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Saturday, July 31, 2010

The last day

She sat on the couch in the classroom next to her little friend. The pink crown, the one that caused the tears the other day, was perched on the top of her head. It had yellow stars stuck on the front. Matching pink wrist bands completed the look.

Her teacher started the music. Three boys sat sullenly on the couch and refused to sing. The girl and her friend joined in right away. Tong, tong, tong they sang. Suddenly I understood the origins of the words she had been singing all week. As the teacher sang the song, the girl did the actions, managing now and then to shout out a word in Japanese.

After the singing the real party began. While the other kids started filling their plates from the left side of the table, the girl started from the right. She ignored the brownies and peach slices I had brought and went for all the new treats instead. A waffle, a coconut cookie, a fish shaped baked good that she thought was filled with chocolate but was really filled with beans. I let her. I let her try a bit of everything before feeling twinges of guilt and sneaking some real food on her plate.

The boy ignored the treats. Instead he sat beside his sister at the table and ate sushi as fast as I could make it. I check the floor to see if he had thrown the sushi on the ground he ate the first one so fast. After four hand rolls with cucumber and avocado he finally stopped.

I showed her where Ottawa was on the world map wrapped around a pillar in the classroom. Then I reached around the pole to show her where Japan was on the other side of the world. Where's W's house? she asked of her friend who lives two blocks from us. Right here I said pointing back to the first small dot. He lives here too.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Dancing with perfection

I hate you. I love you.
Badly I wanted to attain you.
Make you mine. But no more.
I have stopped now. Most days.
Sometimes I forget and covet you.
Blinded by desire to be perfect.
But you aren't good for me.
You make me unhappy with myself.
Like I'm not ever good enough.
So I am walking away. Again.
But I will probably be back.

This is post was written for six word fridays hosted by Making Things Up.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Moments of rest

I grab my moments where I can. The boy fast asleep in my arms, his head resting on my shoulder, despite the loud noise in the gym where we stand waiting for his sister. The girl leaning into me while we cuddle and watch a video on the couch. Maybe too much video even, but I am tired so I make allowances.

Those are my moments of rest.

The day is a whirlwind. Getting groceries, play dates with friends, baking muffins at the kitchen table, hours spent in the park, wagons ride that end abruptly with tears and a return home. They run and twirl and spin around me even as I try to stand still.

I am an introvert. I need quiet time with myself to feel refreshed. To feel ready for the next request demand command.

So I grab my moment where I can. And sometimes I wish for more.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


As promised, here are a few pictures that Amy sent us the day of our photo shoot. I can't wait to see the rest.

And now you can see us.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Tuesday morning

He looks like he has been working down in the mines, except instead of the black of coal he is covered with brown sand. It sticks to his arms. It streaks down both of his legs. There is sand on his face. The tip of his nose. It clings to him and the thick white sunscreen I rubbed on him as soon as we arrived at the park.

A fine dusting of sand hides among his white blond hair. It covers his clothes. And mine too.


In the middle of the gym I stand talking to another mom. I kick the ball when the boy brings it my way. We talk about our kids having outgrown preschool and kindergarten starting soon. I tell her the girl used to cry when I would pick her up from preschool for the first two months she was there. And then I heard that same cry.

I turned toward her as she ran at me from across the room. Sobbing, she walked into my arms as I knelt down in front of her. Her face was streaked with tears. Snot poured from her nose. She was too upset to speak.

What's wrong? I asked her. We made crowns today her Japanese teacher said to me. They weren't dry but she wanted to take them home. Tomorrow she told the girl. That answer didn't stop the crying.

I herded both kids outside as quickly as I could. I tried stopping to talk to the girl but she was inconsolable. Unless I was going to hand her the crown she didn't want to hear it.

Outside she screamed, releasing her pent up frustration. I told her that if she didn't stop we weren't coming back to Japanese class. And I almost kind of meant it.

In the stroller she had a snack and settled down. I dried the fresh tears and wiped her nose. She showed me her Japanese worksheets from this morning. I marveled at them. The crown was momentarily forgotten.

Monday, July 26, 2010


I didn't know what to wear. I didn't know how to dress the kids. Finally I picked a black and white checked long sleeve shirt with beige shorts for the boy. A black t-shirt with a cream silk skirt covered in black and pink kitties for the girl. I put on a blue sleeveless top and black shrug with my grey yoga capris. The husband wore a long sleeve grey shirt and black pants. I hoped for the best.

