leftovers

Breathe

Slow 

that thumping heartbeat

Release 

those squeezed shut fists

Bestill

my raging anger.

Breathe...

let Go

the Child is found 

but,

an unforgiving Look

and Sullen silence

equal Groceries abandoned

at the store today

Let go...

Breathe

let go

and live this mantra...

internal peace op-

timistic understanding

and mother's moments

This too shall pass...

I guess

that's why Moms freeze leftovers -

for this tomorrow...

Friday the 13th

With a siren in the not too far distance, the school bell rang. I thought nothing of it, although the bell seemed to be early. A quick look at my watch confirmed this, but the children were gone by the time I looked up. All of them. With doors swinging shut behind them. Firmly. Only tracks remained in the fresh snow to urge me to get on with the day before it got too sloppy to drive in.

An hour later and I was glued to the radio. I desperately scanned the local twitter feed for news.

"Code Yellow - School is on holding pattern"

     ~LOCKDOWN~

and my babies inside

my life! my God.

"40-something year old male, possibly armed, over a dozen police vehicles surrounding the scene. Refusing to communicate."

This scene so close to my babies' school that they are locked in for safety. But what safety did I have from the panic that threatened to overwhelm? Tears, friends and prayer. For several excruciating hours. Walking round, and round, and round again, wearing grooves in the floor. Leaving a trail of fear behind me, only to stumble upon it on my next tour around the kitchen.

"Have a tea for your nerves."

"Breathe"

Distractions that didn't work, because I didn't want them to. All I wanted was for it to end. And end now.

And it did. Safely and without harm to anyone, aside from 600 some-odd parent's nerves, plus teachers and their loved ones. Ten hours worth of stand-off. This on Friday the 13th. This after 5 bank robberies in a single day this week, a Hell's Angel biker shot (and 3 others injured), plus several rub 'n tugs torched. This after a full moon that has obviously made my part of the world go a lot too crazy.

Is it Friday yet? Can I call it a day? Can I sign out on life for this week?

My babies lie in their beds sleeping, unruffled by the events of the day. They were curious why I showed up early to sign them out. And why other kids were leaving too. They wondered why I cried all the way home and hugged them fierce once the door was locked. They thought it was a hoot to start the weekend early. Movies, popcorn, pizza and a fire? Sweet!

Sweet; the feel of my life blood tucked under my arms, as we snuggled in our blanket cocoon with blinds drawn to keep out the world.

Breathe. Remember to breathe. Remember that tomorrow is a new day and this one is now done.

The Tickle Dance

Sitting in bed between them, they beg me to read this one and then that.

   “Read Mulberry Bush,” they squeal.

Okay. First one,  then the other.

   “Here we go round the mulberry bush. One step, two step, tickle you under there!”

Laughter fills my ears and heart.

   “Yes you can have a sleepover again.”

Smiles.

My blissfully sleeping angels have made my evening complete.

Happy Friday 55 my friends.

My Crabby Apple

Crab Apple is beginning to bloom

crabby appled kid
wreaked havoc on moods again
tears dispel thin peace 
forgiveness placed at table
eaten cold, but served with love

Saturday's Email of the Week: A Smorgasbord

I have to say that it was a bit of a slow week for interesting emails. A gazillion recipes, lots of comment stream on Linked In, a few cutesy emails, but nothing that made me roll on the ground laughing or inhale sharply at the shock of it. Oh well, they can't all be banner weeks I guess. Perhaps I will just present you with a smorgasbord of images and snippets from my week via my life-line to the outer world - email. I hope you have a fabulous Saturday!

So on Thursday the kids and I went for dinner, then hit Canadian Tire to pick up a new inner tube for T's bike. We wandered around and as we were in the exercise-type aisles, I also picked up a step-counter.  The kids were gung-ho to buy some hand weights as well, but I managed to convince them out of them.

Why a step counter, you ask? Well, I have to admit that I fear all of this writing stuff might be a bit of a detriment to my waistline. I missed my weekly yoga class and didn't feel like I managed to squeeze in quite enough activity to make up for it. All the surfing I do just doesn't amount to quite enough calories burned I suspect.

So on Friday I strapped on the step counter, left my laptop behind and hit my gardens for a little fresh air and slugging of mulch. My shoulders got a mite rosy from my exertions, but my mood was elevated. By the time the kids came home I had burned off 150 calories, according to my new toy! While the girls ran naked through the sprinkler (first time this year!), I lovingly planted a few new specimens that we picked up from the garden centre on the way home. Yes, I love my gardens!

