interim .....

get over it
get on with it.
you've got to move on......

not that i particularly enjoy sitting in the field during the interim, i know there is a purpose.  to reach a place where bitterness is left behind, where unanswered questions can be laid to rest, where some answers can be discovered, i have to restlessly remain in a place between "back there and over there...."

sure, i'd love to know the secret timeline for "getting over it....."  does anyone know? 
what are the rules to this process?  OH!  It's an individual thing...... nice.   this isn't a good answer for a chronic perambulating thinker. 

I wish there were times when I could just stop the incessant thinking.  But, that's an impossibility, and absurd in my case.  prayer helps this.... will do more of that. 

just remember..........God provides minimum protection and maximum support.......

yes, yes.......... He's there in that field.... holding me as I face the elements. He's in the ground below where I sit, offering me a pretty fantastic view.....360 degrees, past, present and future.  He keeps reminding me to...

Sit, go slow, walk to clear your head, write to let the feelings and pent up words out, to connect with others,  to do things,  to push outside of the comfort zone often,  to talk it out........ to pray.  He keeps showing up in the most interesting places with a smile and a listening ear.  He lets me be.  He lets me be.  Unprotected but supported. 

I'm learning...... when I think of what I've learned in just a short month, I smile.  I'm smiling.

grief knows no boundaries.  sure there are certain rules of decorum.  i mean you can't prostrate yourself in the middle of a busy intersection without someone calling for the straight jacket.  people grow weary quickly if you carry on too openly with your vitriolic woe is me schtick.  on the other hand, they look at you with judgemental eyes if move too quickly too.  so, what are the rules?  what is the timeline? 

I can only be myself.  But, that didn't work did it?  I was who I am and was rejected. 
Still, I will be myself.
I am who I am.
I can change....... his perceptions of me seem so clearly wrong.  I can't change that.

i have few answers to the questions which bore deep inside me, and this isn't going to change. the answers are not forthcoming and will never be.   i can only twist myself into a pretzel trying to fill in the blanks, trying to face down my own part in the dance that ended.  the sorries have no depth, no meat to them.  things happen, i am told.  i didn't mean it to.  

no that was a choice i say.....a hurting one. a deeply sorrowful hurting one.

it makes me want to lash out.  sometimes i do.  most times i try my best to let it go.  it was not my choice. my choices have come after the dance ended.  the dance has ended. 

we danced so beautifully together..........lively and free......

yeah, we have choices and can choose bravery over weak-kneed escapes. 
the choices reverberate like a clanging gong...........inside me sometimes. 
other times, the gong settles..........
and i know the answers will not be forthcoming.
my apologies to myself and others do.
and soon forgiveness?
i tried.  not good enough it seems.  but i tried.

i'm in the iterim field of lonely still, but i do see that i've moved a speck to the left.  forgiveness is where i am.  forgiveness is where the lifting of the spirit resides.  breathing helps.  breathing is where i am. today.

did you know that the word spirit comes from the word breath?  did you know that the holy spirit is a feminine entity?  as a woman, I will breathe life back into my feminine soul........ like i did with my children.  they came from my breath. 

renewal begins in the spring.....in a field of interim.  I am breathing, filling my lungs the best i can.  my wings are evolving.   eventually a new dance will arise......

Let's see what today brings......... :)

on the cusp....

There's a common held belief that my son was born with an "old soul." Its the only plausible explanation for his way of being and his accumulated knowledge. He must've known a bunch of stuff before he was born into this present life he thrives in. Though he has similar interests to his peers, if he really likes something, Max learns as much as he can about it. He can't get enough sometimes..... his ever churning brain needs food and then some.

I remember when he was a preschooler and had learned a new concept, he wanted to persistently expand on it until he grabbed onto another one. Geography, for example is an area he continues to stretch his knowledge and understanding. He is truly passionate about the whole area of Social Studies. When he first learned about what a country was, he wanted to know more and more about them......one at a time and would get frustrated if he couldn't get his very young brain around the abstract ideas of what cities, towns, capitals, provinces, states and countries were.

Yes, I remember a particularly frustrating conversation in the car once when his Dad, his sister and I were all trying to help him grasp onto what they were. He was 4 years old I think. It would've been easier to explain Piaget's Developmental milestones to him......to argue that he was only at the concrete reasoning stage and to just hold on until his abstract impermanence stage kicked in in a couple of years! OY! Instead, we bought him a world map poster for his room complete with country flags around the perimeter, a globe which has since worn out and a few atlases to glean information from. Now the smart ass quizzes us on countries I didn't even know existed.