The garden was lush. The green of the grass and the plants provided a beautiful backdrop, when the kids stood still enough for a photograph to be snapped. We tried to sit in front of the painted wooden fence on a homemade quilt. The girl preferred to run around. The boy preferred to jump on me.

We asked the girl to sit, to stand, to stay still. All the things she didn't want to do. I get it. I don't like to be told what to do either. Sometimes she relented, sometimes she refused. By the end she sat on the stairs in a park near the canal with her arms crossed and a grimace on her face. I want to go home she said.

And we were done.

Amy was excellent. She worked her magic, including the bubbles that can be credited with getting the boy off the ground were he was hunched over crying. She was patient with the kids. She understood. I was more worried then she was that she wouldn't get a good shoot. Then I reminded myself she was a professional and knew what she was doing. And that she could probably take better photos than I could with her eyes closed.

Thank you for the photo shoot Amy. It was a stoke of luck (and Lara's bidding) that helped me win the photo shoot at Vicky's preschool fundraiser. I am happy we fit it in before your move to Columbia. But also sad for everyone in Ottawa that hasn't yet hasn't yet had a photo shoot with you.

I don't usually post photos here, but I have a feeling some of these will be good so I may have to share. If only to show off how cute my kids are.

Saturday, July 24, 2010


I used to be afraid. Fearful of pretty much everything. Failing a test. Losing friends. The destruction of the ozone layer. Dying. I was afraid of whatever was coming next because it was unknown. Maybe the next moment would bring with it pure joy, but maybe it would bring me pain. And so I was always afraid.

The anticipation of change could scare me like nothing else. Change was beyond my control and so I feared it. I also resisted it with every fiber in my body. Of coarse that never ends well.

Over time I have learnt to be less afraid. Of change. Of the unknown. Of things that may or may not hurt me. Of those moments you didn't see coming that change everything. Of life.

I reached a good equilibrium where I could think rationally about change and acknowledge the good and bad. I began to believe that I could handle whatever life brings me. I began to trust others and myself. I relaxed. I stopped holding my breath and waiting for the moment when things would begin to tip unexpectedly and irrevocably  towards the bad.

Then I had children. At first I didn't feel it. My bliss, combined with exhaustion, stopped me from being fearful. But as my love and attachment deepened my fear reappeared. Because I would do anything to keep them safe and free from hurt. And I know I can't.

The fear prompts me to try to keep them safe. I watch them closely as they learn to navigate the stairs. I am close by as the boy swims in the wading pool and my eyes never leave the girl as she swims. I have rules about the park. I talk to her about strangers. I am careful about who I leave them with. I try to teach them that they have worth and value and can do anything so they won't believe the lies others might tell them.

I know there are going to be moments beyond my control. They will get hurt. People will hurt them. I will hurt them, however unintentional. My fear for them won't keep them safe. I will need to let them go and explore the world so they can make it their own. I need them to learn to live with their own fears and to believe that they can move past them.

Just like I do. Every day.

Friday, July 23, 2010


My favorite place to kiss him was the soft skin under his neck. I would bend my head down and sneak my lips into the small space between his chin and his chest. I would push my kiss into his smooth skin. He would laugh or smile when I pulled away.

He still lets me kiss him there, but I have to be sneakier than I used to. The skin is still soft, but the baby smell is gone.

His favorite place to sit was curled on my chest, his head tucked in my neck. Once his whole body stretched the length of my torso, the hair on the top of his head tickling me. He would round his back and snuggle into me.

He still lies on my chest, but now his bum rests on my lap and his legs wrap around my waist. He curls his back until it is rounded like a crescent moon and he lays his head on the edge of my shoulder.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Pinching/ licking/ biting

Mom! she yells at me. He is pinching/ licking/ biting me!

I stop walking and bend over the stroller to look inside.

No pinching/ licking/ biting your sister I say to the boy.

He looks innocently up at me. His eyes seem to ask me how I could even think such a thing of him. Then he starts to pinch/ lick/ bite his own arm.

Yes I say. You can pinch/ lick/ bite your own arm, as if agreeing with him that that's what he had been doing all along. But please don't pinch/ lick/ bite your sister.

I start to push the stroller and we keep walking.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010


I grab the clothes from the overflowing laundry basket sitting on my bedroom floor. A clean pair of grey capri yoga pants and a grey t-shirt. I quickly dress and head downstairs.

