Titmouse what?

Dinner was in the oven and we were waiting for John to arrive home from work.

Britney Spear's "Til the World Ends" was blaring and Finley was in his happy place dancing like the sumo wrestler he believes he is even though he has no idea what a sumo wrestler is.

Adrian was also dancing around...though his dancing is more like a cross between gymnastics and spastic Elaine from Seinfeld moves.

Then he started chanting.

Something that sounded an awful lot like "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" but I couldn't quite be sure because of the Britney concert happening in my living room and my littlest quite honestly believing he was one of her back up dancers.  Sumo wrestler style back up dancer.

"What did you say?" I yelled sternly over the music.  I could have turned it down easily enough but I hate when my music is interrupted and frankly I have a (now) not so secret love for that song.

He came over and yelled in my ear, "TIT!  I said TIT!"  I know he was actually saying the "S" word just to see if I would catch him at it - he's a bit of a button pusher to say the least.  Also? He obviously hadn't heard the word 'tit' before and had no idea what he was referring to.

"That's not a nice word Adrian.  Please don't repeat that again."

"What tit?  Tit's a great word!"  Clearly all boy here.

"No. No it isn't.  Titmouse maybe.  But not tit."

Really?! Did that sentence really just come out of my mouth?!

Oh yes.  Yes it did.

File this under the things you never thought you would say until you became a Mother.

(Truth be told I had no idea what a titmouse even was...that is until I googled it...I actually thought it was related to the mouse family.  FYI - It is not.)

This is a Titmouse.  It's a BIRD!

Wherein I realize my Mother is no typical Grandmummy

As I walked up the driveway hands full of groceries I noticed something that wasn't there before.  Something that need not be there.  An unusual object.  Something I knew had to do with my Mum's (otherwise known to my sons' as Gaga) visit.

I walked into the kitchen to find her and Finley peacefully having a snack of peanuts and the usual Grandma treats that always come along with her.  They had been to the park for the past hour and a half together.  Enjoying the beautiful sun and fresh air.

A regular day out as Gaga and Youngest Grandson.

Except not really.  Nothing is ever entirely regular when it comes to my Mum.  She is referred to as Gaga after all.  (a result of my eldest not being able to pronounce Grandma at the age of 18 months)

That item I noted sitting on our driveway?

Was a walker.

And though my Mother may be a Grandmother, a walker using Grandmother she will (hopefully) never be.

She had found this walker at the park - no one was around - so she decided to take my littlest for a cruise around the park in it...up the hill, down the hill and around the bend and then proceeded to give him a ride all the way home with him perched on top of it.  Which happens to be over 2 blocks away!  Can you picture it now?  Is there something a little unusual, with this image?

It is so entirely something only my Mother would do.  Quirky, funny.  Totally original.

Now I need to somehow track down that poor person who's without their walker - surely it was stolen right?  No one goes to the park with a walker and miraculously leaves without one...

(It's hiding in my garage for now.  Just in case someone is out scoping the area for their stolen walker - I would hate to be accused of such a crime!)

My Mum continued to zoom him around our streets on this in front of the neighbours
 insisting he "hold on tight now!"

Donut Delight

I debated taking my little one to a coffee shop for a treat before picking up his brother from his morning activities.  Only because I feared being tattled on by my two year old son.  Which would result in endless demands and screeching from my four year old for his own donut and/or ginger molasses cookie grinding me down to an irritated, exhausted pulp of a human being.

In the end the rare one on one time spent with my little one won out.  How could I resist this face?

I mean really.  He's more scrumptious than a double chocolate, double
glazed Boston Cream donut...with extra custard filling.
(That donut does not exist.  But it sure should.)

We arrived at Tim Horton's and since he'd never had a choice all on his own - OMG! His first whole entire donut to himself - no sharing or compromising required! - he automatically chose his brother's favourite.

Mint chocolate glaze.

Generally speaking, I love mint chocolate anything.  Actually pretty much anything to do with chocolate is two thumbs up in my books. But these mint chocolate donuts?  Hideous.  I persuaded him to choose a plain chocolate glazed instead.

Which had nothing to do with my love for them.  Not at all.

He held tight to that brown paper bag with the chocolate confectionery goodness in it and proceeded to choose our table. I slid into the seat across from him.

He immediately (of-course) unwrapped the treat with relish and held it in both of his two year old chubbalicious hands.  I didn't bother to tease him about me eating some of it...I do this occasionally and it never ends well.  Small child of mine takes after his Mother when it comes to sharing food.  Meaning he doesn't.  And not just because he's two and two year olds claim anything they lay their eyes on to be theirs.  He's really quite great at sharing anything else.  His toys, his bike, his books.  But food?  Doesn't deal well...(as I hide my face in shame because he got this trait from me.)

"Mumma I share with you?" without missing a beat he broke the donut in unequal halves and offered me the larger half.

Of-course my heart went mushy and I got unreasonably and irrationally emotional.

Turns out you should probably give your child the benefit of the doubt...they tend to surprise you in the most delightful ways sometimes.

And your darn right I took half.

But I let him have the bigger one.

The Peach and the Bird

My boys are like any other brothers together.  They play, they bicker, they wrestle, they love.

When I overhear them playing it's usually Spiderman verses the Green Goblin.  Sometimes it's the 'red Spiderman against black Spiderman'.  They also play hide and seek, cars and dance to music together.  But sometimes...sometimes what they play is just too random, funny and bizarre for this 34 year old's Motherbrain to wrap my head around.

These are the moments I'd love to curl up in their little boy brains and see how it really ticks...

*******************************************************************************

"Finley!  Do you want to play 'The Bird Eats the Peach?'"  They were bouncing around on our king bed while I tided up the chaotic mess of papers, jewelry and coins on our dresser.

"Yeah!"  Being the little brother who looks up to his big brother like he's his whole world, the answer is always affirmative.

They faced each other crouched down, the inner sole's of their right feet touching.

Adrian began the chant alternating touching the top of Finley's foot and his own.

"Goat, goat.  Let the story begin."

Did he just mention goats you ask?  Oh yes.  Yes he did.


They split up to opposite ends of the big bed. Finley curled up on his feet with his hands underneath his knees and his chin tucked in - like a peach I'm assuming - Adrian was the bird.

"Oooo...this looks like a good one!" Adrian exclaims! He attempts to pick Finley up and they both fall over with a bounce to the mattress.

"Let's play again!  Finley you're the bird now."

And the game began again.  This time with Adrian in the curled up 'peach position.'

Before the Chaos of the Day Begins

Just before the start of the day's chaos consisting of demands for separate dishes for breakfast; Cheerios and water every morning for my little one and waffles and juice for my eldest...

Before requests for specific sippy cups (because didn't you know?  Beverages taste different depending of the colour of cup it's drank from)...

Before the exasperating brotherly bickering of 'he's looking at me funny!' and 'don't make that sound!' and 'he's touching my foot!'...

