Where I come from, there is one quintessential symbol to denote that it is, indeed, the May long weekend. Not an opened Corona, not a newly planted garden, but a tulip. The tulip festival is an official event in the National Capital that hearkens back to WWII, when the Dutch royal family sought refuge in Canada. They thanked our country for our hospitality by sending 100,000 tulip bulbs from the Netherlands. Every year, the first shoots of spring to emerge from thawed ground are tulips, all over the city.
Poor Rich had to work all weekend, so we thought we'd bring the party to him, let the girls run around Parliament Hill, and take in some tulips.
It was Abby's first time, and she was enthralled by the architecture, as most first-time visitors are. To be honest, I've never stopped falling in love with the architecture. It is so breathtaking, ornate, gargantuan, humbling.
The girls loved running up to their Daddy: all uniformed up, keeping the peace on the Hill.
We put him to work. Corralling four wild girls is no easy feat.
There was a good-sized crowd, but it wasn't so busy as to feel crowded. We let the girls run all over the expansive lawn, smelling tulips, photobombing people's pictures (sorry! unintentional!) and playing tag.
We brought ourselves a little picnic to enjoy. I felt pretty darn proud of myself to have remembered to bring hats, apply sunscreen, fill water bottles and pack snacks. High five to me!
I know I see Rich every day and have almost every day for the last 13 years, but seeing him at work always makes me heart skip a beat.
The rest of our long weekend was all about swimming in the pool, family dinners, outdoor yard work, neighbourhood walks, poolside chats, lots of water, quiet nighttime yoga and forgetting everything that didn't need doing immediately in favour of just hanging out.