see the ice skaters, but beyond that, I think she pictured something a little more like Bush Gardens than just decorated city streets. She kept asking where the rides were. And, while we will wait over two hours for Santa, we will not wait six to get on the ice at Rock Center. We had to tell her that if we waited in line to skate, we would never be able to go to THE PRINCESS TOY STORE! With that crafty diversion, we pushed ourselves on down to the Disney store where her eyes lit up at the princess castle. She was immediately inspired to dance and then asked if she could be Belle, which in toddler language means, “Can we buy this Belle costume?” She is now the proud owner of a glittery Belle costume with light up plastic shoes even though she knows nothing of this “Belle” other than that she’s the “yellow princess” that adorns her undies and toothbrush. I would have taken pictures in the Disney store but I was too busy telling myself not to have a panic attack at the sheer volume of people clamoring to buy anything and everything.

Note on post title: There are gangs of people trying to make a holiday buck who dress up in these amateur character costumes outside Rock Center. The idea is that they provide you with an easy photo-op and you get a picture with a SpongeBob-like character and they get a nice tip. They are everywhere and Lolo saw SpongeBob and decided that it must be a cheese character. We didn’t bother to correct her because it was hilarious to here her call out, “Hi Cheese!”

So excited to sit on her very own NJ Transit seat especially when across from a group of eight 16 year-old teenagers that are soooooo cool. "They even wear lipstick like me." Belle costume is sitting safely in that Disney bag right next to her.

3 Hours and 2 Dogs

Our babysitter took her two dogs to the same mall we took Lolo to because they offered to take pictures of your dog with Santa at 7pm last Sunday. She was stoked because she had seen how real the Santa they had was. Imagine her surprise three magical hours later when she reached the front of the line to find out that they had a volunteer from a local dog shelter dressed up as Santa for the pet photos. This picture slays me and I couldn’t resist getting permission to post her two lovely pups with the most menacing Santa I have ever seen. Catch that holiday death stare!

2 Hours, 15 Minutes

It’s a rite of passage for any family, waiting in line at the mall for Santa. We have a limited number of weekends left before Christmas due to travel, so we took the plunge on Sunday morning and got in line outside Talbots. Unfortunately everyone else seemed to have the “get it out of the way” idea, too. I know there is supposed to be a line. Of course. But this was more than a line. It felt like an inefficient and drawn out pilgrimage to lazytown. But, we came prepared, of course. We had a cooler of snacks and drinks and a bag of books. What I really needed was an airplane-sized bottle of wine, though. We took turns walking around the mall while one of us held our place in line.

We walked to the front of the line a couple times so she could see the process take place as Santa talked to each of the kids on his lap. She loved it and could barely stand the anticipation of her own conference with him, but it was a nightmare for Mr. Banks and I to watch. It took all of my restraint to not walk into that amateur production and show people what a tightly run ship is all about. But, I held myself back because the Santa they have is the real Santa. He has real white hair down to his shoulders, no wig. He has the rosiest cheeks and only had an attention span for the kids. You could tell it was all about the kids for him and he gave it his all. To that I can raise my glass and pull myself back from breaking bad on the 17 year-old elf assistants manning the cameras.

(At one point as we entered the snow globe just before you emerge to see Santa’s throne, Mr. Banks was idly chatting with one of the “line elves” and she actually said, “You know, the wait, it’s not our fault. It’s all the parents. They want the perfect picture and won’t let it go.” We neglected to ask her who was running the show anyway? And, why would you let a parent dictate how many pictures they could retake with a wait of over two hours in line. And, while I am ranting. Who’s brilliant idea was it to have fake snow falling in a giant snow globe that you were dragging your kids through on their way to get professional pictures? Every mother was patting down their child trying to shake the chemical flakes off their Christmas clothes.)

We made it through, and of course, it was all worth it to see the utter joy in her eyes as she told Santa what she wanted for Christmas. She had no fear and talked to him as if they go way back.

Lolo: “HI SANTA! (loudly) Merry Cwismas”
Santa: “Hi, how are you? Have you been a good girl this year?”
Lolo: “YEAH!”
Santa: “And, what would you like for Christmas this year?”
Lolo: “A FARM!”
Santa: “Ohhh …” (He looks at me as if to see if we are buying her a couple acres this year.)
Me: “A farm set, Santa.”
Santa: “Ah, a farm set. Well, I think we can take care of that for you since you’ve been such a good girl.”
Lolo: “THANK YOU SANTA!!! MERRY CWISMAS!”
Santa: “I think you have a future in public relations.
Lolo to me: “Mama, Santa is so nice!”

