"I broke up with him" . Her voice was small almost sheepish.
I stopped what I was doing and hugged her. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want to tell me why?"
"He was a jerk."
"Could you be more specific?"
"A friggin jerk."
I hugged her again. "I'm sorry Sweetie. Do you want to talk?"
she sighed into my sweater and pulled me close. "Not yet."
I had to let her go. She dragged upstairs. I heard the soft sniffling. I frowned. This is the crappy part of motherhood; when you can't take away their hurt. In some ways it made our upcoming vacation a little more exciting. She'd be away for a few days; having fun, swimming, sunshine and new people. Meeting new people always makes Maddie happy. Such a love.Not much time went by before she was at my side wanting to talk.
"He was mad at me because I was talking to ******."
"Just talking?"
"Yeah."
"And..."
"And that isn't right. I have lots of guy friends."
I sighed. "Yes, and that will be tough some times."
"Was I wrong?"
"What does your heart say?"
"He was a jerk."
"Okay, well, I've been a jerk before; lots of times. Your daddy's been a jerk sometimes...But I didn't break up with him."
"You're married."
"So? Even marriages break up."
"You love each other."
"Yes we do but we're friends first. That's the most important thing. We fight FOR each other."
"We aren't married."
"Whew. That was my next question."
She smiled and twirled her hair. So beautifully confused. I wouldn't go back to those years for anything. Her cell rang. It was him. We looked at it and then each other as if it were a squirming ball of worms. "What do I do?"
"Answer it?"
"And sayyyy..."
"Hello?"
"You are not always so quick for a writer Mom."
Her voice mail went off. She listened intensely and ran out the door.
I was suddenly alone but only for a second for the door slammed open and she came puffing in, arms full: a rose (chocolate) a little stuffed kitty with the word "peace" stitched on it and a CD. I held out my hand.
"Give it"
"Mine."
"No. Not yet. Give it."
"MOOOOOM...."
"I'm not horsin... (the words said when I am done being wishy washy)"
She chuffed and sank as I put it in and played it.
The video will appear shortly. I looked at her and the tears were just pouring down her cheeks.
"Mommy, help me." was all she could say. I grabbed her and rocked back and forth. I smoothed her hair and kissed her head over and over. There was a hot stone in my chest. It felt as if it weighed a million pounds. It was too heavy for me too even cry. At this moment, all I wanted was to pull her inside me and make it okay. Protect her and tell her she would survive. She was crying so hard she was shaking. My little girl's heart was at stake.
"Listen to me Bunny."
"I thought I did the right..." her voice hitched.
"Listen.." I tried to soothe her. A couple tears of my own slipped down my cheek. "What does your heart say? You are feeling something for a reason. Trust it."
"I'm mad at him."
"And this won't be the last time. Does your reaction fit his action?"
She stopped and stared at the peace offerings. "I'm confused."
"You're supposed to be."
"This sucks Mom."
"Yes, it does. I'm sorry."
The phone rang. We didn't move. "Everyone makes mistakes. You learn from them."
"Maybe he'll learn not to be jealous?"
"Maybe you'll learn not to be hot headed."
"Maybe we could work on it."
"Maybe you should tell him that."
She smiled and headed for her room. "Wait, Hon, you can stay here. I'll go. But did you listen to the words?"
She nodded. Music is part of the foundation of our family. We play a music game in my house (some of you have enjoyed it also...) so she had to know this was coming.
"He's not a convict Mom."
"Does he wear colors?"
She shoved me. "Quiiiiiit it."
"Bail? Do we need bail money?"
She laughed. "Yeah Ma, and I'm his..." she didn't say it but her dark brown eyes lit up and her eyebrows wiggled. "Can you take me to prison on Thursday? It's visitation day..."
Oh Dear LORD, she will be the death of me and I will die laughing. I love my Bunny.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Outcast
Each day is the same. I march down to the bus stop and wait with other mothers for the yellow submaraine to whisk our kids off to school. There are several boys and of course they can get a little rowdy. They're boys; it's what they were made to do. But there are some moms who don't get that.