His music tastes run the gamut from The Beatles to Beck. His comedy tastes run the gamut too as we try to introduce him to the subtle nuances of Steve Wright and the hilarity of Ricky Gervais. Will Farrell still rules, but political satirist Rick Mercer is a close second. This is all important stuff in our house.....the house that humour built because my Math fiend, my Social Studies wonk, my music loving amateur guitar picker wants to grow up to be a stand up comedian.

And you know what? Despite being the Mom with a bent and biased view of my beautiful son, I think the kid is one of the funniest people I have ever met. His dry sense of humour, quick wit and ability to memorize anything put in front of him (or heard once) may just be the ingredients to a successful jaunt into the world of laffs. His facebook status profiles are legendary. Even my friends want to be his friend in order to get a laugh every day.

So, today is Max's birthday. 12 years old. Part of me can't believe he's on the cusp of being a teen, though if his up and down temperment swings are any indication, he's there! I seem to be able to handle the swings more than the others because..... well, he reminds me of me. Not that I'm as intelligent as he is by a long shot. I mean with the teen moods. The other thing about his emotions? They also come in handy when he wants to tell his family that he loves them. It's automatic, and openly expressed.... at the end of every phone call .... when he's heading out the door in the morning .... when he decides to pop in on a Saturday afternoon to check in during a basketball game.

Most days, Max seems so much older. The other day, my 12 year old who was sitting in the back of the van blurted out to his Dad and I..... "You know what I'm thinking? I'm wondering if life is a just a dream and when you die, you wake up and realize all that you go through isn't real......"

Silence from us.............. I mean how do you offer up a reply to a statement like that? And how many kids think this philosophically and deeply? Before we could reply, Max shivers out loud.....and says.... "OH my God, that hurts to think about. I'm creeping myself out!"

Old soul..... 12 years old.......... may he always stretch the minds of everyone around him. God, I love hangin' with Max.

rain reflections of camp.....

I had a short catch up kind of conversation with my daughter last night on the phone. She's busy at her camp in the counsellor in training program, and is having the time of her life. So much so, that I think she's almost oblivious of how crappy the weather has been all summer long.

We have yet to have a string of sunny days. The temperatures are cool. The skies have been grey. The land is soggy. It feels more like early spring except everything is so lush it looks juicy. The flowers in the garden are bent over in surrender, too damped down by the wet lashings that they havent the energy to spring to attention. Instead, the blooms cower in anticipation of another downpour.

I asked my daughter how bad it was there in dampcampland..... Upbeat and perky, she admitted that she doesn't have a dry towel left, but they were all coping with it. In fact, she had just been swimming in the river to clean up after sliding in the mud. "It was great Mom. We put our bathing suits on and ran around the camp looking for mudpuddles to slide in. We were coated in it! It was a blast!!" Fun? WOW!

After we said goodbye, she was off to the Lodge to hang out with the rest of the CIT's...no doubt in front of a big blazing fire in the old fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone would have a guitar in hand. No doubt there would be wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from their comfort of belonging. No doubt they would offer up their hopes and bits about themselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, my daughter and her friends sprawled out on the wooden floor of the old lodge in front of the fire most likely spent an evening of broadening their connections through conversations, cardgames, music, and comraderie. I could envision it like it was something I had experienced myself. Why? Because I have and those memories I hold dearly.

Rainy summers working at a children's camp conjure up very different nostalgic scenes than the hot sunny long hazy day ones. Regular activities are often swept aside for different open ended adventures where you learn to live within the elements and have fun. Mind over matter always wins! Though it was hard work to push past the expectations of sunny paddles and blue sky sailings, you learned different skills by recognizing that rainy days offer gifts of deeper friendships. If you let it happen.

I remember summers when the rain was unrelenting, when moods were attached to short fuses, when pushing through the elements took a lot of energy. Leaders couldn't whine no matter how consistently dour the skies were. They were the backbone of enthusiasm. But it would take its toll. When this happened.....when there was a shift to a sense of surrender, our number one much loved leader, Skip, would decide to change things up by allowing his staff to sleep in a bit and along with a couple of his senior staff, would take every single camper, usually 120 or so on a long rainy day hike. Sounds like drudgery doesn't it? Far from it!!! Those hikes were ADVENTURES.....SKIN SOAKING FUN.