Before my first snappy irritable response to their fighting, before the pile of dishes begins, before the dog whines to be let out and barks incessantly to be let back in minutes later, before the sounds of Scooby Doo from the television and the pounding of little feet running laps around the house, before diapers are in need to be changed...

Before the general demands of my day begin...the dawn rises and I hear the sound of small feet pattering closer from across the hall, seconds later my eldest clambers quietly into our bed and curls in gently next to me.  A lower case s to my Upper Case one.  My hand reaches around and tucks into his middle and we lie together quietly just like we did when he was a swaddled newborn during the nights he couldn't settle.

 I kiss the back of curly head and ask him how his sleep was.

"Good."  His voice is still soft and sleepy.  He is a boy of few words, especially in the morning.

This is our morning ritual.   And like every ritual, I take great comfort in it.

I know these sweet mornings are numbered.  He will be starting school this fall.   When the morning will abruptly start with the discomfort of an alarm clock sounding and not always the gentle delicious warmth of my son's little body curled into mine.

My 3 Little Birds - MOMents

She's an Original

"What?!  You don't get Easter Egg hunts anymore?!!"  Riled my indignant semi-new best friend.

"Erin, we're 17 years old!"

"So what?!  I can't believe you don't get Easter Egg hunts."  She huffed.

Sure enough, later on that week, she gave me my very own Easter Egg hunt complete with loads of chocolate and a Cosmopolitan magazine.

This was just the tip of the iceburg of the extraordinarily thoughtful and generous nature my best friend was graced with.

**********************************************************************************

We stood in line at the Taco Bell many months later.  There was a group of young kids in line ahead of us.  It seemed that they were with an adult but paying with their own money.  One young boy stood out - he didn't order anything.  There was something in the way he held himself, in the expression on his face that pulled at my heartstrings.

"Did you want some fries?"  Erin was up next in line and that little boy stood a couple feet away from her.  Though I don't remember if we shared our thoughts aloud to each other, our thoughts were on the same wave length.  She was offering to buy this hungry little boy something to eat.


*********************************************************************************

5 years later...

It was raining as we drove along in her sapphire blue Sunfire, Grover.  As we took the off ramp we passed an older gentleman, standing on the side of the road, thumb out, indicating he needed a lift somewhere.  It was obvious he was homeless.

"We should go back.....I'm going back to get him."

I was uneasy.  I'm the type of person whose heart goes soft when I see people living in the streets.  Young, old.  It doesn't matter.  For there's always a reason behind why...there's always a story....a story that rarely ends with a fairly tale ending.  I almost always give change or purchase something for them to eat nearby.  (It's a good thing thing I don't live in a highly populated area of vagrants.)

But to pick up a hitch hiking homeless man?  Never.  I would never.  But that day with my best friend who's heart is a big as the sky?  We did.

We stopped at a drive through and she bought him and burger and a coffee.  As we drove she chatted with him while he hungrily inhaled his hamburger, asking questions about his life, where he was from, where was he going.  I stayed quiet, almost mute-like trying hard not to breathe in through my nose for the stench of his unshowered body and damp unwashed clothes mingled with the raw onions on the burger kept wafting up to the front seat.  As I sat trying not to breathe, I marveled at her open curiosity, adventurous spirit and huge heart...(and that she was breathing openly).  The way she asked her questions would not be considered prying but simply inquisitive and interested in what he had to say. He said he had just visited with his children and had walked on foot from a city over 200 km away.  I wondered why his kids didn't help him.  Perhaps there were many reasons. I realize that now...now that I'm older and just a teeny bit wiser to the world.

We dropped him off again not too many miles later at his request.

That day, without her knowing, she opened my eyes a lot wider to the world.

*********************************************************************************

A couple years ago when her husband and her first began dating, they were caught in a huge snow storm - recall 'Snowmageddon? - leaving them stranded at a hotel.  I don't know about you but I'd be making the best out of that situation by chilling out, feet up in my hotel room sipping on some Bailey's spiked hot chocolate with my significant other.  But not Erin.  The way she makes the best out of a situation is evidently far different mine.  She basically risked her LIFE going out and getting food for some truckers staying at the hotel. It was late, everything was closed, they were hungry and their trucks couldn't get through the drive through.   And how did she know these random trucker guys were hungry?  Erin?  As mentioned above, will talk to anybody and will know more about them in a short period of time than they probably even knew about themselves.

*********************************************************************************

She's done so many more amazing things for people over the years I've known her.  As small as listening to someone who may not have anyone to talk to, to thoughtful gifts, to flying me out to see her across the country (she's done that a few times), to volunteering her time for a job that's worth much, much more than nothing, to being a mentor, to fighting to get someone's job back, to being the best daughter, sister, friend and wife one could ever wish for.  I simply don't  have the time or space to write about all of them here.  And I know there are many more instances of her philanthropy that I have no idea about.

Because of Erin?  The world is a better place.  I truly believe that.

She's been the bestest best friend I could ever ask for.  She is my biggest inspiration, someone I look up to, admire, and love with all my heart.

She's given me advice, adventures and unconditional love for over half my life.

And on this day, her 34th birthday, I'd like to say a big thank you to her.

You are an original, baby.

Cheers to your 34th my dear friend.
You just become more fabulous as the years go by.

Standing Under His Umbrella

I stood on our back deck, 2 year old on my hip, 4 year old by my side.  We were watching the massive dark clouds rolling in.  A good Ontario storm was brewing.  We are lovers of storms in this home of ours.

Minus the dog of-course.  Is there a dog in the world that can appreciate a great storm?  I've never met one.

The deep rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightening were on full display above the trees in the large field just beyond our house.  The rain had yet to drop but the heat and humidity of the day was giving way to a cool breeze.

My  boys would turn to me with blue eyes as big as saucers, their mouths shaped into a perfect 'O' every time they would hear the faintest of sky grumbles.

"Oh! I felt a rain drop!" Exclaimed my eldest.

"Oh!  So did I!"  Tiny droplets of water sat on my arm, cool, clear and refreshing.

"I guess I won't be doing the grocery shopping tonight."  I stated.

"Why?"  My eldest inquired.

"Well, I don't want to go out and get groceries in the middle of a thunderstorm."  I explained.

Without missing a beat he replied...

"I will protect you Mumma."

My heart grew a little more right then...with those simple words.

They say a boy's Mother is his first love.  It begins with their first flirtatious smiles as a newborn, moving on to sweet kisses, then dandelion bouquets and now begins the promise of protection.

It's a beautiful thing.  There really are no other words.

And so...we went grocery shopping together.  Just the two of us.

I felt completely safe.

And entirely happy.

I set up the bean bag at the front door during a good heavy storm a few weeks back.
They loved every minute of it.  Except when the rain came in through screen and soaked us all.
Aren't their linked arms just heart melting?
I know.

Bittersweet Echoes

He bounds through the front door in all his little boy clatter.  I'm in the kitchen and peek up from what I'm doing at the counter to see him tip toeing around the corner.  He is still in his outdoor shoes.  He watches me with a look of sheepishness.