Mr. Banks snuck in and took an illegal picture of her with Santa as well!

Aging Right Alongside Rockstars

Friday Mr. Banks and I traveled to Central Park for the last of Pavement’s NYC shows on their reunion tour. The show was awesome. It was a beautiful September night in the city with an insanely good set list. It was one of those experiences that lifts your spirits and makes you want to raise a glass to the good life of family, fun and memories. They even had a wine truck selling tall glasses of pinot noir if you’re not one that can stomach Coors Light in the can.

Better yet, they started at 8 and we were out of there by 10 pm which makes a mid-thirties mama happy. I can only sustain that good-feelin’ vibe for so long before I’m tired, and my feet hurt, and I want to put on my lounge pants.

We couldn’t help but notice that the other concert goers were the typical Pavement fans from way back when. They were just 10 years older, like us. Let me tell you, we weren’t the only ones checking our phones just in case we missed an emergency text from the babysitter.

Somehow DIY

We have this mulch pit that the previous owners of our house gifted us with in the backyard (along with so many other things like the faux wood and faux wrought iron decorative shelf in the half bath downstairs.) Presumably they used this spot for a small swingset, but over the years, the mulch has been washed away and we’ve never replaced it. (Who knows what they used that ghastly decorative shelf for.) Now this dirt pit is just the lowest spot in our yard and becomes a mud puddle where rain can conveniently settle next to our “bilco door”.

So we have cooked up a scheme to solve the problem with our own bare hands. And, when I say “our”, I mean mostly Mr. Banks’ hands. Now I have done my small part to help with the process including ripping our bushes, cutting down two small trees and picking up several wheel barrow’s worth of rocks. But, this is Mr. Banks project. When you’re calculating a 1/4-inch drop if land grade per linear foot, you own the project.

Our solution to this problem is to regrade the area next to the bilco door down toward our fence line so water washes away from the house and doesn’t gather for a meeting in our basement. We are also adding a paved walkway of roman cobble so the dirt under the fence gate is no longer a mud path.

So far, we are moving slow but steady never wanting to sacrifice entire weekends to trips to stone yards and digging. The pallet of stone and dump truck of sand arrive this Friday.

Quote Of The Week

After our early evening, Saturday dinner out together as a family, I requested that we stop by the “drink store” before heading home. We parked the car, and I decided to go into the wine store by myself while Mr. Banks took Lolo to Walgreens to check out their cool Halloween display. Inside the wine store, I met another customer’s dog named Catfish. This is the conversation that ensued.

Me: “Hey Lolo, guess what?”
Lolo: “What?”
Me: “I met a doggie in the drink store named Catfish.”
Lolo: “Someone brought their doggie?”
Me: “Yeah, this lady brought her dog in and I got to pet her while I was waiting in line.”
Lolo: “Was the dog getting a drink in the drink store?”
Me: “No, they only have drinks for grownups there, not dogs.”
Lolo: “Well, if the doggie was in the drink store, I think she was getting some wine.”

It’s Been A Whole Month

I’m cooked. My dear daughter is consistently skipping naps, just talking and singing for hours in her crib. Yesterday, I listened to her singing through the monitor … “Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top. When the sunshine comes out, the baby will wake up.” Who taught her that? When I casually asked the doctor about it at her half-yearly checkup trying not to show the beads of sweat on my forhead, she said, “You know, you’re lucky. My son wouldn’t nap after 18 months. She’s going to skip naps more frequently and will soon give it up all together.” What?

I napped till I was five. I have a little report card from nursery school somewhere in a box in the basement that says, “She’s such a wonderful child and such a great sleeper.”

Lolo has been skipping about once or twice a week, but now I am lucky if I get one or two naps from her a week. Eek. I can’t check my email, I can’t fold laundry because she always wants “to help”, I can’t put away the madness she creates in the living room. And, how am I ever going to shop on the Internet again? No one wants to hunt down their new winter coat at 8pm after she’s gone to bed. That’s when you pour yourself on the couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of Flipping Out.

Now instead of eating, cleaning and reading in peace, this is the reality of my weekdays at 2pm … her first manicure.

Fractions

We were playing with her mini kitchen and came upon some wooden vegetables. Matter of factly, she turned to me and said, “Mama, this is just half a carrot.” Clearly, we need to let her borrow Mr. Banks’ graphing calculator.