"Your pants will get dirty."
"Your feet will get wet."
"Zip your coat. Put up your hood. Where are you gloves?"
"Stay on the sidewalk. Don't.... don't.. DON'T!"
Ugh. It drives me nukin futs. Yes, I'd like it if his shoes stayed tied. You bet I'd like to have a day where each hair on his head didn't want to stand straight up in a different direction. Of COURSE I'd love for him to dress like a little man in business attire. But he's my Boo and that ain't happenin. He does his best and I love 'im; as is.
It snowed here and there are a few patches of ice scattered at "dangerous points" all around the bus stop. This means that none of the other boys are allowed NEAR any of it. They could get hurt. It's not that I don't think Boo won't, but he'll learn. If it hurts when you do that....
Today was different. I was tired of the reproachful looks between the other mothers. I'm the rebel in the bunch (or neglectful mother as I've heard whispered...not that they gossip. Heavens NO!) Regardless, there was this patch of ice that had splintered. Chunks were easy enough to pick up and throw. It only took a little stomping (and a strategically placed high heel ...clicky shoes. Gotta love em.) to get what we needed.
"Here Boo. Hurry up!" I giggled and handed him a couple of shards.
He laughed and took off up the street to the edge of our cul-de-sac where he heaved them. They shattered and skittered across the main road. He skipped back to me. I handed him a bigger piece. This went on until he shouted "Live one!" and we ran back to the safety of the "real mothers" who stared at me, shifting their weight from foot to foot and rolling their eyes. Too bad Baby. You're the one missin out on all the fun.
Along came a Lexus SUV. It slowed down at first, the driver uncertain if it was glass but seeing us hunched down like we were playing an illegal dice game and yelling "C'mon C'MON!" he smiled and swerved.
Crrrrrunch
"Woooo HOOOO!" and we gave the touchdown signal, high-fiving each other until our palms stung.
Slowly but surely the other boys began to gather.
"Hey Mrs. S...break one off for me. I want to do it."
Not wanting to get under anyone's skin (more than I do already; it's a gift. I work hard at it.), I would tell them to ask.
"Of course not. Someone's going to get hurt." more looks.
But I kept crunching and we kept tossing. Then came the coup-de-gras. It was HUGE. Ben could barely lift it. The other boys left the sidewalk, unable to contain themselves. The other moms gave bored sighs and glared at me. I clapped and hopped up and down.
"Hurry up Guys!! She's coming! She's COMING." The yellow submarine was sauntering up the road. Time was of the essence. With careful precision, they broke the mammoth in to pieces and scattered it. She was coming closer. They scurried for their book bags and waited.
"Crush it! Crush it! Smash-it-into-bits!" They kept chanting. The excitement was building. The road was frosty and glittered with ice dust. We waited for a grinding and shattering unheard by human ears in the history of winter.
She rolled up. Nothing. Not one pop.
"AAAAWwwww! No WAY!" we wailed. The bus driver laughed and shook her head. The disappointment was palpable. My shoulders sank. The other mothers gave each other little happy snippit smiles. I kissed Boo's head and watched him get on the bus.
Getting into my car and heading to the office, I took an extra minute to crunch up that ice. Giggling and I think my tongue poked happily out of the corner of my lips, I drove over it like an obstacle course; cheerfully waving to the other moms as they headed to some one's house for coffee and "chit chat". I wasn't invited but imagined I'd be there in spirit; or topic.
Boo got home and rushed to me, all pink cheeked and breathless. I love that look; that smell (of cold, ice and kid. It's kind of like when they get out of the shower. You just can't breathe in enough of the purity...ahhhh I love it.) I hugged him enjoying the sting of his freezing cheeks against my warm ones.
"Somebody hit it! Smashed it to bits!" he laughed.
"You got it in the right spot?"
"We MUST have. You should SEE it. It's TOTAL dust!" and he laughed. "That was fun today Mom."
I'm glad I don't always fit in.
I hope you ruffle a couple of feathers, make your own way, and enjoy your"self" today. Be your own hero and play a little. Thank you for thinking of me and coming to sit a minute. Until next time.
