It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood...

Walked about the neighborhood this morning, ended up on the street behind mine, admiring the pretty porches while easing my way around cracks in the sidewalk.

A man beckoned from the not-so-pretty porch of a home that has seen better days, so I stopped and went halfway up his walk: "Good morning!"

He grunted and flicked his cigarette into a rusted bucket at his feet. "Nothin' good 'bout winter comin'. But that's not why I stopped ye."

"Oh. Do you need help with something?"

"Nope. Got my chair and my smokes and my cat. I'm good. I wanted to talk to you about yer boys."

"Uh...my sons?"

"Yer boys got red hair, don't they? And they wheel 'round here some nights, hootin' and hollerin' on their bikes and that stupid little plastic thing..."

Luke on his "stupid little plastic thing..."
 

 "It's a Big Wheel," I said, apologetically. "I'm sorry they've bothered you with their noise. They get noisy when they're excited."

He waved a huge hand, dismissively, and then spat. " Kids're having fun, doing what kids do. I don't mind."

"Oh...well....good. I'm glad."

"It's just that your kids - they wave to me every time they see me and sometimes they go 'round four or five times, ye know? And every time, they smile and wave like they've never seen me before and they're happy to. See me."

I blinked and then smiled. "They're pretty friendly kids."

"Most folks don't look my way at all. Your kids...they smile like I'm Santa Claus or something'. I like it."

 "I'm glad. Wouldn't it be grand if everyone felt like Santa Claus every day? How'd you know the boys are mine?"

"Well first off, I seen you with 'em, walking here and there. I mind my own business, but I see lots. And when I called you over here just now? You smiled at me just like they do. They teach you that?"

I grinned then and laughed, completely smitten. "They sure did!"

He grinned back. "They did good."

On Coming Home

Dear Homeowner,

You met me at the door of your home when we came to see it last week. I was a little bit early and you were dragging your heels, both of us wondering the same thing: could your home become mine?

I took the hand you offered and we clung to each other, smiling. I asked why you're moving and the light dropped from your eyes, for just a moment.

Your wife died, you said and you're planning to move far away, to be closer to your grandchildren.

I nodded, as though in approval of this life's plan that has nothing to do with me. Truthfully, I was nodding to try to keep the smile on my face because the look on yours broke my heart.



With a gentle, welcoming sweep of your arm, you ushered us into your home and simply disappeared out the back door. In the meantime, we tiptoed inside: marveled at the furniture, the photos, the fanciful, exotic sculptures and prints that filled your home: all of it proof of a well-travelled, well-read, well-lived life.

And the smell. Oh, the lovely, gorgeous smell of Europe - I breathed France in Fall into my lungs as I let my fingers trace the backs of your chairs, arranged just so in the main parlour. 

As I peered at the books lining your bookshelf, I was not surprised to see the Netherlands on their spines because suddenly, I could smell  coffee and my Dutch father's meatball offerings on a rainy November night.

Our real estate agent, himself the child of English parents grinned and nodded when I said this all aloud. He'd just been through the kitchen and said it looked like those he'd visited on a trip to his parents' homeland, many years ago.

On we moved, reverently now, from room to room, space to glorious space.

I felt my throat ache when I spied the banister leading to the second floor - heard my own children's laughter as I imagined - nay, saw - them sliding their way from top to bottom.

On the landing above I heard your children's laughter too and for a moment I stood utterly still, enchanted.

Such love lived here.

In every photo, of your children throughout the three decades you lived here, I saw it.

In every bedroom, I felt that time was standing still, holding the secrets and memories of those who slept there, dreamed there, loved there.

Love lives here still.

In the master bedroom, I saw your wife's funeral card and - forgive me - took it gently in my own hand. Felt a soft shift in the air around me, above me, beneath me. And I thought, "How he loves her."

And then I slipped back downstairs to the family room - the room that felt like the heart of the house, to me - and simply sat, gazing out the bay window. Imagined watching my own sons play in the shade of the porch, slam their way in through the grand front door only to tumble out the one at the back.

Tilted my head to the ceiling and watched my own dreams of a home filled with love and laughter and walls filled with memories play across the cracked plaster and wondered if your wife, Elizabeth, had done the same, 30 years ago?

Thank you for allowing me into your home, to dream awhile, to bask in the beauty you've created.

Know that whomever ends up buying your house is lucky in ways they might not even realize, now: that they are inheriting a space filled with grace and beauty and lives wondrously lived.

I can only hope that the next family who lives in mine - whenever that time comes - feels the same.

The Reds exploring another old house that captured their mama's heart.

Blessed be.

* * *

And you?

How did you choose the house you now call home?

What were the scents and sights that drew you in?

What would you say to the previous owners, if you could?

Professor Poopypants & The Truth About Baileys

I'm gonna steal a page from Ironic Mom's blog and walk you through my week, by the numbers.

The reason for this is two-fold:

1. I'm lazy.
2. I'm lazy.

What? OK, three-fold:

3. I'm tired.


Here it is. A week in the life of a mama-student-blogger-with-too-much-chocolate-and-not-enough-closet-space:

5. Baskets of laundry that I have not even taken down stairs, let alone sorted through or washed.

1. Pair of clean panties I have left in my drawer (not including the ones that my husband insists I keep that remind him of our honeymoon but only remind me of how small my ass used to be...sigh...)