The kids are sick. I sent the girl to Japanese class with a box of tissues yesterday, but today I decided to keep her home. Her nose keeps running and she is tired. The boy, who was out of sorts yesterday morning after a night of coughing and snuffling, woke up from his afternoon nap with a fever. He spent an hour and a half just laying on my chest. Any attempts to put him down were met with cries of resistance.

I managed to head them out the door this morning. Despite the sickness that still lingers they had too much energy to stay at home. And I needed to be out. I decided to take them to a new to them park. Not too far away from our house, but far away enough that we never visit it. Not when our park is so close.

But first I need coffee. I buy an iced coffee for myself and a pumpkin scone that the kids manage to share without fighting. Back into the stroller they go and we start off.

We walk for half a block, and then in my attempt to multitask by both pushing the stroller and sipping my coffee, the coffee spills. Drops of brown splatter down the front of my t-shirt like a trail of the boy's tears. A large blob of liquid hits the bottom of my pants.

I curse silently before fruitlessly attempting to wipe the stains away. I moan and grumble as I set back on my path to the park. Why can I never look like the other women I see walking past me, I think. They are clean and groomed. I never am, despite my best attempts.

Then it hits me. I am marked. Like cattle branded by their owner, so too am I am marked by my children. The boy's snot puddles on the shoulder of my dress from when he rested his head on me. Flour settles into the cotton of my pants from when I bake with the girl. Sand fills my shoes and works it's way under my toe nails from when I sit in the sand and build castles with the kids. And coffee spills down my clean shirt and pants when I am out walking with the kids.

I am marked.

Monday, July 19, 2010


I work hard every day, I just don't get paid for it. Not in money anyway. My currency is hugs and kisses, tears and tantrums. There are days where I feel as rich as the Queen of England and days where I my overdraft has an overdraft. It can be an unstable economy with my two kids. The 1980s boom with its big shoulder pads can quickly morf into the recession of the early 1990s, grunge skaters and all.

And yet I love it.

I have decided that being a stay at home mom is better then my last paid job. At least now I love the person screaming at me. Somehow yelling in much more forgivable in a three year old then a forty year old. Even lying is more forgivable in an almost four year old who is really just hoping that if she says it out loud it will become the truth. That doesn't work so well when you are pretending to have met with your clients or written a report.

I would happily continue to manage my two kids day in and day out, or more accurately, let them manage me, but I can see the end coming. I am supposed to return to work in the fall. That's what the paper work says anyway. I have a small reprieve given that I will be going back to a new job, one that I haven't found yet. I am filled with a bit of joy that my return could be delayed, but the joy is offset by the work that will be involved in looking for a new job.

I occasionally fantasize about chucking it all and never going back to work, but a plan is a plan and we have one of those. My turn at home is almost up and the husband's is about to begin. When I go back to work he will be taking leave for two years until the boy starts kindergarten. Providing we don't run out of money of coarse.

I am excited for the husband. He was at home with the girl for a year between my maternity leaves with both kids. It was good for him to understand what it was like to be the primary caregiver. It was good for the girl to spend so much time with her dad. It was good, I know that.

But the thought of it makes me sad. Sad for the moments I will miss. The firsts and the seconds and even the twelfths.

It will be fine. I will be fine. I will get used to it. And I will enjoy the kisses and hugs, tears and tantrums while I can.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

All bets are off

All bets are off when you go to a birthday party, even if the party is for an adult. The kids eat cheese pizza and ice cream cake. The boy wanders back and forth from his sister to us, weaving between the legs of people taller then him, asking for more more tortilla chips. The girl sits mesmerized on a kid sized chair watching a big screen tv while all the older kids play downstairs.

That is how it is done.

When it is time to go we load two tired kids into car seats. I make sure to tuck the girl's cream silk skirt dotted with black and pink cats out of the way before clicking her in. The boy stares out the window and watches the cars pass by. They are tired and happy.

And that is how it is done.

Saturday, July 17, 2010


Suddenly my girl was replaced by a fish. It must have happened just as she dipped her toe into the wading pool on Monday, because how else can I explain her new found love of water. After all, this is the girl that wouldn't get in the pool for her swimming lessons and only walked around the edges of the wading pool last summer. She was cautious and skeptical of the water. Until she became a fish that is.