"Your pants will get dirty."
"Your feet will get wet."
"Zip your coat. Put up your hood. Where are you gloves?"
"Stay on the sidewalk. Don't.... don't.. DON'T!"
Ugh. It drives me nukin futs. Yes, I'd like it if his shoes stayed tied. You bet I'd like to have a day where each hair on his head didn't want to stand straight up in a different direction. Of COURSE I'd love for him to dress like a little man in business attire. But he's my Boo and that ain't happenin. He does his best and I love 'im; as is.
It snowed here and there are a few patches of ice scattered at "dangerous points" all around the bus stop. This means that none of the other boys are allowed NEAR any of it. They could get hurt. It's not that I don't think Boo won't, but he'll learn. If it hurts when you do that....
Today was different. I was tired of the reproachful looks between the other mothers. I'm the rebel in the bunch (or neglectful mother as I've heard whispered...not that they gossip. Heavens NO!) Regardless, there was this patch of ice that had splintered. Chunks were easy enough to pick up and throw. It only took a little stomping (and a strategically placed high heel ...clicky shoes. Gotta love em.) to get what we needed.
"Here Boo. Hurry up!" I giggled and handed him a couple of shards.
He laughed and took off up the street to the edge of our cul-de-sac where he heaved them. They shattered and skittered across the main road. He skipped back to me. I handed him a bigger piece. This went on until he shouted "Live one!" and we ran back to the safety of the "real mothers" who stared at me, shifting their weight from foot to foot and rolling their eyes. Too bad Baby. You're the one missin out on all the fun.
Along came a Lexus SUV. It slowed down at first, the driver uncertain if it was glass but seeing us hunched down like we were playing an illegal dice game and yelling "C'mon C'MON!" he smiled and swerved.
Crrrrrunch
"Woooo HOOOO!" and we gave the touchdown signal, high-fiving each other until our palms stung.
Slowly but surely the other boys began to gather.
"Hey Mrs. S...break one off for me. I want to do it."
Not wanting to get under anyone's skin (more than I do already; it's a gift. I work hard at it.), I would tell them to ask.
"Of course not. Someone's going to get hurt." more looks.
But I kept crunching and we kept tossing. Then came the coup-de-gras. It was HUGE. Ben could barely lift it. The other boys left the sidewalk, unable to contain themselves. The other moms gave bored sighs and glared at me. I clapped and hopped up and down.
"Hurry up Guys!! She's coming! She's COMING." The yellow submarine was sauntering up the road. Time was of the essence. With careful precision, they broke the mammoth in to pieces and scattered it. She was coming closer. They scurried for their book bags and waited.
"Crush it! Crush it! Smash-it-into-bits!" They kept chanting. The excitement was building. The road was frosty and glittered with ice dust. We waited for a grinding and shattering unheard by human ears in the history of winter.
She rolled up. Nothing. Not one pop.
"AAAAWwwww! No WAY!" we wailed. The bus driver laughed and shook her head. The disappointment was palpable. My shoulders sank. The other mothers gave each other little happy snippit smiles. I kissed Boo's head and watched him get on the bus.
Getting into my car and heading to the office, I took an extra minute to crunch up that ice. Giggling and I think my tongue poked happily out of the corner of my lips, I drove over it like an obstacle course; cheerfully waving to the other moms as they headed to some one's house for coffee and "chit chat". I wasn't invited but imagined I'd be there in spirit; or topic.
Boo got home and rushed to me, all pink cheeked and breathless. I love that look; that smell (of cold, ice and kid. It's kind of like when they get out of the shower. You just can't breathe in enough of the purity...ahhhh I love it.) I hugged him enjoying the sting of his freezing cheeks against my warm ones.
"Somebody hit it! Smashed it to bits!" he laughed.
"You got it in the right spot?"
"We MUST have. You should SEE it. It's TOTAL dust!" and he laughed. "That was fun today Mom."
I'm glad I don't always fit in.