But, here was the catch. While he entertained the troops....taking them through the woods, down untravelled paths, away into the mystery of the forrest to a long forgotten old logging road and a haunted house called Blagdon Manor ..... while he led them in songs and chants and quick stops to check out new fauna, the rest of the staff had the morning to stretch, work together drink coffee and plan. Why? Because when the troops returned, swampy, muddy, happy, hungry and a little played out, they would be expecting a full out camp experience like no other. Planning consisted of working as a team to conjure up a whole slew of activities, usually under a theme, and usually ending in a dance in Squamish Hall. So many of those fantastic days swim out of my memory bank this morning that I feel upbeat just remembering them.... Staff talent nights (always hilarious!), capture the flag marathons, water baseball in the rain, Skit nights, Indoor games.... Guys and Girls, Counsellor hunts, Kangaroo Courts.... and theme days!

One year, we turned the camp into a Pirate's Training Den. It all began while the kids, then clean, dry and finishing a hot hearty lunch when a group of Pirates sailed around the point, right onto the shores of Camp Kawabi...... We had decorated one of the old outboard boats, The Stable Mabel and turned it into a sailing vessel.... A group of the most "vicious" looking staff dressed in their very best pirate rags loudly announced their invasion. Within no time, the whole camp ran down to the lake to find out what was going on, only to realize they were all held capture, thrown into groups, given pirate family names and promptly introduced to the idea that in order to become pirates themselves, they had to pass a bunch of "matey" tests, which had been set up in various spots all over the camp. If they passed the tests, they would be given their own head scarf and eye patch (all created that morning by a busy bouyant group of leaders).

As the skies threatened above, we were able to ignore its menacing ways and band together in a day of fantasy and imagination. How cool is that? Fun? WOW! A rainy day..... and I bet it was one of the highlights of almost every single person, no matter what age, of their summer. Laughter and song shared with 150 people is hard to ever forget. I loved rainy day activities..... I loved finding those mudpuddles and showing my group of campers how to slide with glee. You can always get clean..... You can't always find the mudpuddles...

After a long energy spilling day, which always left everyone smiling in exhaustion, we'd tuck our campers in and head up to the lodge. In quiet small groups, we'd form around the fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone had a guitar in hand. No doubt there were wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from our comfort of belonging. No doubt we offered up our hopes and bits about ourselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, and closer than ever..... rainy days can do that.

Ah, I now want to go find Blagdon Manor again. And why do I all of sudden want to wrap a scarf around my head? Arrrrrrrrr..........matey.........

ps.... what do you know? I finished this piece and the sun came out.... for a little while. :)

Creative Teamwork ........Their eyes were on the prize!

I'm sure most of us have been summoned to the door by an enthusiastic young entrepreneur selling something on behalf of their school? Everything from raffle tickets to cheese to wreaths to wrapping paper.....oh, and chocolate bars too are sold door to door for the sake of new gym mats, band instruments or whatever the district budget never seems to be able to afford. In order to REV up the enthusiasm, the kids are lured by a host of prizes.........prizes that get bigger the more you can SELL,SELL,SELL!

This year, my 11 year old son who is at a new bigkid school (aka middle school/junior high) along with the whole student body were asked to sell a bunch of crap out of a catalogue. The golden egg prize? A Limosine ride for 4 to and from the movie theatre.....tickets and popcorn included. Well! BADABING! That got the entrepreneurial imagination stirred. Within minutes of that announcement, Max pulled three of his buddies together and suggested that whatever they sell individually they would pool it under one name on the order form and if they won, they would all get a Limo ride.

SURE!

SURE!

YEAH!

They approached their teacher with this idea to make sure it would be alright. She seemed all for it and off they went to plan their marketing strategy by mapping out the neighbourhood. For a few days, the boys paired up and scampered up and down the streets knocking on doors and smiling their adorable 11 year old smiles and before they knew it, they had managed to sell close to 800 dollars worth of trumped up dollar store items. It took an evening to make sure everything was itemized and accounted for on the order sheet, all monitored by one of the parents. It all seemed like a GREAT exercise in business practises. The boys were learning, cooperating, and applying both their social skills and their imaginations.

