"What are you getting me for Christmas?" Moira says.
"I don't know," I say. "I haven't really thought about it."
Arwen is laying on her back, making a naughty and nice list, with two columns in her journal. "Everyone is on the good list, except Momo," she says.
"You can stay up a little bit later," I say to the girls, "If you help me write my blog."
"Uh, I think I'll be going," says Moira, laying beside me.
"Day Seventy-Four," I say as I type. Arwen's jaw drops and her eyes get bug-eye-round.
"The longest I've ever done something like this, is I kept a diary for two days," says Moira.
Question: What are they teaching you these days at school about the treaties?
Moira (grade nine): They have like courses on them, like full courses. They have courses called, "The Treaties." There's a course called "Treaty Four" isn't there?
Arwen (grade four): We're going to learn about the treaties after the First Nations unit in Social. Last year we did Japanese and I got to bring my cool pen.
Question: What are treaties?
Arwen: Treaties are where you gather around and you talk about all the culture stuff and usually you interview elders.
Moira: Treaties are arrangements, documents, between the First Nations cultures and the government.
Question: What are treaties like? I want a metaphor.
"What do you mean," says Moira.
"You know, a comparison."
"Give me an example."
"You know, like, treaties are a box of chocolates."
Moira: Okay. Treaties are like looking at a big pretty box, but when you open it up it is empty.
Michael: That's a simile. Treaties are like is a simile.
"I know it's a simile," I say to Michael who has just come in the room, knelt down by the bed to read the computer screen.
"Mom, aren't you going to interview me?" says Arwen.
Arwen: So, say you got this delicious granola bar and it was on tv and you finally get it and the wrapping is so perfect and when you open it up, all it is is nothing.
"What, are you using my example?" Moira wrestles Arwen, mussing her hair.
"No I'm not, no I'm not," says Arwen, giggling.
"Arwen, you need to go to bed now," says Moira. They wrestle. I type.
Arwen lays down on the edge of my bed. "See, I'm in bed."
"Okay Arwen, to bed," I say.
She grins and heads to bed.
"How was your day, Mom," says Moira.
I keep typing.
"Everytime you write about me," she says, "You make it seem like I am the perfect child."
I stop typing and look at her. We're almost nose to nose. "Aren't you a good child?"
"Yah, I guess I am, but you've never really told me that before."