I bite silent the words that are always on the inside corners of my mouth...take your shoes off at the front door....(after all, the sheepish tiptoeing?  Very cute.) and instead say, "What's up bud?"

"Mumma?  Can I please have some juice?"

"Of-course."  I pour the juice and he takes the bright plastic cup from my hands with a thank you.  I follow him towards the front door where he's eager to get back outside and rejoin his friends.

It opens before we get there and his buddies are on the other side waiting.  The cacophony of their child chatter and warm air collide with the cool silence of the house.

He stands just behind the open door so that only I can see him.

He cups his hand around around his little boy lips and mouths the 3 most precious words on earth...unprompted, impulsive and entirely him.

In that moment I realized just how fast the years go by.  

What's a Mom to do but silently whisper the words in return?

"I love you too."


Then off he went out the door, a whirling vortex of sunshine, love and boyhood. 


As I closed the door against the heat of the day, holding close the brief lovely moment, echoes of bittersweetness reverberate loudly within the quiet walls of our home.  

A Dozen (plus!) Reasons Why I love my Husband

My husband is pretty great and I hate to admit it but I probably don't give him enough credit for all that he does and all that he is.  So today, in honour of my hard working, wonderful hubby for Father's Day, I have made a list of why I love him the most...

1. He makes up the best superhero bed time stories for the boys.

2. He's super affectionate, always giving hugs and kisses to our boys (and me) and telling them how much he loves them - "I love you the most!"

3. He knows when I've had enough and either tells me to get out of the house (in the nicest way) or pours me a big glass of wine.

4. He's really hot even when he looks pissed off (especially) and in safety glasses.

5. He loves my best friend (almost) as much as I do.

6. He's very good at reminding me that we're on the same team - even when I'm acting like we're on opposing ones.

Celebrating our 6 year wedding anniversary.

7. He has GREAT legs.

And a great golf swing too apparently (not that I would know).

8. He doesn't ask for much from us...ever.  All he ever wants for Father's Day is a homemade card from the boys and time spent together as a family.

Yes.  I made that.  Even I can't believe it.

9. He's close to his Mother.  And if there's anything that I wish for my relationship with my boys it's that they love and respect me as much as my husband loves and respects his Mom.  (You did a wonderful job Nancy - thank you).

Yes, that IS his Mother.  Beautiful lady.

10.  He can do this....

11. He only gets a little bit mad for a mere brief moment when I (unknowingly!) use 100 dollar vodka to make a pitcher of Caesar's for our guests...

Tastiest Caesar's ever and then we found out why.
Look at how happy it is too!

12. He still looks at me like this...

13. He cleans his whiskers up after shaving...AND! puts the toilet seat down when finished.

14. And most importantly?  He has a FANTASTIC sense of humour.  Even when he's (slightly) being teased by his wife.

Oh yes.  I hit the jackpot folks.

Happy Father's Day honey.  XO

I've Got So Much Honey, the Bees Envy Me

"I have something to ask you for tomorrow night."  My father said to me on the eve of my wedding. Everyone in the wedding party and close family members had finished up their dinner and began to mingle with one another at the restaurant.

I was sitting with my Dad.

"Sure Dad.  Anything."

"Will you dance on my feet like you did when you were a little girl?"

And then....

Tears.  First from him.

Then from me.

The discussion of the dance...

***************************************************************************

The next day he walked me down the aisle, arms linked.

Me, a beaming bride.  He, a proud father with (at least) a tear in each eye.

You can't quite tell in the picture...but my  Dad
was fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. 

****************************************************************************

Our father-daughter dance was to 'My Girl by the Temptations.  I chose that song because years ago we had sang it together during a memorable karaoke night on a hot summer evening during a family vacation.

I was 16 years old.

12 years later...

We began with our usual spinning, twirling and easy dad-daughter dance rhythm.  After all, I had been dancing with my father for 28 years at that point.  Maybe not every year.  Or even every other.  But my Dad?  He was my first dance partner. And if there's nothing a little girl forgets...it's who her first dance partner is.

My Dad?  He was the best kind.

*******************************************************************************

"It's time babe."  Our eyes met and we smiled.  It was just over mid-way through 'My Girl'.

'I don't need no money, fortune or fame...I've got all the riches, baby, one man can claim....

I kicked my sequinned flip flops off toward the crowd of friends and family that gathered in groups around us, watching, taking pictures and videos.  Everyone was having a wonderful time, enjoying our moment.

This moment though?  Was our moment.  For my Dad and I only.

All 28 years of me including my newly pedicured bare feet stepped onto his shiny shoe clad ones.

And we danced around in a circle just like that, my right hand in his left...a grown up reflection of my father's most precious memories.

Our father-daughter dance.
Yes...sadly this is the ONLY picture I have of this special moment so if anyone
has better ones PLEASE send them my way!
(this is a picture of a picture which is why the quality is so terrible)

*********************************************************************************

The recollection of me dancing on his toes when I was a little girl is vaguely sketched on the background of my mind.

But it's the dance that I had with my father as a new wife and grown woman that is indelibly imprinted on the forefront of my heart.

Happy Father's Day Dad.

You gave me a gift that will last forever that day.

I love you with all my heart.

XO

(p.s. - I will always be your little girl)

Rats! And I thought it had something to do with me.

He sat with his bowl of cherries - a new found fruit love - at the kitchen table as the afternoon sun streamed through the patio doors.

"Mumma - I need sumping else to eat with these."

"Something else?  Like what?  Like sommmmme...." I scanned the counters and my eyes rested on a bowl of freshly washed, de-stemmed strawberries that we just picked the day before. "strawberries?"

"Yes! Strawberries!"

I brought the bowl over to the table and sat it beside his small bowl of cherries then returned back to the business of emptying the dishwasher.

"Mumma - come here!  You have to try this!  Eat them together.  Come on...come on!"

I looked up from where I was bent over grabbing some utensils.

He had a strawberry on one side of his mouth and a cherry on the other.

I put away the forks and joined my son at the kitchen table.  He handed me a strawberry and a cherry.

"Eat it at the same time."  His face was eager, his smile big and berry stained. I couldn't help but think I was in some sort of dream.  Child of mine with a passion this big for discovering new taste sensations???!!!  This was my kind of kid.  Hmph.  I must be doing something right.  All those times he helped me out in the kitchen, baking cookies, making dinner.  Yes.  I am raising an adventurous first rate future little chef I am.

I bit simultaneously into the cherry and the strawberry.  It was a taste sensation of the most delectable kind.  Sweet, tart, juicy.


He watched me expectantly, eyes wide and blue, his head slightly nodding as I chewed bits of cherry and berry.


"Mmmmmm!  That is gooooood!"

"I know.  I learned it from Ratatouille."

A Bit of a Blathering

Maybe it's because it seems the months are disappearing faster than a glass of chilled wine at the end of a highly stress inducing day with my kids but I've been stuffing the crap outta my days with my boys lately.  Adrian will be starting JK come September and quite honestly - I'm just not quite sure what to think about it.