Well............they won! It was announced over the loudspeaker! Cheers all around the little Grade 6 class! They beat out the rest of the student body!! The Limo was theirs! Bring it ON!

Then, somebody put on the brakes! A complaint was filed. It wasn't fair said the complaint. Someone in the office agreed....it wasn't fair. Before we knew it, 4 very rejected sad faces shuffled home to inform their parents that they were told they didn't win because they pooled their order under one name and that wasn't FAIR! "That's the last time I'm selling crap for that school.." says Max. "They knew what we were doing. The teacher told us we could..."

It turns out however that these 4 boys are sons of parents who have put in many many MANY hours of fundraising over the years when they were too young to sell crap from a catalogue. They did it! Christmas bazaars, raffle tickets, auctions, garage sales, silent auctions.....wreaths, pointsettias, T-shirts, CD's, you name it, we sold it. Not only that, we ORGANIZED the selling of it. If you were to pool the $$ raised between the 4 families it would be quite a heap of gym mats, library books, playground equipment and musical instruments. We had been on both sides of the fundraising game......SO.... fair is fair is FAIR!

One scripted email, highlighting the fact that these guys were up front about their gameplan and were creative enough to sell the most product, and the Limosine, movie tickies and popcorn was regifted. The Principal shook their hands and praised them for their ingenuity. The Vice Principal shook her head and said......"this is the first time in the 13 years we've been selling crap from a catalogue" that this approach was used. We'll have to make sure we have the rules in order for next year....."

Last night, the boys congregated at one of the homes with 11 year old excited anticipation. Slowly up the street came a shining white stretch limosine to pick up the stars. The boys poured out of the house and down the driveway with ooooo's and ahhhhhhh's and enough laughter to fill the Friday night sky! The driver, a woman named Ned Kelly (honest to God) welcomed them and opened the door into a world of entrepreneurial dreamland!

Off they went for a ride........

kawabi comfort and joy

Black bird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

all your life

you were only waiting for this moment to be free

The other day, as I headed to my car in the back parking lot of my office building I was struck by the bitterness of the cold winds. Flurries were swirling above the pavement like fairy dust lost. It was cold. Winter had finally arrived. We had been lucky. November had granted us a overflowing river of rain, but the breezes had been palatable. The cold winds demanded the respect of wool. The transition between seasons, especially from warm to cold, from lightness to early darkness is cruel.

As I drove away, I wanted to shake off the thought that this weather is only going to get worse. It is Canada for God's sake. The cold is going to drop to inhumane temperatures and the snow is going to dump from the heavens. Ice will make walking treacherous. Slush will only bring misery. It is what we're known for........winter.........well, that and making love in canoes.....we do that well too..... oh, and we have an abundance of maple syrup and men who dress in red uniforms and chase bad people through the woods. oh, and humour.....thank the Lord we've inherited the absurdist humour gene....well except for Clyde Wells. He's a defect. I mean really, who ever heard of a politician from Newfoundland who didn't know how to tempt our palate with wit??

So....where was I? oh, yeah starting up my cold van ....... I thought to myself ..... hmmmm .... beautiful self ................... if I could choose to be anywhere else right at this moment, where would it be? And, surprisingly a little shack in the woods clearly popped into my internal slide projector. My old craft shop. With a blink of a thought, all at once I was transported to a little cabin tucked into the familiar woods of my youth. It was blinking back at me. Not only that, the visual recollection was accompanied by a simple yet haunting Beatles tune.

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night.

I've always loved that song, probably because it has such a deep connection to my old craft shop. There are very few places I can think of which resonate a sense of comfort and joy for me. Its not "comfort" as in a soft sofa sense either. It's a feeling of being connected to a collective sense of belonging and all that is right in the world. Do you know that feeling? Its rare, but when it is there, it is a whole mind and body feel.

The craft shop was a sanctuary for many. It sat up the beaten path behind the painted rock off on its own away from all the other fluttering, bantering commotion of camp. Every morning when the kids signed up for activities, crafts would fill up first. We always had a full shop of happy campers in search of a place to be creative, but more than anything a place to catch their breath after a more rigourous activity of swimming, snorkelling, paddling, sailing, water skiing. They would arrive and line up by the painted rock until the bell chimed to announce the beginning and then scramble inside....the screen door banging behind them as they grabbed a spot on the benches which were smattered in years of paint. In fact there wasn't a spot on the walls, ceiling or the wooden beams which held the place together (barely) that didn't have a name and dates painted on it. The craft shop was Kawabi's signature palace. 40 years worth of names decorate the little shack. Mine is in red.......Dana/Muskie, 1970-1981......the summers where my voice was a part of the echos.....

