We were at the Edmonton zoo on Easter Monday: yes, there's still snow on the ground. But we had fun on the scavenger hunt w/ pencils and rulers for prizes. Of course the kids loved the candy being handed out. We also made crafts and saw some friends . . .

and a few animals (not Liam, the sea lion in the tank behind him).

Lici was a bunny.

That's Lukas hanging out on a "fossil."

 

The animals and the information the zookeepers relay about them definitely seem to interest the kids more than they interest me. But I've never been much of an animal person. They're okay in theory. And I like the plush or plastic kind alright, I guess. But up real and close and personal, I kind of freak out, and the creatures always seem to sense it, my irrational fear. Even taxidermy gives me the creeps. I've gotten to where I can hide my feelings better, but the nervousness hasn't gone away. I've told people before that it's because all my pets got killed when I was a kid (my dad ran over one), but it's more than that. I just can't be comfortable with someone/thing I can never hope to respond to me in words, but that is animated and seems like it should be able to speak (though of course I'd also lose it if it did). I second guess clear speech enough; actions alone just don't cut it for me at all. I totally over think them. When the kids were babies, I felt like I was in a constant state of flummoxation (yeah, I made that word up), trying to figure out what on earth they were thinking, why they did what they did, what they wanted from me. I'm just a language kind of gal, language for building bridges and barriers (sometimes unintentionally), as I grasp and look out for both. So generally, my two-legged "critters," now all able to converse (though oddly enough all too often I now find myself wishing they'd occasionally shut up) are more than enough for me.