Sad, happy, excited, nostalgic, weepy, proud.  These emotions are sitting high up in my chest...building by the day.

The outings that I've been packing into our days as of late always occur in the morning hours due to Finley having (still thankfully) a good 2 hour afternoon nap from 1-3ish.  By the time he wakes, diaper is changed,  and is fed his 'nack it easily becomes 4-4:30 at which point dinner needs to be started.

What exactly am I trying to say you ask?  I'm all in a flutter, you see, because come September I won't be having these (mostly) awesome mornings with my sons'.  I'm starting to realize that those future mornings are going to go by so quickly come September - and yes, I'm looking forward to having some rare one on one time with my little - and having a reprieve from the abundance of 'spiritedness' my biggest brings to the table.  But...but THEN my littlest will be starting school the NEXT September and I'm thinking to myself HOLY SMACK A PONY what the hell happened to the first 5 years of my Motherhood Life???!!!
 
I want to enjoy it, love it, live it breathe it, soak it in- do all the cliches of Motherhood. I feel like I must do it all right now and not a minute later.   And believe me - it's not all sunshine and lollipops.  We are not skipping through the woods singing tra-la-la, doh a dear.  No.  In fact that last post about the Nature Walk?  I 'forgot' to mention about the part that my eldest had to take a crap in the woods....and well...large leaves were involved. I don't know why didn't mention it - I just didn't think it would 'mesh' with the rest of the story y'know?

And when we went to the market last week?  It was hot.  Small child was irritable and was insisting on eating all the cherries - including the pits - as my eldest complained that he had to go pee.  The only place we could really go was by an evergreen tree sort-of behind one of the kiosks - where there was a family sitting not 25 feet away watching me unsuccessfully block my son for 'privacy' (like he's so concerned) with a recyclable shopping bag while the other side was the parking lot of a mall that had perfectly clear view of my son doing his business.  I also almost lost my youngest when he took a wrong turn between tents.  Then my eldest (subconsiously) began to imitate one of the vendors voices as I bought buns from him - he had something wrong with his voice box or throat.  He spoke in almost a whisper.  He was very raspy and difficult to understand.  My son began to clear his throat and talk in the same raspy whisper to me right in front of the man.  Mortified.  (we had a clear discussion about that underneath this tree right after it happened - we'll see how that sunk in another day though it was really in pure innocence I'm sure)

Look at how happy we are!  (ok - so it was fun if a bit stressful - you take the
good with the nerve wrangling I suppose)  My kids ate a pound of cherries
between the two of them.  Don't ever let your kids eat that many cherries.
Ever.  It's an epic disaster of the worst kind.

This morning?  I did something I hate, hate doing.  I went swimming at an indoor swimming pool with my boys.  First of all - forget the fact that you have to wear a bathing suit in public which is never my idea of a good time - but I just have a thing about indoor swimming pools with all that humid, germ-filled air and who knows what in the pool - 'cause you know kids pee in the pool.  It's just an all around ickfest for me - not to mention all of the unnecessary nudity in the change rooms.  But I did it for them despite my discomfort and you know what?  We had so much fun.  We stayed so long in that pee infested water that our fingers and toes turned into raisins and I had to pretend to eat my little ones wrinkled up little hands to help him stop freaking out about it. (he has a thing about the feeling of pruney fingers - which, now that I think about it, I hated too as a child).

This is how I am determined to continue my summer with them.  This is how I hope to continue my summers going forward with them.  Markets, nature walks, swimming, balloon fights, bike rides, visits to farms. Sounds super idyllic right?  Riiight. Tomorrow we shall go strawberry picking which I'm sure will result in more eating than picking and I'll try my hardest not to get stressed out about it ... but like I said ... you gotta take the good with the stress inducing and just know that the good is what you'll (all) remember.

That's what you hope for anyway.

Nature Walk

"I have to go pee!"

"Okay...go run quick into the bushes." I said pointing to the rectangular shape of bushes beside the bright slides and black swings.

He did his business and then wandered over to the wooded area behind the park.

I knew where this was going to go.

The interest in the slides and monkey bars had waned quickly.

I sighed and protested.  I wasn't wearing the right shoes.

Truth be told...I wasn't wearing the right shoes...but it also never fails that I injure myself in those woods.  Right shoes or no right shoes.

My protests were half-hearted and they knew so.  Two against one. On they marched, their legs small and minds big.

Determined for adventure.

"AH! Ooof!  Man! That HURT!"  I yawped as my forehead met a sharp branch upon entering a 'whole new world'.

"Mummy where har you?" Finley yelled out.  I could see him plainly through sun dappled trees - standing in a small clearing looking around.  For me.  My heart cinched at his pronunciation of 'are' with the 'h' in front.  Ah the 2 year old verbal quirks.  I can't get enough.

"I'm right here Fin!" I said coming into the clearing.

"Awight Mummy?"

"Yes buddy, I'm alright."  My sensitive little one.  Concerned for others at such a young age.  That's my son, I thought proudly to myself.

"Mumma it's a whole new world in here.  I want to live here!"  Adrian proclaimed hiking confidently down an unbeaten path.

"Buddy - you're not on the path...why don't you come this way?"

"I'm on my own path - it's a path!"

Well.  I  couldn't argue with that now could I?  That's my son, I thought proudly once again.  May he always take the unbeaten path.

We came upon a large fallen tree.  Finley bent over at his waist excitedly pointing, "'Nake Mummy!  'Nake!"

I quickly walked over because the last time he saw a snake was in our back yard and I (shamefully) thought he was full of poppycock.  Sure enough - there was a not so small garter snake in our yard which I unsuccessfully tried to capture. (I had gardening gloves on.  I'm not that brave.)

This time it was just an wriggling, squiggly earth worm.  Adrian picked it up, eeked and dropped the poor thing. Finley decided the worm was looking for a 'nack which prompted a discussion on what worms eat.  We (not so) firmly decided on leaves and dirt? (quite honestly I have no idea but logic tells me that's about right - clearly, nature biologist I am not)  And then I forced them to sit beside me on the huge fallen tree trunk so I could take our picture.

I kept telling them to keep their sunglasses on - I was so paranoid one of their
beautiful eyes was going to get poked out by a random tree branch.  And that there was
poison ivy.  And we might encounter a bear.  Okay - so not really the bear BUT there was a bear
found in a park in this very city not a few weeks back!  It had to be shot!  True story!

We hiked on (though - really - it wasn't really hiking at all...we basically just stayed in the same little area, walking in circles).  Adrian found what looked like a shelter made from fallen tree branches.  There were rolled up old newspapers.  They kept calling it the 'scary spider tree' and Finley was not a fan.  It didn't help that we heard a squeal shortly after finding it (which happened to be from a little school girl I'm sure during a recess break - since we were behind an elementary school).

As you can see from Fin's expression, my kids tend toward the dramatic.
And stubborn - my eldest is wearing pajama pants.  I wasn't about to
wage war on that one.  I attempted and quickly lost steam.  At least he
was wearing pants.  Period.

