Go to your room

   I sent myself to my room tonight. The children ate their dinner. They put their plates in the dishwasher. I took them to see "The Princess and the Frog" this afternoon (first movie in theater) and they were excellent. I got lovely cuddles for a good chunk of the movie from R, which put a smile on my face (especially in a sad part near the end -won't spoil it in case you want to see it!). Lots of reasons to hug my children and smile.
   So why the long face you ask? Yes, why. Well, don't say anything, but I just am a silly thing sometimes. I went to the movies with a friend and his daughter. I had been asked to go with other friends, but he asked first and my girls hadn't seen his daughter in a while, so I thought "why not?". Why not indeed. I apologize, but a rant.
   My daughters are barely 3 and almost 5 years old. My dear friend was concerned that my youngest might be a handful at the movies (note: she was the one cuddling quietly on my lap). A twinge of irritation in the far reaches of my brain, even though the possibility of her being a crank is not unfounded. She lay on the sidewalk outside grumbling and crying after the movie, to the mirth of passing strangers. So perhaps an example of what "he" was expecting. Fine, mixed point.
   We decided to have them come back to our house for a play date, as the girls had not been together in months. The squealed and giggled in the basement. We could hear toys being tossed thither and yon from our perch upstairs on the couch. After I outfitted them with hot chocolate and cookies (perhaps why they were wired for sound?), I returned upstairs to find him chatting on his cell on my laptop. Not really a big deal, but I kind of felt like I should be quiet, so attended to other domestic chores around for a few minutes before joining him. My house right? Non-plussed, conversation did follow. Yeah, adult time! Until he fell asleep as I was asking him a question! What! Yeah, I can hear you. No problem. Pour myself a glass of wine and tend to the ham that will turn into sandwich dinners. My youngest appears partly clad in super hero princess gear (cape, skirt and nothing else) and rouses him from his slumbers. His daughter surfaces for a smooch from her pa and feeling like I had to kick them out or offer dinner, she quickly agreed to our fare. After prodding my youngest to ask "him" to gather an extra chair from the basement, then asking him myself after she was ignored, dinner was served. It was eaten by all, with less prodding than sometimes takes, but certainly with  more noise. Guests always amount to dessert and "ice cream!" was suggested with glee. "Plates in  the dishwasher" is a rule in my house, especially if dessert is warranted. My girls know this and comply readily, anticipation pushing them faster than they ever move. Our little guest was unused to this, but was shown by my two how it all works and eager smiles looked forward to their ice cream cones. As I turned for the ice cream I told "his" fleeting back that he had to scrap his plate as well. A barely audible grunt came from in front of the reignited computer. Grrr. Scoop, scoop. Smiles and sillys for ice cream. No help from my adult companion. The girls delighted smacked down their cold treats, got hands washed and disappeared back to the basement. I followed with a refreshed glass of vino, only to find my way barred by the contents of every toy container in the basement exploded into the middle of the room. No pathway to the couch could be met safely without steel-toe slippers. Not worth it.
   I barked at the girls to put the toys away and stalked back upstairs. He looked up from the computer and out it came. It had been building and leaking, but irritation burst forth like the toys strewn around the basement below.
 "You didn't put your plate away when I asked, even though all the girls managed to!"
Oh,  do you need help? I can help you clean up.
  "It is done."
No, I  can help do something. I can help you finish up.
   "If you want to wash the floor, that would be great, but it is done."
He moves to the kitchen and picks up a few scattered stickers. It is as done as it needs to be.
   "I have enough to clean up after my own children. Perhaps when you were growing up you didn't have to clean up after yourself, but I do not need more to clean up after. I already yell at my children enough. The basement is a disaster and I just yelled at them now to do something about it." I don't need to tend to another child, my mind screams. I am shaking. My voice. My being.
  I will go get the kids to clean up the basement. Why don't you have a glass of wine and sit down.
   The remnants of my wine followed me to my room, but sat untouched. Small pattering feet came upstairs, but did not find me as I lay in my darkened room. I breathed. My mind formed things to say. I watched the Christmas lights outside my window flash and sparkle. Eventually he came back upstairs. He did not come and find me curled into myself on the bed. Of course he wouldn't. men don't tend to be good that way. Sorry. I sulked a little more and finally swung my legs over the side of the bed. disappointed sighs. Down the hall, disappointed looks. Clean basement. Bonus for me. Mostly for the girls when they want to play again. Did he see my flat eyes? Did he hear the flat tones? Perhaps. Good night to you. And you my reader, if you have gone this far. Sorry for the rant. the worst is that comments won't help, as they just make "me" feel bad, for putting up with disappointing behaviour. Me feel bad for not putting a final foot down. One day...