A River Runs Through It

I was back and forth on what to do about getting on a plane with a toddler who was having 3 gallon accidents. In the end, she got on the plane Friday with diapers. And, she was happy about it. And, God, so was I.

The Wednesday and Thursday before the flight, I was obsessing and analyzing in my own patented way … calling everyone I knew who had potty trained someone … looking and begging for advice. My gut told me that she just wasn’t ready but my heart wanted to give her the chance to succeed. Plus, I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation about how the undies had to go away for a while.

She was putting 100% of her poo in the potty, but the pee accidents were getting more and more frequent. She loved the fun part of potty training, real underwear, but hated the more mundane part, putting urine in the potty instead of continuing to play with toys. How boring.

The drop of pee that broke the camel’s back happened when I was outside on the phone having one of the above mentioned conversations. She peed on the sidewalk, watched it stream down her leg into a puddle and then got creative. She discovered she could make butt prints on the sidewalk by continually plopping her wet bum down.

So, after nap that day, I told her that it was okay if she needed to take a break from potty training. That she could wear diapers and still go to the potty if she wanted. It was okay to wear diapers and that the undies weren’t going away forever. That she could still get her potty rewards (like playing with her Tinkerbelle beauty salon set for 15 minutes every time she poops in the potty) and that undies are still in the drawer when she is ready for them.

And, what happened? She was a little bummed that she wouldn’t be putting on undies everyday but got over that in 3 seconds. She was dry for both plane rides. She asked to go to the potty before and after the flights and continues to put 100% of her poop and 75% of her pee in the potty.

She’s on the verge of making it happen but just needs a little more space and time to remember to ask to go pee. I know one day she is just going to wake up and tell me she’s done with diapers. In the meantime, I can put away the Martha Stewart carpet cleaner and drink my coffee in peace.

The Results

Somehow we made it through three days of potty bootcamp together and have re-entered society twice. I’ll admit, I thought I was going to lose my mind several times along the way. Not because of accidents or pee on the kitchen floor. It was the isolation. I felt trapped. The fact that all our carpets were covered by plastic tarps didn’t help with the sensation of mania either.

I see clearly the advantages of being in your home venue for 3 days, of having your child throw away all their diapers, of giving them the power to speak up by saying “Tell mama when you have to go poo or pee,” and of catching them in the act of accidents. It all makes sense. But good Lord, it’s mentally exhausting.  It was much easier to withstand when I was doing it for someone else’s kid as a nanny and 10 years younger. I will say that it does give you the fortitude to never go back, though. After Day 1, I was so happy to never have to do Day 1 again. On Day 3, I thought Day 2 was for suckers.

Back to the story. By Day 2 something had clicked. She had two pee accidents right off the bat in the morning but was clean and dry the rest of the day. (I overruled her decision to skip pull-ups at night for reasons of style and pride. She woke up in the middle of the night between Day 1 and 2 soaking wet and very upset. Changing sheets, blankets and pajamas in the dark at 4 a.m. won’t be happening again. I have, however, acquiesced and allowed her to wear undies and not pull-ups for naps. She’s been dry so far and I figured throwing a little confidence her way may help.)

Day 3 felt glorious in a shut-in, nut-house kind of way. Not only were we over half-way through the process, but she started telling me when she needed to go rather than me constantly asking her to tell me when she needed to go, over and over and over. I felt like an obsessive parrot who picked up a copy of this potty training manual and couldn’t let go.

As we closed down Day 3, I started to worry. What am I going to do tomorrow? There is no manual for the fourth day of this adventure. She didn’t have any accidents on Day 3 but we were always within 4 seconds of a bathroom. How do I leave her side, the house, the driveway?

And, then the reality of Day 4 came when she pooped in her undies right after breakfast because she was so engrossed in watching a guy mow his lawn outside. I realized that, no, I no longer have to carry diapers in my purse (hooray) but now I have to carry two outfits in case of an accident. I also just ordered a fold-able, travel potty for the car in case we are out at a park and nature calls. It will get easier, I know. The limbo period is what’s going to put me on tilt.

So, what does an All-American family do to get out of the house on the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend with a newly potty trained toddler? They go to IKEA where the bathroom opportunities are a plenty and no one will notice if you have to wipe up a puddle under your daughter.

The real fun will happen when I get on a plane with her on Friday.