"Okay guys, I'm getting hungry.  It's time to head out and go home for lunch."

"But Mumma - I really want to live here!"

"You do?  What would we eat?"

"Leaves!"  And with that he promptly ate a leaf.  And I prayed to God that it wasn't poisonous.  He unconvincingly "Mmm'd" with a smile.  Then spit it out.

"That's what I thought.  No more eating leaves.  You don't know what's peed or pooped on it."

"Like what?"

"A squirrel.  Or a bunny.  Or a bird."

"Or a skunk!"

"Ewwwwww!" my little one said with a scrunched up face.

"And what if it rained?  Where would we sleep?"

"Under that shelter!"

Of-course.  Why didn't I think of that?

"I think I like our house better.  Okay monkeys, let's rock and roll."

And off we trudged into the sunlit field with discussions of what we would be having for lunch.

It was certainly not going to be tree leaves.

The Ghosts of Boys Past

As I lifted the lid of another storage bin to sort through for our garage sale there it was.

A peachy-pink hued flower printed box stuffed full with memories of high school.

I knew it existed...of-course I did.  It was layered with paper thin pieces of me.  I'd seen it, peeked at it though not inside of it, a few times over the past dozen years but it wasn't until today that I decided to open That Memory Box.

And wow.  What an explosion of memories it was.

There were old movie stubs, dried flowers, a million pictures, cards, ticket stubs, some trinkets, two diaries...and letters.  Lots and lots of letters.

From friends old and some still current.  From ex-boyfriends.

I sat on the floor of my family room while my children, in turn, drove me bananas. I hugely reminisced...and cringed.  I also found poems that I wrote.  Tween-aged poems.  And they were not good.  Nooo.  In fact they were outwardly, flinch inducing BAD.  But I recall writing most of them.  With a heart heavy and stomach feeling full of stones.  Tears in my eyes and a shaky hand.

As adults we often mock and downplay our teenage angst.  It's like we didn't take that hormonal roller coaster of a ride in our life seriously.  But! If we were to go back there...to live that time all over again (not in a million)...those feelings would be just as real.  Those breaks up would be just as heart splitting.  Those emotions would be just as raw.  Living those years? - were serious.  And fun.  And life altering.  And soul gutting.

Today, I didn't keep any of those love notes, letters, cards or poems...though that boy that wrote those dark, intense poems to me?  He was actually quite good.  At writing.

It was somewhat entertaining though at the same time a bit .... agonizing - to read back all the heartbreak I endured....and all the heartbreak I gave.  Those letters, cards, poems from boys past?  They didn't belong in my life anymore.  They didn't belong in my life 10 years ago. To keep them would be for my ego only.  Besides that, I never want my sons' to read about the heart torment I gave to their own kind. I know there will come a day when I will have to deal with their heart break.  When they feel as if their soul is about to shatter into a million pieces.  There is no escaping the fact that this will happen and my heart will also break along with theirs ten fold knowing exactly what they're going through.

I hope they know they can come to me.  I will never shrug off their hurt.  I will never just pat their backs and tell them there are plenty of fish in the sea.  I will never tell them to get over it - that they will look back years from now and laugh it off.  Because maybe?  Maybe they won't.  Heart break - whatever  the age - needs to be acknowledged and felt - really down deep in the soul felt.  I will always encourage that.  For then they can move forward, safely keeping those scars in the heart there, not outwardly seen but emotionally available - if only to teach their son's, their daughter's the same empathy.

What the hell am I even doing?

The morning was filled with fun activities like water balloon bursting and running through sprinklers and painting outside on tacked up paper on the fence.

It was also filled with dealing with my challenging four year old son.  With his quick no's to my requests, his laughing in my face when I raised my voice, treating his little brother badly.  Outright disrespect that just about drives me to the point of feeling like I'm going to lose my mind.  If I haven't already lost it.

After a barely touched lunch, I began to clean up the kitchen.  The boys scampered up the stairs and I could hear them in one of the  bedrooms chattering, playing, probably jumping on the beds as I put the dishes away.

Out of nowhere the overwhelming feeling of not knowing what the hell I'm doing as a Mother - let alone one that is with her children 24/7 - seized it's dark hand around my soul and tears coursed unending down my face.

Who the hell claimed me qualified enough to do the most enormous job on earth?

No one, that's who.  

The thought made my mind and body exhausted.  Does any parent know what the hell they're doing?  Anyone?

I don't know - it seems there are parents that can handle their kids far better than I - and though some days I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job at this Motherhood gig...there are just as many that make me think I'm wandering this world of Motherhood alone.  Anxiety then hits me like a brick wall and I second guess everything I say and do.

Did my yelling out of sheer frustration scar him for life?  Should I play with him more?  I know I shouldn't let him watch so much Scooby Doo.  Do I play with them too much hindering their need for independent play?  Do I do too much for them?  Not enough?  They probably eat too many cookies.  At least their homemade.  Am I too strict about things that don't really matter?  Too lenient about matters that should be important?  Should they go to bed earlier?  I shouldn't tell him so much that he's driving me bananas.  Though I suppose it's better than telling him his never ending whining is bugging the living shit out of me.

It's this never ending commentary that circles my mind day in and day out.

After finishing tidying the kitchen I trudged tiredly up the stairs to find my sons' on the floor of my bedroom with the bed completely stripped down to the bare mattress and surrounded by what seemed like one hundred dvd's.

The tears began all over again.  The mess wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of the day - but it was enough to put me right over the edge.

"Really guys?  Really?! Clean all of those dvd's up right now!"

"No."  Always his answer as of late.

That did it.

I picked him up from the pile of chaos, walked across the hall to his room and promptly tossed him on his bed leaving the room and closing the door behind me.  I slid down the door as he banged on it, my body wracked with sobs.  My little one saw my state from his perch amongst the pile of mess across the hall and quickly crawled over and climbed into my lap, wrapping his sweet little arms around my neck, his cheek resting upon my shoulder.

And though it felt delicious and comforting, it made me cry even harder.

A Day of Firsts

There are many firsts in the life of a child that parents will mark down in their child's baby book.  The first smile, their first giggle, their first tooth, the first time they roll over.

As they get older and the baby books are left dusty and half forgotten on a high shelf in a closet, other firsts begin.

Firsts that we may not mark down but which stay with us, tucked in close to our hearts and minds.

***********************************************************************************

Lunch time began with plates of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, wedges of apple slices and cups of milk.  It was quiet as my boys munched away at the kitchen table on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

My husband's phone rang.  He answered it with his usual gregarious greeting of our neighbour's last name.

Except it wasn't the neighbour he thought it was.  Instead the voice was much higher and little boy like.  The voice of another 4 year old.

"Can Adrian come out a play?"

As I stood beside my husband at the kitchen counter cleaning up the dishes I heard the voice too.  We looked at each other and smiled.

Our son's first phone call.

He told Jonathan that Adrian would be out to play after lunch then hung up the phone and declared this to be a monumental moment in our eldest son's life.

