Streaming

 

 

Pie Throwing

We had a birthday party here this weekend and there is a rumor going around that there may have been some pie throwing. Okay, for the record, there was pie throwing. When the birthday boy says he wants to throw pies at his 10th birthday party this Mama makes it happen. Then the dog cleans up the mess.

 

The fun started with painting the backs of some paper plates to serve as targets.

 

 

Then he chose his muse and drew him on the plates.



The targets were attached to the trees with packing tape.

 

 

Plates were filled with whipped cream.

 

 

Careful aim was taken.

 

 

There were some hits.

 

And some more hits.

 

 

And a great big happy mess.

Pie throwing was a big hit. The birthday boy was thrilled as were the party guests.



And our dog? She was ecstatic.



This Moment

{This Moment}

 

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

 

 

Inspired by SouleMama

Ten years

We have been spinning dizzily around the sun for ten years now as mother and child. Time is rushing by faster and faster. I don't say that because I am old but because it is true. Or maybe because I am old. But that's not the important part. As my oldest child proves to me exactly how much he is growing up by measuring in at a smidge shy of five feet tall, at least I can turn to my youngest and cling to her babyhood. Very comforting. Or so I thought. Apparently my 5 year old doesn't have this heartbreaking need to remain my baby forever. In fact she is pretty much done with it.

This week, this very week, as I celebrate my big boy's big milestone and come to terms with a decade of motherhood blurring behind me, she has embraced independence. "Mama, help me read this book," and "Could you help me ride my bike now?" have been replaced with, "Mama! I read these books all by myself!" and "You can let go now."

So I hold them very tightly and let go. They are beautiful, even through these tear filled eyes, as they spin wildly past me. I am wonderstruck and thrilled and dizzy.

More than one way to skin a cat.

There is more than one way to skin a cat. There is also more than one way to pay for telling your kids that you may consider skinning their favorite cat and making mittens out of him.

Now, you may think that a conversation that begins with, "Why would anyone ever skin a cat and do you really need to know more than one way to do it?" was destined to turn out badly. You would be right. Don't ever start a conversation that way. You have been warned. Unfortunately nobody had warned me so my family blithely blundered into it.

We discovered some things that day. Some of us, if the situation were dire and he had died of natural causes, would consider skinning our beloved cat to make a pair of mittens. Someone would even consider a cat fur skirt if she were very, very poor and freezing. Again, only if he died of natural causes. We discovered that even the thought of our cat's hypothetical death was too much for us. He would keep his fur. Forever. We also discovered that karma doesn't know what hypothetical means.

The rest of the day passed without event. It wasn't until much later that I began to regret this discussion. It was very late and I was forcing myself to go to bed. I walked in to the bedroom to see the cat laying next to my pillow. Something wasn't right. I scooped him up and was relieved when he lifted his head and rubbed his cheek on my shoulder. When I set him down my relief evaporated. He was unsteady. He was disoriented. Then he began to circle. And circle. And circle. I watched in gut wrenching horror. My cat was circling the drain.

Images of my children in cat skin mittens and miniskirts flashed across my brain as my husband ran for the cat carrier. We could never afford the kind of therapy I was envisioning. A midnight trip to the emergency vet was the only option. The cat had to live.

And he did. In fact, he made a complete recovery over the next few days. Our children narrowly escaped serious emotional trauma and my racing heart could be considered a good cardio workout. But we did pay for that conversation. In fact we are still paying for it. With 12% interest.



Better than a Unicorn

Shmoo-nicorn

 

 

"Mama is better than a unicorn." Wow. We all know unicorns are beautiful, wise and magical creatures. And they fart rainbows. I am not sure what exactly I did to receive such high praise but I'll take it!

shelter-in-place

There were no traffic sounds outside our home when we got up Friday morning. The streets were empty. We were in the middle of a neighborhood of commuters with nowhere to commute to. Boston was sheltering-in-place.

For our family this was meant to be a quiet day at home after a very busy week. It was quiet, but when what was intended as cocooning, became sheltering, it was an entirely different quiet day. Home was no longer a choice. Home was where we answered the phone, checked news reports and waited.

Our neighborhood was far enough away from the manhunt that we could safely spend the afternoon outside. Ignoring the raindrops that never quite became a rain shower, we headed out. My thoughts were as scattered as the clouds. I drifted around the yard. I needed to do something. So I did. I planted flower seeds.  I poured myself into the dirt and the hope and promise of planting seeds.
When I was finished I turned around to see what my children had so intently been working on behind me.

They were sheltering.

This was a child's response to the threat of rain. They gathered together the materials available to them and created a shelter. It was a simple place in our backyard where these siblings could retreat when they needed to. Together, they hunkered down; safe and warm and dry.

In another neighborhood, outside Boston, a nineteen year old boy was sheltering. He too was in a backyard in a makeshift shelter but he was not safe or warm or dry. His brother was dead. He was in danger and he was dangerous.

I look into the faces around me and see handfuls of seeds poured into rich soil. This work of growing people is made of promise and hope. Sometimes the watering will be done with tears. Surely there will be times that contain more dirt than blossom. Groundhogs will show up.
And together, we will continue planting.



