They grow up too fast

 This morning during the whole 'Ahh! Must leave for work NOW!' madness, Bear was hollering for his shoes and I, half-paying-attention and on my way to the bedroom from a swooping run for the dryer and the sock bucket, was pointing out 'There, there, do you see them THERE' and was stopped by B's puzzled "Those aren't mine."

 

"What? Of course they're yours. I wore them yesterday when I was tromping around."

 

(I have big feet.)

Bear grabbed out another pair. "No, mine are here. See? Different colour."

 

"Well then whose are....." there was a pause before our eyes met in horrified realization.

 

Yesterday, I wore my son's shoes. All day. Comfortably.

 

Cass is TEN, and apparently going to be tall like his grandfather.

 

I am in so much trouble. I also need bigger bricks.

 

stories everywhere

I am surrounded by stories.

Books, yes, fables and fairies and cows and vampires and zombies and puppies and star-crossed lovers and winding country lanes and immigrant grandmothers and jockeys crashing over the finish line and pat the bunny and zorro drew his sword and there were three wise men wandering and junie b, world pioneer and yellow and blue make green and woodworking for the new century and my friend flicka and under a spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands and a quiet old lady, whispering hush.

And it's not just the books. My things tells stories, stories that I tell to my children in vain hopes they'll remember some of what I say, stories about Nana's charm bracelets and Neenaw's letter and the cabinet that my parents dragged in from a dumpster in a Chicago alley and refinished. How Mama came over the border to be here. How Gram would sing songs in the hallways in the middle of the night when it thunder stormed so her kids wouldn't be afraid and how their Papa always had treats in his pockets. How Granddad introduced you to Wallace and Grommit. How the first night we stayed here I woke up in the middle of the night and your fathers arm was over me and I thought huh. This is how it's supposed to be and went back to sleep.

Stories.

People tell stories, too - not only with their words or by making sentences but by how they are. Often their actions speak louder than their words ever could.  And when I see a head tilt, a flashing grin, a palm slid slowly along a countertop, I make note. I see the regret, the exultations, the sorrows, the hiding away.  I see.

People are stories too.

I've been writing lately, scribbling thoughts down (pen and paper! can you believe??) about a situation, a character that won't leave me, her thoughts and background and friends and what her grandfather wore to work each day

and nothing will probably come of it. I am a master at leaving my stories gasping and half-written.

But in the meantime, I'm having fun discovering her life and what she thinks. As you would,


if you'd only stop to see some of the stories around you.

walls of stink

I realized tonight my house is full of scent. Not the usual 'mmm what's for supper' stuff, but scent.

My dishwasher - and hence, the dishes -  smell like lavender.
B bought new laundry detergent, Apple Mango (Madness?) Something, and it makes our clothes smell like bubble gum.

The kids' shampoo smells like peonies, while mine is a blend of erm... musk and chrysanthemum green, and B's is minty and cool.

The dog smells like dog, at least, although his ear meds make him smell a little fruity. And we'll be polite and not talk about his back end. It too smells like....dog.

The cats litter is almost too scented (mm! Overly-perfumed clay!), but since I have three cats, frankly the stuff could be asbestos and rhino toe-clippings, and I wouldn't care.

The downstairs reeks of Swiffer fluid and Pine Sol and oil soap and Fantastik and oven cleaner (okay, for tonight, anyway) and the bathroom smells like scrubbing bubbles and soapy steam.

Tonight, I'll go to bed on my Apple Mango Bubblegum  sheets and wish it was warm enough to sleep with a window open, and wonder....just why is it that we're all so afraid of just smelling like....ourselves?

may the circlet be unbroken

He wore his wedding ring tonight.

We had to hunt to find it - years of working as a paramedic and having it tucked away in a 'safe'place made it an odyssey to find - but now it's back on his finger and it's funny, how something so small, so inconsequential, so unimportant in day-to-day life makes me flood with love and fondness.

He's never really worn it. For special occasions, and whenever we go back over the border, sure. But Wednesday-night-to-watch-the-hockey-game? Never.

And it surprises me how good it makes me feel to see it.

Random, random, random

Damn, I love living here.

Spent the day carousing with my friend while B sawed huge trees down (yay for forestry!) and our children ran wild and free. They went swimming again (in May! Loons, all of them) and came home , happy and saturated with the joy of it all.

My friend and I are planning a Mothers Day event for the school, and so we've been sorting tea services, finding appropriate costumes, and finding props. (Hey, it can be hard to disguise a gym, especially without the benefits of crepe paper or the gentle blurring of dusk) so it'll be props. Props a'plenty. We're practically rummaging through attics, shouldering aside the elderly. "You don't mind if I borrow your precioussssssssssssssssss, do you?"

I kid, of course. But this 'do is going to be a very cool thing.

I'm watching a show on tv called ER Vets. Reality tv featuring sad, hurting animals that come in, are treated, and (mostly) bound off at the end, happy owners and doctors smiling  while they gambol off into the sunset.
My question is WHO are these owners that don't BLINK when the vet cocks her head and says 'I think he'll need an MRI then some Xrays, and maybe some exploratory surgery before we do that root canal.'