He pointed to the calendar and announced that we needed to mark this day down!  Our son's first phone call!  I had no idea my husband could get so sentimental about a moment such as this, but here goes...

May 26, 2012 - Adrian's first phone call from his buddy Jonathan.

Later that early evening as an impromptu neighbourhood party somehow landed at our home, I stood in the same spot preparing a dinner feast for all.  A miniature dance party was happening in our basement.  Unbeknownst to me my son who received his first phone call from his friend earlier in the day was now having his first dance with the sister of his buddy Jonathan.  A beautiful five year old girl was showing my son the proper way to hold a female when dancing.

It was his first dance with a girl other than his Mumma.  And I missed it.

The first phone call, a first dance...these are glimpses into the window of the future to come.

Soon it will be the first call from a girl...

...his first dance as a married man.

Now that dance?  I wouldn't miss for all the money in the world.

He'd just better be sure to save a dance for his ol' Ma.

Denied a Dance (for the first time)

His face appeared round, flushed and expectant at the back door.  His small chest bare, clad in his Green Lantern bathing suit, he had one hand against the door, the other holding up an empty blue sippy cup.

I walked over and slid open up the heavy glass door.  He stepped into the cool air of our home and I quickly shut the door to keep out the heat of the day.  It was an unseasonably warm summer-like day.

"Hi angel!"

"Mummaaa!  I need more water.  But I want to put it in myself!"

I picked up his not so small body, too big to be carried really, but I still do.  I sat him on the edge of the sink.  Music played in the back ground.  A song I wanted to dance to with my son.

I turned on the faucet and we filled his cup together.  

"I want to put the top on!"

He placed the top on, twisting it to tighten it just so, without help from me.

For the first time

A sweet song by Bruno Mars (Count on Me) was playing.  I swooped him into my arms from the kitchen counter and into the small 'dancing area' of our living room and spun around.

He protested.  His little boy hands with blue sippy cup pushing gently against my chest.  Orange-summer-scented sunscreen surrounded us.  

Even still I twirled with him to the music.  

"It's booorrrring!  I want to go play with my friends!"

With a mixed smile and a small forced laugh I reluctantly conceded lowering his bare feet down onto the cool wooden floor.

He walked to the glass sliding doors where he'd come in from as I stood rooted to the spot where we'd briefly danced.

He opened the sliding glass doors, pausing briefly before exiting.  He looked back at me his smile perfect and happy.  

"It's a beautiful day!" he declared before stepped out into the bright sunshine, running across the hot deck to jump through the sprinkler with his friends.

Caught!

I walked into the kitchen to find this strategically placed on the counter by my four year old son.

He gets an A for effort - he even opened up the jar and that is not easy for little hands to do.

He does this once in a while.  Places items of food or drink on the counter when I'm not there and then disappears...as a not so subtle hint. It's usually things that he thinks I might say no to.  Food or drink items that I consider a once in a while indulgence.  (I've also found him 'hiding' underneath the kitchen table with a large spoon and container of Cool Whip.  Then there was that other time that he convinced his brother to join him up on the counter to eat a bag of marshmallows while I was trying to catch the last few minutes of the Regis and Kelly finale folding laundry upstairs - but ha! caught them in the act! They think they're sooo sneaky.)

No need to point out all the fatal parenting flaws going on in this picture.
A big fat parenting FAIL all over the place here.

I'm obviously not against this chocolate spread - being that it's in my cupboards and all.  And though I'm not a big fan of it myself due to having over indulged in it by about a thousand spoonfuls 4 years ago when my Danish neighbours introduced it to me, I can understand why it's appealing for most people, especially kids. (okay, okay.  So there may have been times since when I'm feeling a bit crazy for lack of chocolate and I grab a few fingerfuls spoonful.)

I'm not saying that I don't allow him have it on toast for breakfast once in a blue moon...(I'll admit that when it's the third week of my husband being away on business and he's having a freak out about needing to have a cookie for breakfast I'll hand it over without a second thought.  Child wears me down some days.) I would just rather him choose to eat something with a bit more nutritional value.

Like the Eggo waffles doused in butter and syrup that he had instead.  (Alright - so in my defense the waffles were whole wheat and the syrup was the delicious Canadian 'real' kind - which! by the way! is loaded with antioxidants!)

Anyway...I'm not sure of my point here.  I guess I just thought it was adorable and wanted to remember this as something he often does now before I forget and before he stops doing it.

Also?  When I went to look for him after finding the Nutella on the counter, I found him upstairs with suspicious smudges around his mouth that looked a lot like chocolate.

"What's that around your mouth Aidy?"

He looked in the nearby mirror then back at me with an expression that could only be described as sheepish.

Poor child of mine.

He obviously got his chocoholic tendencies from yours truly.

Excuse me while I go make my son a long overdue Nutella sandwich.

He is Home

I felt him awaken just as the sun was rising.  It was early.

He leaned over and kissed my cheek.  The sheets crumpled and twisted between us.  

"Good morning honey."

"Mm-hm." My eyes remained shut, my limbs heavy from sleep.

He pulled on his sweatshirt as he always does before he proceeds down the stairs to the kitchen.

I was alone and awake. Still so tired.

I could hear the crinkling sound of plastic as he emptied the garbage.

The running of water and clinking of dishes being emptied from the dishwasher.

The birds chirped pleasantly in the tree just outside our bedroom window.

The cool morning breeze flapped the blinds on our window and I turned over to my other side, pulling the covers over my bare shoulders, burrowing deeper beneath my duvet.

 My face feeling the chill, my body warm.

I could smell the delicious, pungent aroma of coffee brewing.

And I drifted.

Awoken again to the sound of my 2 year old's chatter-babble and abrupt giggles from large Daddy handed tickles on little boy bellies.

An out of the blue question from my eldest to his father, "Daddy can I come to work with you tomorrow?"  And the feeling of sweet relief from my husband's baritone-tender reply, "I'm not going to work tomorrow Aidy.  Daddy's staying home again with you."

The morning sunlight peered cheerful through the crack in the blinds and fell wonderfully optimistic through the open door of our bedroom, spilling yellow onto our beige carpet.

The scent of coffee heavy, rich and close, I peeked open my eyes to find my large black mug emblazoned white with 'The Boss' filled to the brim and now cool on my nightstand.

I stretched beneath the blankets and savoured the feeling of no urgency or must do's.

The birds sang peacefully, the sound of my boys playing happy and loud.

My husband's voice clear and loving, "Okay guys, how about we go downstairs now...we don't want to wake up Mummy."

My smile sleepy and serene.

It was a perfect start to the day.

He was home.

Golden Memories

I sat on my bike at what seemed like a very steep, long hill in front of our home.  When in reality, as a grown adult now, would probably be a not so long, not at all steep pathway.

But!  As a four year old little girl?  Very steep.  Very long.

My Dad ran alongside me a few steps and let go of the back of my bicycle seat.

Away I went.

And from the blurry memories..I recall I fell.

And fell.

And fell again.

But I don't remember the physical pain.

Nope.  Not a bit.  I was determined.

