So, bundled up next to the fireplace with a steaming cup of tea and two pairs of socks on my feet, I begin to flip through a pile of decorating magazines for inspiration. And then I see it. That inexpensive and very expressive headboard will make a big impact in my preteen daughter’s bedroom.

I get right to work, first making sure I have all my supplies. Paintable wallpaper? Check. Paint and rollers? Check. Trimboard to frame in the headboard? Check. Willing husband to nail in the trim-board? Check!

This is a great bonding experience, as together, my daughter and I carefully measure and cut the wallpaper and rub out the air bubbles as we position it on the wall. After the paper is dry it’s on to the paint. The magenta colour looks amazing.

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Once I’ve scratched around the tulip shoots and welcomed back each little speck of green that I find emerging in my garden, I move on to my next spring project… window washing! How does something as clean as snow leave my windows so filthy? I know it’s early, but I haul out the ladder and my cleaning gear and make my windows squeaky clean with the warm sun on my back (mind you, the ladder keeps sinking into the snowbanks at the back of the house, so those windows will just have to wait a bit). I know their sparkle will last only until the first raindrops fall down them, but I am left with a sense of accomplishment as I marvel at how clear my world looks through the glass.

I am certain that we will not need our winter clothes anymore, so I heap my washing machine full of heavy jackets, snowpants, tuques, mitts (most of which have mysteriously lost their partners), and scarves. Our winter boots get a good polish, too. I carefully line them up, fold and hang our clothes in a storage closet, and bolt the door.

I am so eager to welcome spring after the long winter that these tasks honestly don’t seem like “work.” I like to call it therapy. As the snow disappears, I am left with a new energy and instantly feel inspired to tackle things like painting the picnic table and digging up overgrown perennials. I’ve made my poor husband a long “Spring TO DO” list that I keep reminding him of. It includes urgent things like replacing the blades on the lawn-mower and filling the propane tank on the barbecue. He tells me we still have lots of time, but I believe we need to get a jump on these things.

With winter in the past, I go to bed at night feeling so good about the things I’ve done. I am eager to get right back to my spring projects bright and early the next day. Maybe I’ll sweep out the camper.

But when morning comes, I am hit by a wave of nausea as I am greeted with the most unexpected. I peer through my snow-covered window at a fresh blanket of SNOW! I bury my head under my pillow while Mother Nature has the last laugh and my kids begin to hunt for their winter jackets… and boots… and mitts!

– Jodi Enns writes from

Elm Creek, Manitoba

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The sparks were flying as their two creative minds merged.

Ibet that if you asked any kid what they’d like for their birthday, the last thing they’d say is a wooden fish. Unless they belonged to our family. Yup, in our family, birthdays are always a big deal, not just because we love to celebrate each other’s special day, but because we are always curious to know where that wooden fish will show up next.

It all started when my daughter was about to turn four. We weren’t really sure what to get her for her birthday. We didn’t know what that one “wow” gift would be – the one that would leave her completely speechless, the gift that would let her know how special she is to us – the one that would make this birthday completely spectacular. So we asked her what she wanted. Instead of giving us a list of specifics like we were so used to getting from our older daughter, she just smiled sweetly and said, “I don’t know.”

So the three of us offered her a few suggestions. And just to be different, my husband said, “What about a wooden fish?” My daughter glared back at him with her nose so crinkled you’d think she’d bitten into a lemon. “Every kid on the planet would love to get a wooden fish,” he continued. “It would be so cool! Think of all the things you could do with it. And just like that an idea was born. You could see the lightswitch go on in the glances that were exchanged between my husband and our oldest daughter. The sparks were flying as their two creative minds merged.

So the big day finally arrived with bright clusters of balloons and twisted streamers. Our birthday girl greeted the guests as they all arrived and the party was running smoothly. Then came “present time.” The stack of gifts quickly became a mountain of paper. But we had saved the best for last. The two “tricksters” were beaming as they watched the little fingers rip through the wrapping. I braced myself. Our little girl reacted exactly the way we expected she would. She took one look at the freshly painted wooden fish, and like a live grenade, the fish went flying across the room as she shouted, “I don’t want a dumb wooden fish!”

We wondered how others would react if they received a wooden fish on their birthday, and there was only one way to find out. When the next family birthday rolled around, we wrapped up the fish again. This time, it was a big hit! And since then, the wooden fish has made an appearance at many family birthdays, bringing with it many laughs. Everyone who has received it has signed and dated the back of it, and some have even changed its appearance by painting a few more details.

So now, it has become a great honour to be the holder of the wooden fish, and every birthday is completely spectacular because you never know when it will show up again. – Jodi Enns writes from

Elm Creek, Manitoba

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Once I was sure my letter was ready and most of the glue had dried, I moved to Phase 2: Santa’s snack.

Christmas is full of secrets and surprises. I guess that’s what makes it so magical. By Christmas Eve, my kids are ready to burst with excitement and anticipation. They are completely confident that they are on Santa’s “nice” list. They’ve tried so hard to be kind to each other, to eat their vegetables without gagging and to practise the piano without rolling their eyes. I know because I used to be exactly the same way. I wanted that big yellow Barbie camper so bad that I was ready to give up… my entire hotel soap collection for it!

Like my daughters, I would spend hours making a letter for Santa from pictures I cut from the toy section of the Sears Wish Book. I would use the nicest pen I could find to list all the things I wanted, and was careful that my handwriting was so neat that there was no way Santa could ever get it wrong. And before I’d wish Santa the merriest Christmas ever, I’d ask all about the reindeer. Once I was sure my letter was ready and most of the glue had dried, I moved to Phase 2: Santa’s snack.

The snack had to be as thoughtfully and carefully put together as the letter. After all, I had heard my mom say that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. So nothing gross like Christmas cake or eggnog would be set out for Santa. He got the really good stuff like my favourite shortbread cookies with the cherries on the top, chocolate milk and some peanuts. Everyone likes peanuts! And then came the hardest part of all… going to bed.

I was sure the numbers on my glowing clock radio were going backwards instead of forwards. The only time the hands on the clock ever moved slower was the last day of school in June. Then, somewhere between counting snores per minute from the neighbouring bedroom and wondering if Santa would get here before his milk got warm, I fell asleep. And 20 minutes later when I rolled over and saw that it was 5:16, I jumped out of bed. IT WAS FINALLY CHRISTMAS MORNING!

What followed was a blizzard of ribbons and bows and gift wrap. The house shook with laughter and shrieks of excitement. And once the debris had all settled I eagerly dug past the plate that was now littered with crumbs and peanut shells, and searched for what was almost as precious to me as my new Barbie camper… a handwritten note from dear Santa himself!! He thanked me for the snack and apologized for not being able to drink ALL of the milk as he had already had a glass next door. He encouraged me to keep practising the piano (wish he would’ve skipped that part!), and commented on the time I shared my favourite markers with my sister (I KNEW he saw that!). He also said he was sorry about the messy handwriting, but it was pretty hard to see in the dark. There was something very familiar in that note, but I loved to read it over and over.

This year as I lie awake on Christmas Eve, counting snores per minute from the pillow next to mine, I will wonder again… how is it that Santa’s handwriting looked so much like my dad’s?

– Jodi Enns writes from Elm Creek, Manitoba

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