Jared Might Not Accept Future Snow Shoveling Offers

I woke up early today and it was a day like any other day.  I read for a couple of hours before the others began to stir.  I gave some good morning hugs.  I was ready for my workout when Jared came downstairs.  We noticed the snow blocking the van.  I offered to shovel in exchange for breakfast.  For the next forty minutes, I picked away at the icy chunks left by the plow.  It was twenty five below.  And I decided that I am a winter embracing Viking and needn't wait for spring to get the dog I've always wanted.  Then I convinced Jared that a puppy would make a great Christmas present for "our children," fell in love with a photo on the animal shelter website, adopted a black lab hound mix whom we've named Josephine, or Jo for short, took five wriggling children to buy a leash and food and toys, and sang Daniel to sleep with the following ditty, "Jo, Jo, Jo is a dog, and Daniel is her boy."

In other words, today I tricked my husband, made a fifteen to twenty year commitment, got in over my head, and made the dreams of five children and their mama come true.

Big Cats and Cold Feet in the Moonlight

Last night, for Family Home Evening, we donned our winter coats and jumped on the trampoline.  My children taught me how to butt slam.  We lay back and looked at the moon.  And the stars.  Our feet grew cold.  We were ready to wind down when someone suggested some Animal Fighting.  I'd never heard of Animal Fighting.  It's a game Mary invented when she was six--six years ago.  For the next twenty minutes, I sat beside Jared on the edge of the tramp and watched in amazement.  Those children became panthers (or maybe tigers).  I could almost see muscles rippling under black fur as they leapt at one another growling.  Hannah snuggled next to me and in occasional comments, explained the game.

"They need to bite each other on the neck to get a point."

"Right now, they're playing for three points."

"Oh!  Jonah's not supposed to do that.  Standing up is against the rules."

"They don't actually bite, they just do this (her mouth opens wide in a snarl and she creates a something between a hiss and a growl).  That counts."

"Jonah has a really good leap.  Beth's is silly (she says this giggling), she looks like a frog, but she does go higher."

Mary gets two points on Jonah quickly.  Her legs are longer, which in this game is a huge advantage.  She offers to "make things interesting" by giving him two free points, "So, the next point wins."  He gets her and she shakes his hand and congratulates him before moving on to Beth.  Their match lasts longer, maybe because they keep pausing for Daniel.  He wants to be part of things and Mary lets him pounce on her with his extended claws and cute little growl.  Each time, he returns to my lap crowing jubilantly, "I did it!  I did it!  Your turn, Mama?"

Sitting there in my moonlit backyard, surrounded by the laughter of independent, interesting people, I felt deep happiness.  They had welcomed me into their rich, secret world and it was beautiful.

Confessing

Daniel is two years old.  He can pick both nostrils at once, do all the actions for "The Wise Man and the Foolish Man," walk all the way home from church without riding in the stroller, say simple sentences, jump with both feet, steal my camera for a quick selfie, and, we discovered yesterday to our horror, climb up the deck railing and onto the roof of the shed...while naked.


 

 

Balanced

On Monday, we had our Family Home Evening in the bush.  We carried empty yogurt containers and bug spray and tromped into the woods in search of blueberries.  It was beautiful.  I slowly filled my pail and watched the six fascinating people around me, "Look what I found," "Where are the raspberries," "How many do you have," "I spilled mine...again," "Here, you can have some of these."  I felt so full.  As time wore on, it seemed like a lot of walking for Daniel's small legs, but any time we offered cue, which is his easy, dear way of saying carry you, he refused.  He happily wandered among his favourite people.  He didn't want to miss a thing.  I understood that completely.

The next morning, I woke up early to a quiet house.  Everybody was still sleeping when I started the pancakes, honey and whole wheat and blueberries.  I savoured the silence and the taste of honey on my tongue, as I licked the spoon.  Still they slept.  So I started a yoga practice, there in my pajamas in an empty living room.  I breathed deeply and marvelled at my own strength, happy to feel my legs, and arms and lungs.  As I finished up, I thought to myself "Solitude is good too."

Freddie Mercury, Grape Leaves, and Banana Stickers

I went to a funeral today.  She was ninety-eight.  All of her children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were there.  As they honoured her, I was so moved.  She was fun and bright and full.  They talked about how she read to them, how she enjoyed ice cream and Wayne Gretsky and horses and Freddie Mercury, how she only let her hair go white once Queen Elizabeth did, how she loved people, how she made them feel special.  I studied the large picture of her smiling face and I thought, "There's a woman happily being herself."

Afterward, I walked to the grocery store to buy couscous and bananas.  I was still wearing the skirt I'd worn to the funeral and I discovered I like the feeling of fabric swishing around my knees.  I noticed my fingers.  The way I hold my fingers when I'm walking is lovely.  I've got a strong back.  And my mind is an interesting place to be.  My elbows enjoy cool air.  On the way home I smiled at my impatience as I devoured stuffed grape leaves.  By the time I had covered the whole four kilometres, I thought, "I must try this being myself thing more often."

I put my bags down inside the door (couscous, bananas, olives, feta, tortillas, hummus, salsa, hot chocolate, arugula, empty container where stuffed grape leaves used to be), and looked up to see Daniel standing there.  I offered him a banana.  He wanted the sticker, and he promptly put it on the bridge of his nose.  It complemented the top of the popcorn popper which he was wearing as a hat, and his Spiderman pajama top, and his lack of trousers, and his smile.  As I bent down to kiss the top of his head (through the hole where the butter holder normally rests), I thought, "He's got it down."