Growing Versions

They could slip past me at this point.  At this stage, they might slink up the stairs to their rooms, build forts and worlds until it is time to leave. They could have and have already begun to hide between the covers of a book or get sucked into an extracurricular activity that doesn't include me or get surrounded by a web of friends. If I weren't so tired, worn out from my labours of the first few stages, I might not notice.  Nodding off on the couch, bingeing on another world created for me might keep me comforted just enough. So, I deciding to slip into a lower gear.  Clear more space on the calendar, empty the toy box and replace the toys with empty space and spare parts that might just tug them back for a while longer. Lower gear is not as tiring.  I still feel like they are picking up speed in another direction and don't want me to follow, but there are just enough times still when I can still walk along side them, and watch the car slide off the tr...

1 quarter 1 dime 1 nickel down one slide, best two out of three wins. 1 quarter, 1 dime, 1 nickel down another.  "Woah, this slide give shocks! High five me and you will see. " The quarter (especially) rolls right off the edge into the pile of leaves. 1 quarter, 1 dime, 1 nickel down again, more shocks, more high fives... again, and again. The curvy slides makes my stomach feel like jello, not so good for quarter, dime and nickel racing, but let me try one more time, upside down. There are a lot of things to do on a holiday weekend.  Not a lot that only cost 40 cents.

 Parents of children who are older than 10 years old like me may think that cradling is no longer part of the job description.... ...but it very much is.  As our kids learn to walk away from us and grow past us, we cradle them with carefully chosen words, holding our bodies just so so that we can absorb the scariness of a dream or by sweeping away yesterday's mess so today's can be born. The other day, my mom asked me lovingly.  "When was the last time you went for a swim? You should go."  Her cradling work continues.

 Christmas vacation is the first time since summer when our lives are rearranged.   Our diet shifts,    the furniture gets moved around,  activities change, and the decor is altered. As everything gets rearranged, so do we.

I've come to except (and accept) little pots of gooey gunk littering my home for a quite a while now. Corn starch, vinegar, baking soda, food colouring, pasta in water that is growing mold and oatmeal face masks run amok. These potions have been fermented, boiled, frozen, baked into pie shapes, smeared and set on fire. What can I about these secret potions? Their mystery persists.

Any time I am in danger of being demoralized by Pinterest for not creating more games and activities out of thin air for my kids, the kids take the lead and do it for themselves. This box above was a just another thing destined for the curb after Christmas, but it got rescued and transformed into a rocket lab. Two cups and a ball eliminated the need to ever hunt down a real live ping pong table. Youtube dancing games substituted just fine for pricey video games. Gingerbread house construction expanded the ceramic Christmas village by two whole blocks. An amusement park got built on the back of cartons and laundry baskets. This air may be thin, but there is a source of oxygen coming from somewhere.

I was stopped in my tracks the other morning by a tiny person who had just learned to walk. He lurched towards something. Something neither his father nor I could see or appreciate. He seemed to walk towards nothing, but there was a smirk of delight on his sweet face, he was heading toward something that previously had been out of his reach, unimaginable in those dimensions.  " I can walk towards that now, " he was thinking, "I am capable of that now." Finally, his father picked him up and head in the opposite direction, away from whatever it was that had caught his attention.  His day had begun, he would walk towards many more things and exmaine many things before the day would be over.

My days are full of looking for shortcuts at the moment. I am in hot pursuit of hacks. Life has become a series of edits, and revisions. Some shortcuts feel like drastic measures, reserved for emergencies, Others are technically shortcuts, but are actually substantially better than their longcut comrades. There is a small path leading from our house to the school that makes our day better and even gives my kids independence because they can use it to get to school safely without me, if needed. What are your best shortcuts?

When things speed up, I feel like I am observing my kids in a blur.  I try to hold on tight, but I am often left just clutching air as they (and more often me) whiz past.  The balloon from the party on the weekend floats above us, it's like a symbol of the minutes that I managed to be present, absolving me, while it slowly loses air.