After a few times of failure I was let go once again...and there I went.

My strong, sturdy little legs pumped, to keep me going.

All by myself.

A child's first taste of freedom is the first time they learn to ride a bike.

All on their own.

I truly believe that.

***********************************************************************************

As my neighbour kindly pumped up the air in the tires of a bicycle I had been reunited with for the first time in 5 years I became excited.  I have so many wonderful memories of the adventurous (though not altogether safe! - helmets for bicycling did not exist - or were not enforced at all 'back then') bike rides my father would take us on.

As a teenager I often biked to school.  As an adult I once biked over 50 km.  For fun.

Once my kind neighbour had finished his neighbourly duty I strapped on my helmet and hopped on. My boys became quite enamored by the fact that I was actually on a bicycle too.  Or quite possibly I mistook their look of being enamored with amusement by how dorky I looked in my helmet.

I can't quite be sure.

I took a few spins on the road in front of our house and raced my eldest.

The exhilaration was still there.

A soul-spark was reignited.

We had decided to go for a quick ride around the block but ended up at a nearby school.  Just behind the school is a large pavemented area with spray painted games...not like the hop scotch 'back in my day' (really? did I just say that?!)...but games unfamiliar to my generation (really? again? MY generation!? Yikes) with lots of numbers and complicated patterns.  There was also a large yellow smiling face with the top of his head open like the lid on a cookie jar with symbols emerging from it and a statement that read beneath, "Fill your bucket".

I liked it.  (sounds much creepier than it looks)

It had rained that day but the sun had shone hot that afternoon so there were only a few puddles left.

Feeling like a kid again I peddled fast and furious, flying through the puddles with my legs up and out like a v-shape as the tires slashed through the water, splashing high.

"Wooooooo!"  I yelled...and of-course my boys followed.

We raced, we splashed, we woo-hooed!, we played 'bike tag' (much less risky than one would think - in fact I'm still a bit confused by the rules my four year old made up), we rode in circles, zig-zags and in straight lines.

It brought back a wonderful deluge of memories from when I was a young girl.

As the early evening white-gold warm sun shone upon us behind that school, I felt like I was looking down from above.  A huge smile on my face.

There are first moments for everything in life and this was another. For truly wonderful memories of my childhood had just come full circle.  


I didn't want to forget this one.  No.  Not at all.


This memory?  I wish to keep safely preserved.  


Beautifully golden.  


Strong, precious and untouchable.


And I wonder, as I often do when a moment with my children rings clear and authentic, if this will be one of their golden memories...

When He's Gone

"I am master of the bubbles!" my eldest declared from the tub of water and plenty of bubbles that almost reached his and his brother's neck.

"Master of the bubbles!" his little brother mimicked.

I was wiping down the bathroom counter, placing toothpaste on their brushes.  I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror.

Tomorrow would be Day Nine of my husband away.

Unsurprising that I looked more than a little pale.....completely exhausted.  But I noticed my mouth was drawn up listening to my son's chattering.

Friends often wonder how I do it.  Honestly speaking...I don't know how I do, other than the fact that I have no other choice.

When I know the day of departure is looming...it looms dark and foreboding.  But while he's gone I'm too busy to even think most days.  I just go, be, do.  Whatever must be taken care of...whoever must be taken care of.  I suppose I've gotten used to it.  The excessive travel that begins slowly in September and increasingly more frequent come the New Year.  I also suppose I should be thankful that the summer months he's here...but there are also the late nights and long days.  It's been over 6 years of this but the struggle for balance in both of our lives is constant.  Him, family over work...me...my boys over myself, over marriage.  It's not a new story and it causes a strain and a stress on the best of marriages.

I begrudge him the fancy dinners as I sit home and eat the boys leftover half eaten Kraft Dinner and chicken fingers.

He would rather be with us, eating a home cooked meal (which, when he's home, does not involve Kraft Dinner or chicken fingers - not that he would care in the least).

I begrudge him the fact that he's actually hanging out and having face to face intelligent conversations  with people the same age.

But I know he would rather be with us, listening to the  Superhero stories spun by our four and two year old, however hard they are to follow.

I begrudge him having undisturbed sleep in a beautiful hotel room, with room service.   Not having to clean up after himself.

But I know in my heart that with the dark of the night comes feelings of lonliness and longing for us.  Although I'm sure he is quite content not to have to clean up after himself.

It is the constant influx of emotions....the up-down...the wow - I am supermom - I tie dyed 5 shirts with my 4 year old today and didn't lose my mind.  Then comes the wow at bath time when I realize the green dye isn't coming off of his legs...and did I check the box to see if it was toxic free...and OMG will he get ink poisoning?!

What kind of Mother doesn't check to see if the dye is toxic free?!


What kind of Mother tye dyes FIVE shirts with her FOUR YEAR old son?!!!


And why am I calmest in situations I normally would lose complete patience but then yell at my boys when they won't stop goofing off and get ready for bed?  

Will they remember these moments?  Have I scarred them for life?!

"Close your eyes Mumma".  I sit on the boy's bumpy white plastic footstool in front of the tub that contains my sons, a million bubbles and lots of bath toys.

I close my eyes.

"Okay, you can open them now!"

I open them up to see the sopping wet blue washcloth folded and lumpy at the edge of the bath tub.

"Oh!  What's this?"

"A present for you!"

I carefully peel the dripping cloth away to find my gift.

An R2D2 toy.

I thank him profusely and he beams with pride.

He arrives home at the tail end of Mother's Day.

I hope his gift to me is just as heartfelt.

Though possibly a little bit more thoughtful.

10 Things I do Every.Single.Morning.

Listicles!!!  I love them. And so here I am again.  What do you do in one hour of your day?  Perfection.

Funny thing is, I was just thinking about this today as I was doing about 4 things at the same time. Folding laundry, cooking dinner, scolding my children and drinking wine.

It's a well known fact that women are born master multi-taskers.

That is why we make such great Mothers.

Here is my typical morning between the hours of 7am - 8am.  I stay at home with my boys so I have the luxury of not having to really 'be' anywhere which is nice, I will admit.  But that doesn't make my mornings any easier.

7am (this can vary between the 6 - 6:30...7 am is being extraordinarily optimistic here!) - awake to my 4 year old climbing into my bed, snuggling all warm and cozy with me under the covers and giving me the false impression that I can do the same...before he demands asks for juice.  I tell him Mummy just woke up and he needs to give me a few minutes.  He falls silent for about 1 minute...and then whines for juice again.

7:05 - stumble to the kitchen for said juice.  While I'm in the kitchen I figure I should probably start up some coffee so that I can begin to feel somewhat human.  (that's 2 things there right?)

7:10 - bring eldest juice, climb back into bed and pray to God that littlest doesn't start yelling for 'MUUMMMY' for at least another 20 minutes.

7:15 - littlest starts yelling for 'MUUUUMMMY!!!!'  I retrieve smallest child from crib and fail to change diaper as he screams, squirms and completely LOSES HIS SHIT when I even attempt to bring him near the change table.