I hope you ruffle a couple of feathers, make your own way, and enjoy your"self" today. Be your own hero and play a little. Thank you for thinking of me and coming to sit a minute. Until next time.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Nothing but the weekend
Needing to take a breather, we zipped up to Promises. My results were in and we were happily celebrating. It was instant decompression for me. I unlocked the door and it was like opening a mental soda bottle: "Pshhhhhht ....sigh. aaaah. Good stuff."
But I didn't just lie around and bask in mental peace and stress relief. Oh no.
We played a wicked game of Scattegories: a game where you list things (a professional athelete, furniture, a car, things you throw away...) but they must all begin with the same letter (determined by a die that is rolled) This you must do in a set amount of time. Half the fun is arguing your answers. I won. In fact, I spanked everyone at the table. Maddie was a close second, losing only by thirty-four. I'm actually surprised anyone would play with me.
There was the weather. I have to tell you that I had more children with me than degrees outside. Regardless, we bundled up and went down to the dock for a friendly game of hockey. Two words that don't usually coexists: friendly, hockey. No one is permanently damaged so let's call it a success.
I used to skate. Used to. I could do camels, and graceful little turns a few jumps; a wee bit of self-taught figure skating. Cute stuff when you're young. Now I look like a purple albatross trying to take off. I'm the worst one for "high sticking" but the only danger I pose is to myself. My kids think it's hilarious and if I were to show the footage, you'd all concur. But I'm stingy. Take my word for it. In the back of my mind, I'm Lil Dorothy Hamil in my pretty white skates. In reality I could be, only if she'd downed a litre of Petron, and had never skated before.
Then there's Cheech. Now HE used to play hockey, so I am envious of his grace and speed. He gets in there and gets all gritty. Whew! I LOVE it. But remember, I just choo-choo around the ice and say "shit" a lot.
But the kids are awesome. They zoom around and swipe the puck, stop it slap it across the lake and jet after it all while jumping and I swear SKIPPING across the glassy frozen tundra that is our lake...stupid kids. They call their own penalties and fix them before I get over there. I assume this is a time saving measure. In zero degree weather, every minute counts. Who the heck wants to wait on "Grimace" while she waddles and flaps over here? Hurry up!
"N!"
-click-
"H!"
-click-
"L!--GOOOOO!" While they speed by almost knocking their old mother down, I'm left going the wrong direction. Whippersnappers. That's what they are. Get me my Geritol and a Manhattan. I think I cracked my spine. My eyelashes hurt.
CRAAACK!"PENALTY SHOT!"
WHOOOOOSH. I'm almost spun around by the little monsters. NOW I have to turn around. Crap! Where's the damn puck?
*skritch...scoot...scriiitch....scoot* Almost...there...I can see the children now. Oh my eyes are watering and my nose is wet. "Hey! Wait for me...."my voice falters as I begin to waive furiously; not out of friendship either.
"Never mind Mom. We got it."
"Oh. Did I do it? I wasn't even near the puck."
"Uhhh Yeah. High sticking again."
"But I can't balance. The ref sucks."
"Mom. Maybe you should take a break or keep your stick down."
"Maybe you should be quiet or you're grounded."
"DAAAAAAAD!"
"Penalty shot."
stupid game.
So spending most of my time on the penalty dock or on my arse on the ice, I love this game and can't say enough nice things about it.
..... Scattegories anyone?
Hey, All. Hope you had a good weekend. I am tied up in two competitions and will (of course) try the verbal sampler platter here with you good people when they are finished. Thanks for stopping by. I enjoy your visits. Stay warm.
But I didn't just lie around and bask in mental peace and stress relief. Oh no.
We played a wicked game of Scattegories: a game where you list things (a professional athelete, furniture, a car, things you throw away...) but they must all begin with the same letter (determined by a die that is rolled) This you must do in a set amount of time. Half the fun is arguing your answers. I won. In fact, I spanked everyone at the table. Maddie was a close second, losing only by thirty-four. I'm actually surprised anyone would play with me.