This weekend my daughter decided, after visiting a friend's, that she should redecorate her room. Her friend's room had inspired her and for the first time ever she had her own vision for how her room should be organized.  I was not allowed in for my semi-annual clean and I realized that I won't be so readily invited in to re-organize things in my own way from now on. I came across a stack of sealed envelopes that were addressed to various relatives by my son. They had been written and stacked there at some point and I resisted opening them. I decided I would stick a stamp on them and fill in the address and send them on their way.

As we head into winter, I stumbled on this memory of growing a boy in spring. Growing a boy in winter is very similar, it just requires more layers.

I don't think I have enough words or the right ones to describe my child's love of balloons. He views balloons the same way other kids view lego, full of possibilities and as tools of his imagination.  Balloons can be engines, they can be ornaments, they can be fasteners, they can be bombs, they can carry messages ( and they do)... There are no limits when it comes to balloons.  I really had no idea. My mind was so limited before. Why don't, you ask, do I not have more balloons in my life?  At a children's birthday party where a magician was making balloon animals, my son patiently waited his turn and then asked the magician to make him a sweater with the balloon.  

Just when I start to worry that my son is outgrowing fort building, I come home to a tent pitched in the living room.  He emerged from the gauzy folds and informed me that he was the only one who could enter  because he alone had an entrance bracelet (a la theme park), which he had re-purposed from the ring around a mayonnaise jar. With relief, and wonder, I peeked inside. I relished being forbidden entrance. Right now, the places where he doesn't want me to enter are right in front of me, in the middle of everything.  Someday soon, the secret places he will retreat to will not be so visible.

I came across this this week.  A little impromptu doll house (well actually it is a "My Little Pony" house) came to light complete with a flower bed lined with coffee grounds (for the right consistency and colour), welcome mat and a tiger pet. Once you start thinking miniature, it is hard not to look at a toothpaste top and think, "lampshade", "flower pot" or "wedding cake".

It is always a gift to spend time with one kid at a time.  Things get revealed. Things that are hard to see when I get distracted by the demands of keeping track of more than one person.  One on one, I can calibrate to that kid and plug into his voltage.  

I was clicking through photos this morning in preparation for Christmas and I came across a photo that stopped me in my tracks.  It was not a photo from the Christmas concert or a photo of them doing something delightful. It was almost a mistake. It was taken by my son as we walked along the street somewhere this fall. Mid-step, we walk in the sun somewhere together. Someday,this photo, as unintended as it was, will be so precious to me. A little boy (who is not so little anymore) walking by my side everywhere we go.

Adding an eye to a piece of paper instantly suggests a mouth and soul are not far behind. Without fail an eye can animate some felt, a sock or rock or a lock, even a scrap of garbage. Attaching an eye to anything, can turn once listless objects into witnesses.

I am a big fan of parades. What's not to like? People dressed in costumes, music, the occasional sweet being tossed your way.  However, if I had to choose only one parade a year to take my kids to, it would be the Pride Parade hands down.  The Santa Claus parade has nothing on it.  Sure, it's hosted by a magical character who promises great things and perks us up when we are starting our descent into seasonal darkness, but it is the Pride Parade that says, loudly and proudly, "yes, you and you and you, we are happy you are here!"  Come out of the shadows of doubt and fear. "We want you senior citizens, and teenagers and babies and everyone in between, to be here, standing and dancing in the light of day. We, the banks, and the police and the mayor and the everyone want you to be who you are without conditions."   When I really think about what it is I want for my kids, is it infinite magical possibilities on Christmas morning? Or is it wholeness, ha...

The first time my kid learned about the tooth fairy, she exclaimed, "I need to lose more teeth, that's how I can make money!!" My son has continued the tradition of mining teeth in exchange for money.  Last night, a slightly wiggly tooth managed to make its way into fairy world by way of the hard graft of a six year old.  He treated extracting that tooth, one bloody wiggle at a time, like a job.  He was paid, although since he is a minor, the fairy did not feel obliged to pay him minimum wage. It was more of a stipend than anything else. Early signs of wiggle in the other front tooth are too early to call, but the fairy may be back to pick up a tooth before the week is out.