7:20 - bring him into my bed, lie between him and his brother so as not to cause any disturbance and turn on Scooby Doo.  Try to fall back asleep but all I can smell is pee and little elbows and knees are jabbing me in places that should never see nor feel elbow or knees.

7:30 - Littlest says he's 'Hummy'.  In other words he's hungry and must have his morning dose of Cheerios with milk.  Stat.

7:35 - Descend the stairs with Mr Stinky Pee Pants on hip - pray that his diaper isn't so full he leaks onto my pj's, retrieve cereal box, pour cereal and milk into a bowl and bring to Master Finley who awaits on chubby kneecaps at his usual chair.

7:36 - Pour myself a massive cup of coffee with milk and sit with youngest at table.

7:40 - Youngest demands more milk.  Trudge over to fridge, retrieve milk, bring to table and pour more milk into bowl.

7:50 - Eldest yells from upstairs that the PVR'd Scooby Doo is done and he wants another - trudge upstairs to do as told.  Or else risk the wrath of Master Adrian.

7:52 - Rush back down the stairs to ensure smallest child does not choke on Cheerios.  Notice that he's finished his Cheerios and is now on his way to undressing himself right down to his stinkin' saggy diaper.  Which promptly I ignore.  I can't handle the hysterics of attempting that diaper change again.  I have yet to finish my coffee.

8:00 - Feed the dog.  Feed the plants.  Feed myself.

Oh wait.

That was more than 10 wasn't it?

The Stitches of my Heart

After a couple of story books and a Chapter from Charlotte's Web I tucked Adrian in on the top bunk, asked for a kiss which was deliciously and promptly given (as always). We said our 'I love you's'.

"To the moon and back, forever and ever and always...don't you forget it!"

As I climbed (mercifully) down the ladder (I don't remember those rungs hurting my feet so much as a child) I saw my littlest snug as a bug in the duvet on the bottom bunk.

Would tonight be the night?  For both of them to share the room, the bunk beds and all?

"Fin, do you want to sleep here or in your crib in your own room?"  He is, after all, an independent soul who craves his own space and doles out his affection at his own accord.  Do not push or invade into his personal territory.  You will be shunned.  Mercilessly so.  Not even a fake pout or cry will get you sympathy.  Not any more.  Not even to his own Mother.  This is not to say he is as prickly as a cactus, for he is not at all.  He loves giving hugs and gives the most scrumptious and juiciest of smooches.  But on his own time.  At his own free will.

Clingy girls of his future...be warned.  I fear for your broken hearts.

"Sleep here."  The decision was made.

I laid my head down beside his to ensure no after dark parties would be taking place whilst Mother's not around.

I hadn't lain beside my youngest for naps or bed time since he was a newborn babe.  I wondered how long it would take for him to settle.

After a couple "Hellooo down there's!" from Adrian on the top bunk calling through the crack where the bed and wall meet I heard some rustling and settling in.  Then quiet from above.

I laid on my side facing my little one.  Despite the black out blinds in the room the light from the evening sun spilled through the window of our foyer into the upstairs hallway and made it's way into the bedroom.

I closed my eyes and every now and then would peek out of one eye to see if he'd fallen asleep yet.

Every time I would meet his big blue eyes staring at mine, his zazzy (his own made up word for soother) making the adorable rhythmic up and down motion in his mouth.

I quickly shut my eye again.  I felt his fingers trace my face and tickle my lips.  I kissed his sweet fingertips.  Then pretending to munch on them.

Nom, nom, nom.

Belly giggles.  The best kind.

Finally.

Quiet.

Just as I thought sleep had descended and I could make a break for it, a shadow crossed my closed eyes.  I opened them up to find myself eye to eye with Sleepy Sheepy, Finley's impish face peeking out behind his off white fluffy ear.  I laid Sleepy Sheepy between us and we said good night again.

The shadow moved across my shut eyes once more.  And there they were again.

So this was what it was like to try and fall asleep with my little one.

Silly, sweet and a little restless.

Eventually Mr Sandman entered and all I could hear was the beautiful sound of deep, even breathing.

The sky was now darkened. I gave his soft warm cheek one last kiss good night and quietly made my way to the door.

I paused at the doorway giving one last wistful glance from the doorway at my sound sleeping sons.

In bunk beds.

My heart swelled until I felt it split open - just a tiny bit...like a seam on a well loved toy.

An unravelling in the stitches of my heart.

There would be more.

This was just the beginning.

My babies.

They were growing up.

The Wisdom of a Four Year Old

I surveyed my kitchen which looked like every cupboard including random food items from the refrigerator were strewn across my small counter space trailing into a pile in the sink.

Sighing with the thought of not knowing where to start I donned my pink rubber dish washing gloves.

I really hate the colour pink.


My boys ran into the kitchen and began rummaging through the drawer that housed the utensils they're allowed to play with and came up brandishing wooden spoons.

"Mumma!  Come play Harry Potter with us!  I will be Harry Potter and Finley can be the other boy and you can be the girl."

"Bud I just need to get these dishes done and then I can play...it's okay.  You guys go on ahead and play together."

I'll admit right now...playing imaginary games with my boys is not my forte.  Give me a hockey stick or a soccer ball.  A puzzle or a colouring book. A walk in the woods or even the park.  But imaginary play?  I suck at.  And truth be told...I would rather wash dishes than play imaginary Harry Potter.  Especially cast as the frizzy haired bossy curmudgeon with the unfortunate name of Hermione.  Why couldn't I be Ron?  He's funny!  And likable!  And I can pronounce his name!

"Pleeeease Mumma!  Come play!"

"C'mon Mummy!"  Even my 2 year old was in on it.

"I will play with you.  I promise.  Just give me 15 minutes to clean up the kitchen."  Quite possibly the game of Harry Potter might be done by then.  My fingers were crossed.

"What's gonna happen if you don't clean the kitchen?"

I stopped.  I looked at my 4 year old and my 2 year old's adorable faces.  Tilted up.  Staring at me expectantly.  With magical enthusiasm.  Their 'wands' held tightly in their little fists.

Ding.    Ding.   Ding.   


Ding.Ding.Ding!!!!!!


I pulled off my dreadful pink latex gloves one by one.

"What will happen Mumma?  Will the police come?"

Alright, alright kid.  You got me.  


I laughed and told him, "Nothing honey.  Nothing will happen if I don't clean up the kitchen right now.  Let me get my wand out..." as I reached into the drawer and retrieved the last available wooden spoon.

They say your children will teach you more than you will ever teach them.  How true that is. I learned some  very important lessons that day.

1.  Nothing actually does happen when you don't get the dishes done.  

2.  Imaginary play I may still be terrible at...but my sons' will cut me some serious slack.


3.  I can make a mean pair of Harry Potter glasses with cardboard, black electrical tape and an elastic.  Clearly I am much craftier and innovative than I've ever given myself credit for.

So he's missing some clothing.  But how can you not be impressed with that magical stance!??
(he even made me draw the scar on his forehead...except I put it on the wrong side)