This Moment

{This Moment}

 

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

 

 

Inspired by SouleMama



Let's make silly putty!

Feeling silly? Great! Let's make silly putty!

We start by mixing equal parts white glue and water. We used 1/4 cup of each.

 Do you want to add color? Add food coloring. We used three to four drops to get colors we were very happy with.

 

 

Mix one tablespoon of borax with two tablespoons of water, pour it into your glue mixture and start stirring! The transformation happens quickly.

 

 

 

Check out what you just made! It stretches! It bounces!

It snaps apart if you tug it! And there is plenty to share!

 

 

 

                                           

                      

 

This project was easy, fun and kept us entertained for a very long time on a cold rainy day. Everyone looks forward to making "Toxicus Glopus" again sometime!

 

(Borax can be hazardous so we kept it away from our mouths and eyes and washed our hands after using it.)

 





Tooth Fairy

The tooth fairy never visited our house when my oldest son started losing his baby teeth. "I don't want the tooth fairy to come," he said. "Do you think I could put my tooth under my pillow and when I fall asleep you could come in, very quietly, without waking me up, and take my tooth and leave me some money?" "Um... I could try." But even that plan was abandoned and tooth fairies, real or otherwise, never received any of his baby teeth in exchange for cash.

When my second excitedly noticed his first loose tooth there really was no question about it. The tooth fairy had better be prepared because she would be expected to make an appearance. This tooth would be going under a pillow. But it didn't. That first baby tooth, the one that had graced a tiny mouth full of gums and drool before any others, was unceremoniously swallowed. It was there before he started eating that apple but it was certainly gone before he finished it. That night, instead of a tiny pearly tooth, a note was slipped under the pillow. The tooth fairy, being very understanding of these kinds of situations, held up her end of the bargain.

Tooth number two, the twin and companion of that very first baby tooth, held on for weeks longer than anyone expected. When it finally broke free it was quickly handed over to me for safekeeping. But it did not go under the pillow that night. My son had begun a dialogue with the tooth fairy and he declared, at bedtime, that it didn't feel right to leave the tooth without a note. It was set aside until the next day when a proper note could be created. I think the tooth fairy was thrilled.

Talking with my children about the Boston Marathon bombing

Ten years ago, the Boston Marathon was something that required me to plan an alternate route to the hospital where I planned to birth my first born child. I remember telling my midwife that labor was the closest I would ever get to running a marathon. In following years the marathon  was a family outing. We loved the walk across town, darting across the street between runners and spreading our picnic blanket on a grassy hill. Mostly, we loved cheering. These people were determined. They were college students, mothers, paralyzed and blind. Whether they were running for themselves or for someone else, they were running. We cheered our hearts out for their courage and drive. They were doing it! Our small voices added to the roar of encouragement. We cheered for Jen who went to BC. We cheered for Ben who was running in memory of his father. We cheered for Emily who survived breast cancer. Each person that passed was a story told in a fleeting moment.

This year the story we heard began with, "I know you guys have been outside all afternoon, so I don't know if you heard..."

We didn't go to the marathon this year. My husband was working and we were eager to get some seeds in the ground. We stayed home and the tragedy came to us.

I am not sure how I would have told my kids about the bombing. Had my 5 year old not heard from the neighbor, I don't think she would have heard at all. Since ignorance was no longer an option I was honest. "Somebody put bombs near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Lots of people are badly hurt. I am tremendously sad." There were so many questions and so many of them were answered with, "I don't know." There was anger. My children used their strongest curse word, "stupid", with frequency and ferocity. There was also astonishing courage, drive and dedication: the same qualities we have always cheered for in the marathon runners. My 5 year old daughter, the same one who would have been spared this horror, knew exactly what we needed to do. Her declaration was affirmed without reservation.

Next year we will be there to cheer on those runners. When they are old enough, my kids want to run and I promised that when they do, I will always be there to cheer them on.

This Moment

{This Moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

 

Inspired by SouleMama

 

Sacrifice?

So you do what you've got to do. Sacrifice. Quit a job you love. Give up one car. Move. Downsize. When lightning strikes the air conditioner, don't replace it. Rework the budget. Rework it again. And again. Shop at Goodwill and on freecycle and on the curb. Sacrifice. You give up. But giving up isn't defeat. The things you give up are the first steps on this path you are trepidatiously treading with all of the courage and love you can muster. You wonder if you are strong enough.

Maybe you need someplace to keep the baby's clothes and diapers and you walk out of the Salvation Army store fighting back the tears because even there the furniture was so beyond your budget and that experience was so beyond your hormonal coping abilities. The next day you drive past a dresser on the curb that is old but solid and your rejoicing is divine! And you treasure it. And your baby grows into a five year old who organizes her things in the drawers so precisely. She is going to take that dresser with her when she runs away to New York City. She told you so. Maybe she will let you know when she is going so you can help her move it? Solid wood is heavy. She says that you can move it together; you're both pretty strong. And you are.

This is my blog.

It will be incomplete and biased. It will be filtered, censored, generalized, speculative and painstakingly detailed. It will be from my point of view alone and it won't tell half the story. I promise.