30 Pairs

Shopping List:

-30 pairs of “big girl” undies
-4 plastic tarps
-Stickers
-Gummie Bunnies
-High fiber snacks
-Big girl wipes

I’ve been earmarking this summer as the right time to potty train Lolo in between travel dates. When she hides under the dining room table each and every time she poops when we’re home, it’s time to put that recognition to good use. But, then I looked at the calendar and realized there is no perfect storm as we are in and out of town each month. With no time like the present, I dove into a potty training program recommended by a friend. (Extra Nugget: I’ve actually done a commando potty training program similar to this one when I was a nanny after college and it worked like a charm with Esther, so why not Lolo.)

I just finished Day 1 of 3, and I am about to pass out. The program requires you to be at home for three days straight doing nothing but paying attention to your child and catching them in the act of an accident … so you can race them to the potty … so they are getting that sense of urgency.

At lunch time, there was a pile of 7 pairs of wet undies on the bathroom floor. But, she was dry for her 3 hour nap (she rejected the pull-ups I bought because they weren’t panty-like enough) and then accident-free the rest of the afternoon. (Right now she is wearing Kushies Training Pants because they were better than a 72 cent piece of cotton standing between her and an entire night’s worth of urine.)

I know there will be many more ups and downs over the next two days and coming weeks, but I can at least scratch off day 1 and now fall into bed. I can still hear myself saying “Tell Mama when the pee pee is coming” over and over and over and over.

High Tech

Life has been meandering along as we all wait for the CFA test day to arrive. Until we collectively become a chartered financial family, we have been enjoying the hilarious details of modern life.

1. She is obsessed with calling me “Mommy.” She hears all her friends calling their mamas by “Mommy” and thinks it is just so cool. She picked up a puzzle piece the other day and told me that “this puzzle piece is upset.” I asked why and she replied, “Because he wants his Mom and Dad to pick him up.” I said, “Oh, he wants his Mama and Papa?” She said, “No. Mom and Dad.” End of story.

It’s everywhere. In every storybook, it’s all about mommy and daddy and she knows it. Even though I insert “Mama” and “Papa” when I read her stories, none of her babysitters do on Saturday night. She’s got my number and the jig is up. All hope of being called mama can’t be lost though. I figure I have a tiny shot of being mama until kindergarten if I don’t let on to how much the sound of mommy irks me. If she figures that out, I’m sunk.

2. It’s a small feat but I just catapulted myself into the modern era by upgrading my cell phone from an old enV2 with a cracked screen to one that can access … (wait for it) … the Internet. It doesn’t mean that I have actually accessed the worldwide web though. I’m afraid. It’s too much, too soon. Such power and information at your fingertips feels so futuristic. I’m still infatuated with the touch screen. Plus, I know that once I start, I’ll fly right by my monthly megabyte limit so I’m saving it up for a Google emergency.

Who this really affects is my brother, he’s my poor man’s iPhone. I just call him when I’m lost in the car and ask him to use his iPhone in VA to look up directions for me up North.

3. Sit down. We bought a new TV. Yes, we upgraded from the $300 “flat screen” CRT which we bought the year we were married (2001) with an employee discount from Circuit City. (Figure that one out.) So really, it’s a $500 TV from 2001, a little less embarrassing, no?

The tube actually burned out while I was watching The Amazing Race and we couldn’t avoid replacing the dinosaur any longer. Hopefully this one will last another decade. I must say, it’s quite nice.

As he fell under the spell of the lit screen, Mr. Banks said, “It’s like we advanced 10 years in technology with one purchase.” I said, “It’s not like we did. We just did. That’s what happens when you keep a TV that long.”

In The City

Evidence of our fun roaming the Upper West Side for three days.

Off the Grid.

“Should we take the wine into the bathroom?,” asked Mr. Banks last night at 8:30 pm.

The first night we were in the hotel, Mr. Banks had to stay late at the office so he didn’t get back to the room until Lolo was safely lulled into a deep sleep. In the meantime, I managed to entertain myself on the laptop in complete silence and darkness while she slept in her matchstick-sized hotel crib. (Bad mama. I didn’t bring the pack-n-play because there was just too much going on before we left the house in a mad rush. Yes, there is a reason every baby book says to avoid hotel cribs at all costs.) But, our system worked out great. Mr. Banks and I ate dinner in the dark but were able to have a conversation while she slept not 8 feet away from us.