14: Times I had to call the Reds for breakfast on Wednesday. It would have been more, but I lost my voice (and my mind) during one particularly loud holler.

6: Times I called the Reds for breakfast this morning, before tossing their cereal in the garbage, like I'd threatened to do all those other times, but didn't.

1. The number of times I anticipate calling the Reds for breakfast tomorrow.

4. We're on the 4th "Captain Underpants" book around here. It includes character called Professor Poopypants. I don't know who laughs harder when I read it aloud, me or the Reds.

Professor Poopypants...bahhaahaahahahaahahaa!

32. The highest score my kids received from me (the one holding the scorecards) during their Dining Room Furniture Olympic High Jump game from last night.

2. Phone calls I expect to receive from the Children's Aid shortly, due to "questionable parenting practices."

10: Times a day I think, "I could take you home and love you forever!" about the little people I'm supporting on placement right now.

10: Times a day I think the same thing about their young mothers.

3. Glasses of Baileys I've enjoyed. Erm...make that 4.

2. Amazing kids I feel so blessed and grateful to call mine, always.

19. Tiny, perfect candy bars I've eaten since Monday yesterday.

497. Times people read yesterday's blog post and times my mind was blown away by that.

1. Love.

1. Life.

1. Need.

7. Of you who'd better be channeling Bono right now...

And you? What'd your week look like, by the numbers?

What's your favourite U2 song?

On Old Friends and The Gifts of Small-Town Life

Saw an old friend today. Several old friends, actually.

I have not seen Kristian for close to 20 years. Until today, that is. Back in Ontario for a month-long visit, he recently sent a group email to as many old friends as he could find and presto, a reunion was born.

Today, a handful of us gathered at Cobourg's Victoria Beach, our towels and children and memories in tow.

Kristian was one of my best friends throughout high school, living as we were in a tiny village - a hamlet, really - in Middle Of Nowhere, Ontario. Though we attended different high schools, we rode the same yellow bus and despaired of life in the boonies. We shared teenaged angst, confidences, pilfered beer, stolen cigarettes, romances-gone-bust, gas money and most importantly, friends.

His shock of red hair on a lanky frame made Kristian easy to spot in a crowd, on a soccer field or hiding behind the tallest tree in my parents' yard, as he, Jen and Rob waited for me to sneak out, long after dark. Throughout long, hot summers we would scramble into the night, tripping over ourselves and each other as we made our way to the park, just because. There we would play, like the children we were, swinging, sliding, laughing and chatting until the sky lightened or we grew weary of our games.

Memories like this assailed me as I drove to the beach this afternoon. I had forgotten those nights and all the days in between that made up our teenaged years. Today, remembering, I smiled, pleased that I'd had such a good friend in Kristian.

When high school ended, we drifted amicably apart - I went off to university and Kristian headed west, seeking his future. He landed in Alberta, where he has been ever since, building a life. He is a husband now. And a father of two. A contented, settled and confident man.

Today, I watched as Kristian dealt gently with his tired little boy - patiently coaxing him to sleep under the shade of a beach umbrella. Was touched, though not surprised, to find that he is an engaged and attentive father. The oldest of three boys, he was the same way with his brothers way back when, though he doesn't remember it the way I do.

"Did you always want to be a dad?" I asked, because suddenly, I couldn't recall. Kristian considered for a moment and then smiled at his wife, Ann.

"I don't know.Yeah, I suppose. I just didn't know for sure, until Ann."

 We spoke for a long while about where our lives have taken us, how differently things have turned out, compared to our dreams of  long ago.

 "What the heck did we know, anyway?" Kristian laughed, remembering. "We knew nothing!"

Indeed, we knew very little but that was part of the magic. We were children then, simply pretending.
20 years later, we watched each other's children frolic on the sand and splash through the cool lake water - their own kind of magic. Dreams we didn't know we had, come true.

Around us, chatted other friends  from our separate and shared lives. All of us asking each other, "Are you still in touch with So-and-So?" and "Whatever happened to Whatshername?" Slowly but surely, with lots of laughter, we filled in the bigger gaps left by time and distance.

Sarah and Becky, Kristian's prom date and once-upon-a-time-crush, respectively, have been in my life since grade school. Our stories are woven together in strange and beautiful ways and even though we  communicate mostly through Facebook these days, I believe that we will always be connected. At least, I hope so.

Nikki and Katie went to high school with Kristian and while neither was part of my circle, I was on the fringe of both of theirs. Katie, as warm and friendly as her younger self, is in touch with practically everybody, it seems. And what she didn't know, still vibrant and funny Nikki did. T'was a delightful way to catch-up on the goings-on around town.

Sitting with them all, I realized that this is the real gift of small-town life: that there will always be people who knew you before you knew you.  That old friends are the best keepers of childhood dreams and that it feels good to spend time in the past, especially if  you spent it with good people.

And I did. Then....and now.