Now she lies on her stomach in the water, using her hands to walk herself around the pool. She holds onto a flutter board and jumps forward until she splats back down into the water. She splashes her friends and herself with big waves of water until her two blond pigtails are wet. She runs for the pool as soon as we arrive at the park and she stays there until we leave. My fish.

It didn't hit me until yesterday just how much things have changed. We stumbled upon a birthday party at the park and the mom of the birthday girl kindly gave us a cupcake. The boy took a quick bite but then ignored it in favour of an apple juice box. Juice is more of a rarity to him then cupcakes so I kind of understood that. I lifted up the cupcake and showed it to the girl when she caught my eye from her position in the pool. She came out to take a look, but then spurned it in order to swim some more. I was in shock. And a little disconcerted.

It was actually a bit reassuring later when she ran out of the pool, came over to me and took a bite of the cupcake and then tore back to the pool. Whew. There is still some of my girl inside that fish.

Friday, July 16, 2010


When I write I call myself mom, but never when I speak. When I talk about myself out loud, I am always mum. On the page it looks like I am all apple pie and Fourth of July fireworks, but when I speak it sounds like I am crumpets and rides on the Underground.

The kids call me mama. Like they should we wearing matching uniforms and holding hands with Madeline while they walk the streets of Paris behind Miss Clavel.

It feels, somehow, like a perfect example of being Canadian. A little bit of everything all together.

What do you call yourself? What do your kids call you?

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Music class - take two

We went back. This time he cried less, spent only a brief time in the hall and let me sit on the floor with him on my lap. He panicked once the guitar was strummed and the singing started but I managed to convince him to sit on the piano stool in the corner of the room instead of leaving the room. It was an improvement.

The girl decided she liked the music class less this week then last week. She gave me some helpless looks, reminding me of a kitten whose tail has just been stepped on. I could tell she wanted to like it but she was a little too unsure. So she went to sit with her brother on the piano stool and there they were as happy as a pair of monkeys in a tree.

They watched the music teacher, they watched me and the watched the only other little kid in the class. The teacher valiantly kept singing while the other little girl, her mother and I marched around in a circle. I felt kind of stupid but I kept a smile plastered to my face in the hope of convincing either of my kids to come and join me.

They did get off the piano stool once the magic bag of instruments appeared. They both grabbed some shakers and bells and started heading back towards the piano stool. Then the girl realized that the instruments sounded better if she danced with them. I put the cuff of bells around her wrist, and then her ankle, and she danced in a big circle. The boy wanted a cuff of bells too, of coarse. Together they danced around the outside of our circle while the teacher sang brow-eyed girl. I watched them and listened to see if I could hear the sound of the bells around their ankles jingling over the singing.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


The tear has fallen off the tip of his chin, but its wet path still streaks his cheek. The green umbrella, the source of his tears and frustration, now sits open next to him on the front porch. I had told him that we don't open umbrellas in the house and he had responded by falling to the floor in the middle of the hallway, his desperate cries drowning out my words.

The three of us sat on the front porch and watched the people walking by on their way to work. I braced myself of the day.

Monday, July 12, 2010

The dentist

I hate the dentist. No, I loathe the dentist. Basically I both hate and loathe the dentist (okay, not my actual dentist because she is really quite nice, but the act of going to the dentist).

There are many things I would rather be doing them sitting in the dentist chair and having someone poke around. Full on three year old tantrum in the park? Sounds great! Projectile vomiting in my open hands? Bring it on! Twelve hours of labour following fifty-two hours of pre-labour? Yes please! More in fact, if it will get me out of a visit to the dentist.

Somehow in the last six years I have developed a phobia of the dentist. I don't like having to lie back in that stupid chair and stare at the ceiling. I don't like the sound of my teeth being cleaned. I don't like the water and the air swirling and mixing in my mouth. I don't like anyone touching or checking or looking at my teeth!

I find this phobia quite surprising given that I spent years having such things done on a monthly basis. I did, after all, had braces for six years. All of junior high and high school. I also had four teeth pulled, in addition to my four wisdom teeth, to make room for the shifting that slowly and painfully took place thanks to my orthodontist. If I was going to develop a teeth related phobia that really should have been the time. Back when all I could eat for two days were milkshakes and mushy bananas.

Instead, I developed this intense dislike of dentists while sitting in the chair of my perfectly lovely dentist and the pediatric dental hygienist that they always let me see. Because the office quickly picked up on the fact that I tense every muscle through the entire cleaning procedure and go into a trance-like state in order to make it through a cleaning. After a filling I practically need to have a full body message in order to relax.