The forecast now calls for rain for the near future, so I stayed late into the evening to feel the grass between my toes. A discovery that our rhubarb was coming ready was cause to celebrate, so a bundle was picked. I think that perhaps tomorrow I can make use of one of those recipes that came in last week;

Aunt Norma's Rhubarb Muffins

Ingredients

• 2 1/2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/4 cups brown sugar
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 1 1/2 cups diced rhubarb
• 1/2 cup chopped walnuts
• 1 tablespoon melted butter
• 1/3 cup white sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease two 12 cup muffin pans or line with paper cups.
2. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. In a separate bowl, beat the brown sugar, oil, egg, vanilla and buttermilk with an electric mixer until smooth. Pour in the dry ingredients and mix by hand just until blended. Stir in the rhubarb and walnuts. Spoon the batter into the prepared cups, filling almost to the top. In a small bowl, stir together the melted butter, white sugar and cinnamon; sprinkle about 1 teaspoon of this mixture on top of each muffin.
3. Bake in the preheated oven until the tops of the muffins spring back when lightly pressed, about 25 minutes. Cool in the pans for at least 10 minutes before removing.

I will let you know how they turn out! 

For now I will leave you with a cute little poem that resonated with me from the week. I am sure I have read it before, and probably you have too, but it made me smile to re-read. Maybe I will vacuum and work on that sticky floor tomorrow after the muffins go into the oven...

MOTHERS

Real Mothers don't eat quiche;

They don't have time to make it.

Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils

Are probably in the sandbox.

Real Mothers often have sticky floors,

Filthy ovens and happy kids.

Real Mothers know that dried play dough

Doesn't come out of carpets.

Real Mothers don't want to know what

The vacuum just sucked up...

Real Mothers sometimes ask 'Why me?'

And get their answer when a little

Voice says, 'Because I love you best.'

Friday Stories

“Get your pajamas on NOW please,” I say for the third time. My voice is starting to rise. One is naked. The other is fully clothed. Titters follow me down the hall, as I walk away.

“There she is!” 

Done.

And the other, finally done as well.

“Teeth!” I cry.

Now my favourite part. 

“Storytime!” 

"It's Pumpkin Time" by Zoe Hall

*^^^^^*

What stories can you tell in 55 words? Go tell G-Man and see what he has to say about them.

I apowogize

A moment from this week;

My baby has a smile that will melt your heart. I look into her eyes and see myself, love and everything that could be for tomorrow. She gives incredible hugs and loves with all her soul, as I am sure that most three-year olds do. She also has very distinct thoughts, feelings and emotions that she is not afraid to let pour forth. This might illustrate itself in her saying "I don't want to" to anything and everything, in her carrying the cats around upside down by their back legs to show that she is a big girl and she can, to giving tender hugs and remarking on people's tears when they are sad. Above all else she cares and I was reminded of this a few nights ago.

After a mostly pleasant and reasonably quick dinner outside, the girls pulled out their bikes to practice riding in the street. I was encouraged to get out my bike, so that I could show the girls "some tricks". I wowed them with figure 8s, but with slightly flat tires let them do all the entertainment and fun. Our neighbours returned home, so the girls proceeded to show off their prowess on their rides to a new audience. Nibbles of ice cream was their reward, as well as a fluffing up of my tires for a future ride. The evening wound down with pointing out hot air balloons and remarking on greenery in our garden tour across the street. Before I knew it, the bedtime hour had come and passed. We waved goodnight, with sticky-sweet smiles from their strawberry patch and raced to get on pjs. I noted that it was late and a school night, so there was enough time for brushing teeth, but unfortunately no stories. As I tried to tuck in my littlest bundle, she showed her displeasure by kicking at the blankets and yelling "NO!". 

Now I know that there are many soft and wonderful Mamas out there that would take this in stride with angelic smiles and wonderful solutions. For me, it was late; too late. When I hit the end of the night, I do not want to deal with my little angel's antics any more. Not one little bit. Unh, un. So I tried to play nice Mommy, failed, threw up my hands and walked out of her room, closing the door behind me. I know that I cannot win the war with her some days, so I just don't even try. I went to my other daughter's room and tucked her in. I covered her in kisses and hugs and told her I loved her, as I left her room. With no noise from the younger, I went to peek in on her. She was still sitting on her bed where I had left her, with a frown upon her face. 

She looked at me and said, "Mommy, I apowogize."

Quiet as a mouse.

My irritation melted. "I appowogize. I shouldn't have kicked you. That wasn't nice. Kicking hurts."

My thoughts flew to daycare and I kissed and loved all her teachers for everything that they did for me and her every day.

"I'm sorry."

Her little face was sorrowful and I was so in love with this big, brave thing she had done. Hugs, kisses and love rushed out of me and showered all over her. I felt like somewhere, somehow, I had done something right and was being rewarded for all the tempers that flared over so many days. Sigh, these are the moments that make me glad and proud to be a Mommy and for this I am forever grateful.