Thanks to Kristian, Sarah, Becky, Nikki and Katie for the gifts of time - past and present - and of friendship - then, now and in the future.

 Let's not let another 20 years go by between visits, OK?

And you? Who do you miss?

When Good Intentions Go Awry

Today was the day of Good Intentions.

 

Good Intentions-Gone-Awry, that is.

 

Oh, it started out well. The Reds bounded out of (my) bed at dawn, found Doritos in the kitchen and scarfed 'em down before I'd even brushed my teeth. So with breakfast taken care of, we headed outside to ride bikes and shoot water from the ginormous water guns the Reds received yesterday.

 

(Thank you, Ecnerwal. You turn will come.)

 

I weeded.

 

Came in for a snack, bottles of water and to check emails (read: Tweet, FB, Camp)

 

More shooting.
More weeding.
A lot of giggling.
Some crying.
A scraped knee.
A lost shoe.

 

But by noon, it was too hot to do much and that's when things sort of fell apart:

 

• Luke pooped in his underwear. Twice.
• Matthew got sassy and ended up in Time-Out, muttering that he knows that I love Luke more, why don't I just admit it?
• Luke confessed to peeing in the dirty clothes basket, clobbered Matthew, broke some crayons and then punched me in the knee for good measure.

 

When I stumbled over Matthew making shoe obstacle courses for some ants, I knew I had to do something cool.

 

So, we went to Lowe's and came home with a nozzle for the garden hose...and a sprinkler:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And it was magic.

 

 

And you? What was your magical moment(s) for the day? Week?

Children Left Unattended...

Dear Johnson and Johnson Inc.,

I thought my youngest son could be trusted to simply change his own pants after his pee refused - yet again - to listen.

I was wrong.

When he came back downstairs, pantless but grinning, I knew something was amiss.

It was THIS:

In case you're wondering, it takes one 3-year-old boy approximately four minutes to spritz an entire room with Johnson's Baby Powder.

It will take this 30-something mother approximately four HOURS to vaccumn it all up and put things back to right.

My second floor, however, smells as fresh as a newborn baby's bum.

Thanks for that.

Yours truly,
Luke's Mama

Do You See Who I See?

One of the most entertaining joys of being Mama to the Reds is playing the "Who Does He Look Like?" game. You know the one - where you study family photos and try to find your own nose?

The second I laid eyes on my tiny, fire-haired Matthew, I thought, "Wow! The McLennan genes are strong - he looks JUST like my father-in-law!"

Five years later, he still does, until  he turns a certain way and then all I see in my cousin, Aaron. Or me. Most people think he looks like Mark, which he does...except for when he doesn't.

Luke was the spitting image of me as a baby, but his dimpled smile is one he shares with Mark's sister. These days, I don't know who he most resembles although eerily, something about him reminds me of my brother. Most people think he looks like me, which he doesn't...except for when he does.

The Reds, looking like each other.

 Both boys will need glasses (You're welcome, children. Mama loves you.) and possibly braces (Again...you're welcome.) but their hair, when long, is curly like Mark's and they have also inherited his impossibly long eyelashes, so all is not lost.

For someone who has spent their entire life looking like Uncle Bob or Great Aunt Suzy, the "Who-Does-He-Look-Like?" game is an eye roll-inducing one. But for an adopted person, this is an endlessly fascinating way to pass time - my Mum and I LOVE to gaze upon my children, seeing who we can see. She is the only person in the world who GETS how exciting this game is and it makes me love her all the more.

Baby Bellymonster

I didn't look like anyone until 17, when I met my birth mother and maternal bio-family for the first time. After that, it seemed as though I looked like everybody. Frankly, I was amazed that I'd never suspected, since one of my cousins attended my high school and we could have been twins. Weirdly, having spent years wishing I knew whose eyes I shared or who loved words like I do, I suddenly longed to go back to the days of having how I look/act/sing/dance belong soley to me.

I don't know that I will ever tire of watching my children grow into themselves, but will admit that I am a wee bit obsessed with who ELSE's face they may grow into, too. I know, intellectually, that the Reds are entirely their own person(s) and it's not fair of me to attribute quirks of personality to them, simply because they resemble a family member who shares the same ones.

I do it anyway.

I delight in seeing the past and whispers of the future in their features. Though it drives my husband crazy, and will likely be fodder for the therapy the boys will one day seek ("My mother has never, EVER allowed me to be my own person. She kept waiting for me to lose my marbles like everyone else and she finally got her wish, here I am!"), I am comforted by this:

 If the boys become amazing chefs with a teensy pot-smoking problem, at least I will recognize them!

Play the "Which-Red-is-He" game: Matthew or Luke?

The Reds are Famous!

Well, ok...not really. Well, not at all, actually, but they made the paper. Here they are:

Reds at Play

From the Trenches...

Matthew: Let's play Scooby-Doo! I'll be Shaggy, because I'm hungry!

Isabella: I wanna be Daphne.

Luke: Freddy's not scared of anything. I want to be Freddy.

Matthew: Then you have to be in love with Isabella.

Luke: Why?

Isabella: Because Freddy's in love with Daphne.

Luke: No, Freddy's scared of Daphne.