My feelings about the dentist seem to intensify with each passing year, which has meant that I haven't been good at keeping up with my scheduled checkups. I mean to, kind of. But there was that time we were sick so I had to cancel, and then other stuff happened and then, really, no time is ever good so here we are and it has been about a year and a half since I last saw the dentist.

I did see her today. Thankfully I saw her from across a small room while I sat on a folding chair with the boy on my lap and the girl, my almost four year old girl, sat in the dentist chair for her first check up. The girl did spectacularly well. She let the dentist count her teeth. She let the dentist brush her teeth. She let the dentist floss her teeth. The dentist told me that the girl's mouth is crowded and that she will likely need braces, but then I already guessed that was coming. (Did I mention I had braces for six long years?) The girl declined to have the chair recline so the dentist had to stoop over a bit to be able to look in her mouth, but still. The girl was much more relaxed then I ever am for a dentist appointment. It gave me great hope that the phobia is not in any way genetic.

I even made a follow up appointment for the girl. And because I was there and I couldn't ignore the receptionist like I usually ignore her phone calls, I made an appointment for myself. That I will probably even keep.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Letting go

How am I supposed to do this? Let her go.

There was a time when she was always in my arms. On me. Next to me. When she started to crawl, she was always in my line of sight. When she started to walk, she always ran back to me.

Now she waves me away so that she can go and join her friends. Backpack on, her snacks tucked inside her new and much treasured little bento boxes, she leaves me standing in the gym while she makes her own adventures.

The boy stands beside me. Always with me. For now, anyway.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Reading and hearing

I had read a number of the posts before attending Blog Out Loud on Wednesday night so I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong. Hearing the bloggers bring expression and meaning to their words changed everything. I connected with the posts more. I understood the bloggers better. In some cases, I finally heard what they were saying.

Thank you to Lynn for organizing the event. Thank you to all the bloggers for reading.

(Thank you for the suggestions I got on what to read. I spent a long time trying to decide and finally settled on two short posts: Close your eyes and Ballroom.)

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Music class

The poor boy. As the younger sibling he is often, okay always, dragged along on outings and activities for his sister. His schedule is set by her. Taking her to preschool. Taking her to Japanese class. Play dates with her friends.  The activities are rarely about him.

Not this summer! I thought. I am going to find something to do that he will like. Something for him.

So I signed both kids up for a music class. The boy loves music. He loves to dance and, while he doesn't like me singing, he quite likes to sing himself. I had heard good things about this class and it isn't too far a walk from our house. Perfect.

Yesterday was the first class. We were there early enough to have to sit outside in the hallway for a few minutes before our class began. The kids were excited and eager to find the source of the music they could hear. When it was our turn they headed straight in and happily sat down on the rug in the middle of the room. Ready to begin.

When the teacher sat down on the floor and brought out his guitar, both kids stood up in excitement. A look of wonder crossed the boy's face. Then the teacher strummed the guitar and instead of smiling the boy burst into tears. Big, gulping sobs. Chest heaving sobs. Sobs suggesting that the world was ending and that that guitar was going to bring it about. He climbed into my lap and buried his face into my chest. He pointed at the door and asked to go home.

He and I spent some time back out in the hallway. With him in my arms I inched step by step back into the class room. I had made it to the edge of the circle when the teacher pulled out the instrument of the week. That got the boy out of my arms and down on the floor to touch the instrument in his sister's hands. Excellent I thought. And then the evil guitar was strummed again. The tears were back and the boy climbed back into my arms.

I sat on the piano stool while the boy clutched my neck. I watched the girl march around in a circle, signing and swinging her arms. Having a grand old time. Just like I had imagined her brother would.

He did enjoy himself when the big bag of instruments came out. He let me sit him down beside me so he could play the drum and the bells and the shakers. He hit and jingled and shook. He smiled and laughed. He even tidied up when it was time to put the instruments away.

For a moment I sat between the two kids enjoying their combined pleasure. Then the teacher said that class was over. The boy stood up and walked around happily saying by to everyone. His sister burst into tears.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010


I had signed her up for Spanish classes. The school board is offering free language classes at schools across the city during the month of July. Spanish is being offered at the school she will start kindergarten at sooner then I am ready for. So we went to the school yesterday, they checked our paperwork and I paid the ten dollar registration fee.