There was the weather. I have to tell you that I had more children with me than degrees outside. Regardless, we bundled up and went down to the dock for a friendly game of hockey. Two words that don't usually coexists: friendly, hockey. No one is permanently damaged so let's call it a success.
I used to skate. Used to. I could do camels, and graceful little turns a few jumps; a wee bit of self-taught figure skating. Cute stuff when you're young. Now I look like a purple albatross trying to take off. I'm the worst one for "high sticking" but the only danger I pose is to myself. My kids think it's hilarious and if I were to show the footage, you'd all concur. But I'm stingy. Take my word for it. In the back of my mind, I'm Lil Dorothy Hamil in my pretty white skates. In reality I could be, only if she'd downed a litre of Petron, and had never skated before.
Then there's Cheech. Now HE used to play hockey, so I am envious of his grace and speed. He gets in there and gets all gritty. Whew! I LOVE it. But remember, I just choo-choo around the ice and say "shit" a lot.
But the kids are awesome. They zoom around and swipe the puck, stop it slap it across the lake and jet after it all while jumping and I swear SKIPPING across the glassy frozen tundra that is our lake...stupid kids. They call their own penalties and fix them before I get over there. I assume this is a time saving measure. In zero degree weather, every minute counts. Who the heck wants to wait on "Grimace" while she waddles and flaps over here? Hurry up!
"N!"
-click-
"H!"
-click-
"L!--GOOOOO!" While they speed by almost knocking their old mother down, I'm left going the wrong direction. Whippersnappers. That's what they are. Get me my Geritol and a Manhattan. I think I cracked my spine. My eyelashes hurt.
CRAAACK!"PENALTY SHOT!"
WHOOOOOSH. I'm almost spun around by the little monsters. NOW I have to turn around. Crap! Where's the damn puck?
*skritch...scoot...scriiitch....scoot* Almost...there...I can see the children now. Oh my eyes are watering and my nose is wet. "Hey! Wait for me...."my voice falters as I begin to waive furiously; not out of friendship either.
"Never mind Mom. We got it."
"Oh. Did I do it? I wasn't even near the puck."
"Uhhh Yeah. High sticking again."
"But I can't balance. The ref sucks."
"Mom. Maybe you should take a break or keep your stick down."
"Maybe you should be quiet or you're grounded."
"DAAAAAAAD!"
"Penalty shot."
stupid game.
So spending most of my time on the penalty dock or on my arse on the ice, I love this game and can't say enough nice things about it.
..... Scattegories anyone?
Hey, All. Hope you had a good weekend. I am tied up in two competitions and will (of course) try the verbal sampler platter here with you good people when they are finished. Thanks for stopping by. I enjoy your visits. Stay warm.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friggin Dogs.
I'd like to say that nothing's been going on here, but that isn't true; a lot has. I will confess that I have been nail biting and pacing the floor for the last several days. I had some not so pretty test results come back and we've been forced to wait and see; neither of which is a strong suit for me.
I've tried to be patient and not be edgy or gruff with the kids. If I snap, I trip over my words and explain myself. They've been great. Best of all they've been forgiving of my bad mood.
The dogs? That's another story. They pick up on my tension and frustration. It has had quite an effect on them.
Winston has decided that each and every corner, chair/table/couch leg, cupboard and dresser are his and subsequently shoud smell like him. Yep. He's been a whizzing MACHINE. He only weighs fourteen pounds and by the amount of Bounty ('cause it IS the quicker picker upper) paper towels I've used, ten of it is pee. FABULOUS. Well, in the Mommy/doggie world, I do NOT count to three. I don't count. Winston has spent a consideable amount of time in prison. I believe he now has a homemade Mom tattoo on his upper shoulder...nice ink...but you still don't get parolled Bud. I found a damp spot and it's too high to blame on your "sister".