There was no chapel building at camp.....no need really because anyone who embraced the place as their own knew it was all a little piece of heaven on earth. Chapel services moved from one place to another most Sundays........in the middle of the woods, in the lodge, down on the beach, even across the beautiful blue lake on an island not too far away. But, if I had to choose a place where I always found a sense of awareness and fellowship, it would within the walls of that little craft shop.

It doesn't exist anymore and neither does Camp Kawabi.....except in a wide range of kindreds' memories. It will live on...... Actually, the craft shop began to sag a while back and was replaced by a more fancier shmancier place right off the road into camp....definately not the same. So, it has had time to begin to sink back into the ground.

There's a melancholy feel to my memories of the times shared with friends, both during the daytime and in the evenings after the campers had been tucked in for the night. That was the time when quiet enveloped the whole camp.......and if you wanted to be still with your thoughts or share a spot alone with a friend, you could always find it up the beaten path away from it all. I can still "go there" in my reflections whenever I need to.

Melancholy...... it seems like a sad feeling when you look at the surface of it. It was what I was feeling when I got into the van that night......cold at twilight.....but it led me to a place of comfort and a moment of joy. Not a bad drive home. The flurries never touched me.... only bittersweet comfort and joy........ and the melancholy of the blackbird.....

later the same day.........a happening.......

Here I am again, but this time I'm sipping on a well earned glass of wine...or two. I've mellowed since this morning when I began what I thought was a happy little ditty of a piece and turned into a sourpuss rantsy pants piece. What has mellowed me beside some crushed grapes? Well, it turns out, I'm psychic. I've always known that I had intuitive powers, but now I believe I'm psychic. I was also bit on the arse by my own predictions.........my own desire to avert yet another freaking "happening."

Before i get into my little admission.......my explanation of my psychic arse biting episode, let me give you a chance (if you haven't already) read my earlier post this morning........ I'll wait......

Scroll down and give it a read...... I'll just sit here and hum a Bay City Rollers song, take a few swigs, fill up my glass............while you read.

s-a-t-u-r-d-a-y NIGHT.......

Ok. Caught up? Good.

So.........I was writing about the dread I was feeling about waiting for a happening?? It happened. And, if this is the intensity of the happening I have to deal with, I'm going to be alright. Not only that, I just may get to laugh at the absurdity of life.....how if you wait long enough, you learn that holding pride too close knocks the stuffing out of that notion and quick.

This afternoon, the much anticipated overdue birthday party for my number 1 son took place. I had arranged to have the school gym for a couple of hours. This was the preferred site for all involved. Given the precarious weather we have had since July, an outdoor fiesta was too dicey. 11 year old boys are too darn rambunctious to be bouncing indoors in my house with hockey sticks and bouncey balls. Been there done that.... So, the gym was a GREAT venue. As a huge bonus, I was offered full access for free because of all the years being head honcho fund raiser at the school.

Last Wednesday while doing my best to multi-task my way out of drowning in my list of "to-do's", I stopped at the school to fill out the necessary forms for access to the gym.....you know the ones designed to sign your life away and to cover their no fault asses. I hadn't been in the school since last June and got caught up in a variety of conversations with staff.....catching up, filling them in on the kids.......me wondering how the annual Christmas bazaar planning was going and feeling a keen sense of belonging as well as continuity. So, yappy, yappy........somewhere along the line, the principal gives me the key to the school. I think. 'Cause I can't remember. I know there were keys involved in the discussion but whether or not I was given one or was told that the school would be opened on Sunday is a bit blurry.... it still is. Usually that was the case. If I had needed to use the school facilities for a meeting or setting up for the bazaar in the past, someone would be there to unlock it.

Papers signed, off I head back to work....with my list of todo's.........content that things were set up for Sunday's boy basketball birthday bash at the alma mater. The next day however (thursday) I get hit with the stomach flu and am out for the count for an intense short period. All bets are off on the completion of the to do list let alone my ability to focus and organize. It's all put aside until I can get back on my feet.