Well, last night he arrived back to the room right as Lolo was saying “sweet dreams” at 7pm and she didn’t close her eyes until nearly 10pm. This city already has her blood pumping with energy and chutzpah. Knowing that Mama and Papa were so close to her and completely awake was just too much. She tried. She put her head down on the pillow for five minutes and then peeked out from the curtain I have draped around the crib with a devilish smile. For the next three hours, we tried everything. We ate in silence in the dark and reminded her that it was bedtime. We took our food and wine in the bathroom (oh yes we did) so she would settle down in peace. There’s a TV in the bathroom so it wasn’t all that weird. I tried to lay down with her in bed. Nothing worked. She played and sang for close to three hours, and I just kept reminding myself, “This is a vacation. It’s okay to go off schedule.” We opened the bathroom door at one point to see what she was singing and heard, “Shake you tail, flap you wings and stomp you feet!” over and over again.

Needless to say, she’s having a blast in the city and has adjusted to life quite well off the grid of our normal life. The entirety of our day is spent finding food, playing at the park and walking the dog in the park. Wash and repeat. She’d prefer if we could skip the walking the dog part but is content to watch a little extra TV each morning.

While it’s been an adventure and wonderful to see her excitement over the city, I’m looking forward to being able to heat food again.

Blanket of Lead

It’s as ominous as it sounds.

The neighbors directly next to us, which means 12 feet away, are having their house sanded down to the bone today before repainting. In a town where all the houses were built before 1930, this means there is a high probability of lead-laden, death dust. Of course, in the “panties-in-a-bunch” kind of town we live in, there are an abundant collection of laws related to this specific act of lead paint removal. And, by law, any house painting company has to tent the house being sanded with tarps, use HEPA-filter sanding machines, know all the state laws on lead paint, etc. But, that’s not good enough for me and my paranoia. They are also covering all of my windows with plastic, covering half the house in a giant tarp, and we’re evacuating the house for three days. (Yes, I inserted myself quite well into my neighbor’s home improvement project.)

Right now, I am sitting on my hotel room couch in the dark and typing this post while Lolo sleeps after a long day of establishing ourselves on the Upper West Side. Soon, I will fork over the $12.95 fee to connect to the Internet so I can keep my readers up to date on all our adventures like sitting down to a nice dinner at 5:30 tonight with Lolo, taking one sip of my wine and then hearing “I’m all done” after she had exactly one bite of her penne with meat sauce.

We hit the city just after lunch, sent Mr. Banks off to work, and didn’t stop until bedtime. If we weren’t walking and talking and looking for parks, we were walking the dog and relearning the art of getting an animal that hates the city to pee on cement. I’m consciously taking a lesson from my free-spirited daughter and learning to enjoy the ride. It’s not really a vacation but we’ve decided to treat it like one.

East-ah Bunny

“What is this mysterious bunny you speak of, Mama? All I have to do is believe in this miracle of rabbit, candy delivery, and a basket of treats will appear in my living room? And, I can eat candy for breakfast on Sunday morning? Show me the contract.”

The “East-ah Bunny” arrived Sunday morning and brought Lolo the original Connect 4 game (because it’s her favorite game to play at the library) and loads of sugar (and some Easter raisins). She held a fist of candy near her mouth as she asked if she could indeed eat candy in the morning so that if we said yes, she could get it into her mouth as soon as humanly possible.

This is what the beast looks like tamed, combed and washed …

And, this is what she looks like when left to her own devices and free will …

Should We Do This In English?

Pure luxury. We escaped to Montreal minus the bean for an extended weekend (courtesy of Grammy and Grampy’s babysitting and dog walking services) and all we have to prove our “international” travel are 4 pictures of the Notre Dame Cathedral, numerous “slightly-Euro” gifts and a ridiculous new tolerance for alcohol. But that was the point. It was all about activities that had nothing to do with nap time, snack bags of cheddar bunnies or waking up before 7am. Well, I had a hard time sleeping in the first morning but I blame that on my insistent body clock. I quickly fell into line.

We walked, we shopped, we drank, we ate, and then we drank some more. It was beyond lovely and just the right amount of time away from home. Stinkerbean herself did great back home and only had a few sad moments of missing us. It was clear she was too busy having fun to lament our absence.

Thank you Grammy and Grampy. We couldn’t have done it without you. And, thank you Montreal for our new catchphrase, “Perfect,” and for schooling your citizens in English as well as French!

Notre Dame Cathedral in Montreal, QC Canada.