Yes, in fact let's discuss your SISTER. She is a thief. A klepto. A sneak. As I've written before, she steals things that belong to us and hides them in her cage. This makes them hers in her k-9 mind. In the last few days I have retrieved:
two razors (mangled and chewed)
ink pen skeletons (only the spring and half of the shell remain)
a stuffed piglet
two bars of soap
a roll of toilet paper
Leggos (countless and shapless)
a fingernail clipper
my favorite sunglasses
miscellaneous pencils and erasers (only the smell of chewed wood and wet rubber linger)
my blackberry
my iPod
These latter two were untouched but hidden under the stuffed pig She was lucky, or she'd have been the one STUFFED...and on my mantle up north. Friggin dog. It's not that she doesn't have toys or rawhides or reindeer hooves or SOMETHING puppy-ish to chew. She simply pulls a Wynona and lives for the thrill.
Friggin dogs.
So today, I was finished with all my testing and feeling pretty good. I came home and loved the dogs, played with them...tried to reassure them. I must have failed somewhere in my dog line of communication. I've never claimed to be a "whisperer". They got me good though. One last horrah?
Winston has decided that he likes gum. Juicy Fruit to be exact and he promptly pulled an unusally large amount out and sat down SAT DOWN to a snack. The only reason I caught him was he was smacking his lips and coughing up tin foil. He looked as if he found something funny in the carpet. I think he was really trying to hide what he was doing. Parole violation, in ya go!
For Birdie's grand finale, she has decided to pull all the laundry into her cage. Yep, all the shirts, towels...everything. There is almost no room for her...stolen leggos. I could barely see her all balled up in my sweatshirts and yoga pants.
Well, I admit they've given me a different focus. I should be grateful.
Friggin dogs.
I've tried to be patient and not be edgy or gruff with the kids. If I snap, I trip over my words and explain myself. They've been great. Best of all they've been forgiving of my bad mood.
The dogs? That's another story. They pick up on my tension and frustration. It has had quite an effect on them.
Winston has decided that each and every corner, chair/table/couch leg, cupboard and dresser are his and subsequently shoud smell like him. Yep. He's been a whizzing MACHINE. He only weighs fourteen pounds and by the amount of Bounty ('cause it IS the quicker picker upper) paper towels I've used, ten of it is pee. FABULOUS. Well, in the Mommy/doggie world, I do NOT count to three. I don't count. Winston has spent a consideable amount of time in prison. I believe he now has a homemade Mom tattoo on his upper shoulder...nice ink...but you still don't get parolled Bud. I found a damp spot and it's too high to blame on your "sister".
Yes, in fact let's discuss your SISTER. She is a thief. A klepto. A sneak. As I've written before, she steals things that belong to us and hides them in her cage. This makes them hers in her k-9 mind. In the last few days I have retrieved:
two razors (mangled and chewed)
ink pen skeletons (only the spring and half of the shell remain)
a stuffed piglet
two bars of soap
a roll of toilet paper
Leggos (countless and shapless)
a fingernail clipper
my favorite sunglasses
miscellaneous pencils and erasers (only the smell of chewed wood and wet rubber linger)
my blackberry
my iPod
These latter two were untouched but hidden under the stuffed pig She was lucky, or she'd have been the one STUFFED...and on my mantle up north. Friggin dog. It's not that she doesn't have toys or rawhides or reindeer hooves or SOMETHING puppy-ish to chew. She simply pulls a Wynona and lives for the thrill.
Friggin dogs.
So today, I was finished with all my testing and feeling pretty good. I came home and loved the dogs, played with them...tried to reassure them. I must have failed somewhere in my dog line of communication. I've never claimed to be a "whisperer". They got me good though. One last horrah?
Winston has decided that he likes gum. Juicy Fruit to be exact and he promptly pulled an unusally large amount out and sat down SAT DOWN to a snack. The only reason I caught him was he was smacking his lips and coughing up tin foil. He looked as if he found something funny in the carpet. I think he was really trying to hide what he was doing. Parole violation, in ya go!
For Birdie's grand finale, she has decided to pull all the laundry into her cage. Yep, all the shirts, towels...everything. There is almost no room for her...stolen leggos. I could barely see her all balled up in my sweatshirts and yoga pants.
Well, I admit they've given me a different focus. I should be grateful.
Friggin dogs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