Old friends

   The hours are too short on some days. I love visitors, but am a little bummed that my visit with Janet and kids was so short. Alas, it is Christmas and time becomes more precious, so it would seem. The same thing happened with a few weeks back with an  old high school friend. The words burble and flow, but the well is never empty. So many thoughts to share and mental hugs to impart. Three o'clock snuck up on us and issued us off to bed. Blissful little people allowed us adults to be lazy critters come morning hours. Sunshine smiles were optional. Coffee cradles crept into quiet corners of foggy brains. Too quickly the day passed. Lunch at 3pm wrapped up a whirlwind tour. The road beckoned and the house falls silent of friends again. Anticipation can begin for the week to come. Another visitor at week's end is something else to look forward to. What shall this visitor bring?

the Christmas countdown

I tried to get to my computer earlier to write a few words, but visitors have arrived in my world. Alas, no fabulous prose to relate.

Throbbing feet
Pulse to a shopping beat.
Christmas edges closer
and closer

Must wrap and peer
at presents over a Christmas beer
Much way to go
Before holiday cheer doth flow.

 Soon
Santa will be soaring o'er the moon.
 Soon.

75

   Taking time to piece together a blog post is getting more difficult with a list of Christmas tasks to do. I have vacuumed the house in anticipation of my dear friend Janet and children arriving tomorrow. The bathrooms beckon, but so does my computer screen.

   Last night I was on the computer late, as usual. I retired thinking that sleep would find me soon, but the brain had other plans for me. While I would have appreciated a little more sleep, interesting bits traipsed through my pre-dream fog. A comment on my book review got my creative juices thinking up stories. I probably do not have time to write the start of the words that swished above my head last night, but I was pleased with the start of a story. I will not give details here, as I need to see if words actually find proper places. Tempting as it was to write them down last night, I yearned for sleep more. I did think that this might be a good place to try out stories as they filter through me (as I hope they may!). So perhaps the words will return to me and find a place on paper or screen. In the meantime, my writing falls more to Christmas cards and actions will soon lead to yoga and drumming. Be well my friends

cassoulet vs chocolate?

   What wonderful things cross my brain this evening? Tonight was my weekly dinner feast with friends Nancy and David. We had extra bodies tonight, as Sue and Don were exposed to the joy of dining with children (of which they have none and desire none). A yummy cassoulet was our fare, compliments of Sue. She was almost dismayed that the children (three girls 4 1/2, 4 1/2 and 3 years) were not interested in her delicacies. Ha! The other three parents at the table smirked. We have all had more meals than can be counted where food has been snubbed for more reasons than can be imagined. No other reason is needed to not eat than having company to escape with. Only the lure of chocolate or chicken nuggets tempts fickle appetites. We have found ways around this by letting the girls eat after us when we dine at my house. We can enjoy our meal and sip at wine in a civilized manner with adult conversation. The girls either beat a hasty retreat to the basement, where food is either eaten or not, but not witnessed by us, so not as painful. They do sometimes join our table, but I think they enjoy having their own time and space together. It seems to make us all happier. Well worth it. And one night where I am not badgering my children to eat seemingly forever, until I cannot take it any more. I hate hitting the one more bite or two more bites phase, but it seems to be the only thing that will work some nights. Nancy's strategies are to feed the girls sure-fire kiddables like hot dogs or macaroni and cheese, while we get to dine on gastronomical dishes that our children would never eat, like the spicy curry we enjoyed last week. Ahh.

   I think that is what I like best about my Tuesday dinners. I get to be an adult. I get to eat and talk with other adults of like mind. We get to eat food that we like, whether the kids eat or not. We can reminisce about days of yore when we could savour a meal without having to clean up spilled milk or grate our teeth over uneaten food. I can be me and let go of my Mommy reins. Someone else is there to help. Someone else is just plain old there. Whether they serve meals, clean plates or just talk to me. I am not alone. Yes, I am not alone. I like Tuesdays.