Sitting at the side of the wading pool yesterday afternoon I started chatting with the mom of a boy from the girl's preschool. Her kids were signed up for Japanese classes at the same school. In fact, the mom had been talked into teaching the class. When I told the girl this, and mentioned the name of another boy from her preschool who would be in the class, she decided she wanted to learn Japanese too. Despite the fact that the only word she knows in Japanese is sushi.

When the boy woke up at 5am this morning I knew it would be a long day. While I haven't conducted a scientific study, I find days where he wakes up before 5:30 am to be harder. On me and him. Early mornings mean he wants to fall asleep as soon as we go anywhere in the stroller and so I spend all my energies keeping him awake. Because, while he could nap in the stroller, I want an hour or two to myself while he naps and his sister reads or watches a video.

He was almost asleep when we go to the girl's school at quarter to nine. His eyes opened when I pulled him out of the stroller and while he squeaked a bit, he perked up when we entered the school. Both kids sat quietly on chairs in the office while I moved the girl from Spanish to Japanese class. Of coarse, once that was done I started to worry. That she wouldn't like the class, that she would want me, that she wouldn't understand a thing!

So I worried while I walked back to the park with the boy. I worried on and off while I enjoyed a lovely morning with friends in the park. I worried when it came time to leave and pick up the girl because I couldn't figure out how to go get her without the boy falling asleep. And then I worried about leaving the boy with friends at the park while I borrowed a car and zipped off to get her.  Because he was so very tired and as I left he started to cry. He cried most of the time I was gone, despite the comforts and distractions being provided by my friends. He cried until he fell asleep in the stroller.

That's where I found him once I made it back to the park. The girl had been late leaving her class and I had just grabbed her and run, thinking about the boy the whole time. I remembered to ask her how she liked her Japanese class, but I don't remember her answer.

Monday, July 5, 2010

This is love

They sit beside each other, squeezed together on the red IKEA chair. Staring straight ahead at the video playing on the computer, they are mesmerized. He leans close towards her and rests his head on her shoulder. Her arm is wrapped around him and it pulls him close.


The husband leaves the room before they are both asleep. Listening over the monitor we hear some shuffles. A few squeaks. Finally there is silence and we assume they are both asleep. Later, the husband peaks in their room on his way to bed. He calls to me to come and look. We find them both asleep in the girl's bed. Her on her stomach and him on his back. The boy must have crawled into the bed and positioned himself next to the wall and his sister. She must have pulled the blanket up over him. And then they fell asleep.

Sunday, July 4, 2010


I am trying to be patient. I take lots of deep breathes. I think before I speak. I keep in check the new voice that has emerged in the last week; deep and firm it sounds so unlike me.

Still she pushes me. She continues to lick me after I politely ask her not to. She tickles me until it isn't fun anymore. She comes running to tell us that she has drawn the length of wall with a pen, even though she knows she isn't supposed to. She throws sand at the park and then asks if it is on the new list of family rules we hung up on the wall. When I say yes, she does it again.

Is this four? Because four is coming and I am no longer eagerly anticipating it.

But I hug her hard every chance I get. I rest my hand on her head so we will both be reminded of our connection. I rub her leg as she sits beside me so she will know I am there. And I try so hard to be present with her.

I watched her at the park this afternoon. I made the moment stop so I could etch in my mind the sight of her standing beside the lifeguard in her navy blue polka dot bathing suit, pink heart shaped sunglasses on and glass of lemonade in her hand, watching the ruckus in the pool. Taking it all in.

Friday, July 2, 2010


The husband and I are trying to herd the kids into the house but they are ignoring us. Instead, they have both climbed into the front seat of the small blue car. The boy sits in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel with two hands and trying as hard as he can to turn it. The girl sits in the passenger seat beside him, busy trying to persuade him to trade seats with her.

The car seats have been unloaded from the backseat and still they ignore us. Happy to let us drone on in the background, nothing can distract them from the novelty of the car. It is better then any toy.

We don't own a car. Our parking space sits empty except for visits from grandma and friends. We do belong to a local car sharing service, and that explains the car out front. We booked it to drive to our friends' house for a wonderful dinner, but now it must be returned.

Pulling out of the driveway I see the boy struggling to escape from the husband's arms. Tears run down his face. He yells his own version of bring back the car! If he knew any, I think he would have thrown in some profanity. Such is his love of cars.