And (I swear) the people trip all over themselves to nod, nod, yes, yes, where do I sign, not at ALL huddling in the corner of the exam rooms weeping and caressing their Mastercards (which is probably where I'd be.)
Not that I don't love my pets. ('Cause I do.) But I love eating, too. And making house payments.

The school fight grinds on. grumble grumble grumble. This may be one of those things where waiting to see what happens next is hard but necessary. And I'm not a patient person.

I've been playing Words With Friends a lot lately. I may actually  gather up the nerve to challenge my grandfather to a game soon. (Maybe. Grandpa likes to play with words. And he's crafty.)

Told you this was random.....

helping the kids

I've told you about the village school.

 How it cemented my resolve to move here (I mean, come on! A tiny little school still running? Still open? Still happily and joyfully used?) I came from a land of BIG schools, of being one of four third grades, of never really having an identity in a large class. I looked at the schoolhouse and fell in love.

Here, there is instant recognition and a continuity of place. Here, the children are taught traditions and new technology - both roots and wings - while learning everything they need to excel in whatever they decide to do. Here, there is always love.

But here there isn't always money. Our beautiful and perpetually sunny breakfast program lady- the one that gives our children healthy, fresh choices to start their days with - entered a contest run by a local insurance company. Winning this could give our school a $500.00 cushion for morning bellies - and 500 dollars buys a lot of yogurt and cheerios, scrambled eggs and fresh fruit.

It's easy to enter. All you have to do is follow this link and like the picture.

That's it.

the link is here: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=360622940657050&set=a.354415057944505.99387.214517711934241&type=1&theater

Thank you so, so much.

it's going to be a long night

Up with a suddenly-sick Roo and remembering when she was small. Heck, I even put on an Disney film (I think it's Disney - the one with the cows that save their farm?) and curled her up on the sofa, just like when she was an eence. Fed her some ibuprofen and some ice cream, small sips of lime soda (okay, I was out of ginger ale) and patted her hair until she drowsed. She looks so little when she sleeps.

Today was a great day. Browsed a local 'old nice stuff' shop, had a lovely lunch with a friend, played with the kids outside. It was a great way to finish up a year

In the morning, I turn forty-one. I can't wait.
Well, not so much the age, because that doesn't seem to matter so much now that it's not really a landmark year, but for all the great stuff that I think - no, I'm sure - is going to happen over the next year.

I'm actually pretty excited. Now, if I could just get my daughter not-sick and off the couch....

the girl in the pink shirt and the pink and yellow cap

THIS girl. Is growing up way too fast. 

I need bigger bricks.

traffic stop

I took the curve in front of the grocery too fast.

My mind was elsewhere, full of the daily hubbub, the usual go-here-go-there-are-we-getting-low-on-that that runs as background most busy days.

So I pulled out too fast. And stared, incredulously, as a telephone pole (was that there before?) was suddenly in my way, filling my vision.

I swallowed hard, feeling the echo of what-could-have-been deep in my chest, the THUD, the disjointedness of the moment, the sudden silence. Air bags? A screech of brakes? WHUMP and a disjointed did-I-do-that?-shit-I-did-that and an overwhelming desire to turn the clock back just a few minutes. The sheepishness of the crumpled car.

It seems the body does remember  - I've been in one car crash, and it was 24 (twenty-four???) years ago. This was visceral, deep and automatic.

Swallowing hard, I took my foot off the gas, and turned neatly past the pole.


I will never pull out of the grocery parking lot so quickly again.

lunch lady

Today is my day to fix lunch at the school.

 Peeling, chopping (because our kids get the freshest and the healthiest, and that involves prep) stirring. Soon I'll start laying out the plates. 23 today (I need to double check that, actually) but I'm spellbound by the view out of the kitchen windows.

 The playground is momentarily quiet, the grassy fields just beginning to hint at restless spring green, and waiting for soccer balls and chasing games through the nearby woods. The hum of lessons seeps through the corridor - a delighted cheer, a piping far away 'You got it! Now try the next one.' The secretary laughs in her office down the hall and there's someone in the bathroom taking a very long time to wash their hands.

 This school means everything to this place, and to these kids.

 How could anyone say that this place - this joyful, encouraging place - isn't worth keeping and isn't the best thing for our children? This is their home, their base, their breath.

 This is where every teacher knows every student and their parents)and can greet brothers and sisters not-yet-old-enough-to-attend by name. Where parents are welcome and volunteers smile when they see the kids.

 This school constantly tries to be different for their pupils - to make memories. There is a big fish-tank in the office fill of just-hatched salmon eggs (the kids will release them this spring into the river that flows through our village) and the kids come to stare all-agog and comment between classes. This school houses an offshoot public library, hosts pilates and other self-help groups, regularly invites in local authors to speak to the children, and was an award winning entry in the region-wide Community Christmas Decorating contest.

Later this week there will be a giant Easter Egg hunt on the grounds. Pre-schoolers are also invited, because this open-hearted school wouldn't leave out the small ones in the community. There will be sightings of the Easter Bunny and mysterious golden eggs. It will be a good time. Why would it be any other way?

This school, this cherished, lovely snug little school, is under review. Under threat of closure. And I say again, why?

Don't try and tell me this school isn't good enough for my children.  For our children.

Because it's better than good enough. For them, it's their world.

And that's better than enough.