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.