Fast forward........everything is ready for the 2 hour gymfest.....sports equipment.....drinks, cake, cut up watermelon, loot bags, and all the essentials packed..... I had arranged to be at the school 1/2 before the boys arrived in order to take charge! Charge! What a funny concept that is?? I mean who really is allowed to take charge when destiny is in the cards?

As soon as we pulled into the school parking lot, I'm struck with a lost and foggy thought.......hmmmmm...........I think I was given a key to the place.........hmmmmm...........

Let me tell you............the level of anxiety I was feeling right at that moment turned me into a peri-menopausal hot tamale.......knowing 10 boys and their parents were about to show up and I couldn't for the life of me remember where I had put the key???? It was then and there when I realized that not only was I psychic, I had been bit in the arse by my own prediction of a happening taking place. I caused the damn happening......... I had this urge to run away and choke myself.

Mad dashes ensued.... The "goods" and the family were dropped off in the parking lot and I rushed home to tear apart the house in search of the key all the while bashing my memory trying to remember what I had been wearing the day I had visited the school and got all caught up in conversations and catch up.......the day before I ended up praying to the Porcelain Gods. Scramble, scramble searching in pockets, under the bed, in the washing machine....I dug into my bottomless pit of a purse to no avail. In a flash of insight, I grabbed a bunch of sweatshirts for the boys who would no doubt show up in gym shorts so that the party could take place outdoors in the school playground and the telephone book to try and track down a teacher to save the day. This was plan B. Thank God the weather was nice albeit a little coldish.

I arrived back to find everyone assembled.......the boys trying to figure out what sport they wanted to play and not having much agreement.......my son on the verge of tears because of the chaos...........and the male parents standing around talking men talk. My daughter had put in her i-pod buds and removed herself to a picnic table to work on her art project. I had to face my own music and admit that I had completely fucked up my son's birthday party. I also informed everyone that this would be my very last kid's birthday party.

Once I got the boys set up to play road hockey in the parking lot, I made a bunch of phone calls to no avail. But, the boys were focused and I focused on trying to find my happy hostess persona while organizing the goods on the steps of the school. There was an air of disappointment for sure, because they were all so pumped to return to their old school gym and have it to themselves for the afternoon, but somehow we managed to keep them moving along scoring goals. There was one sourpuss (isn't that always the case???) who kept making mean comments and not wanting to play along. It was very tempting to choke him or at least restrain the little shit. Instead, I kept the thoughts to myself ...... well until his comments were heard and felt by the birthday boy, and then during a pep talk with Max to try to buoy him up I think I may have used the term dickhead to describe his friend. ah well.............Max has heard worse. He watches Will Ferrell movies. He hangs out in playgrounds. He has the ability to read the lips of pissed off hockey players on the ice.

Off to the field after the road hockey game slowed to a halt........and the urge to play soccer baseball was voiced.....except by sourpuss boy whom I'm tempted to ask who it was who peed on his cornflakes, but held my momma role model tongue.

It took a bit to get them organized again........teams and all that, but success was achieved. All of a sudden, a car pulled into the parking lot and out popped an eager beaver teacher. She very smilingly and lovingly believed me and my plight and opened the side doors to save the day and then headed up to her classroom on the second floor. While the boys are attending to the game, I moved the cake and other sundries into the foyer. Then, I placed someone's sneaker in the door to keep it ajar and went up to the field to announce that we had access to the gym. The boys, all full of vim and vigour, raced past me to the door. The first kid there is the dickhead sourpuss........turned out I used his sneaker to keep the door ajar. Unthinking, he grabbed his shoe and let the door shut.................LOCKED out again with the birthday cake inside glaring at us!!

I couldn't believe it. I felt like I was in the middle of some Abbott and Costello meets Seinfield sitcom........A happening that continued......I felt a bigger bite in the arse and cursed my psychic abilities. My desire to choke the sourpuss kid escalated but this time I'm not alone. Every single kid wanted to pile up on top of him. My son Max's tear ducts are ready to explode. I'm ready to sit down to laugh and cry at the same time. Off went my husband to circle the school to find the teacher's classroom window to try to yell up to her and get her attention as I try to unsuccessfully re-engage the boys to return to the field to pick up on the soccer baseball.......

It all looked lost until all of a sudden, we hear a whoop from the back of the school. My husband was a success......the teacher had been alerted by his incessant yelling up to the second floor and she came down again to re-open the door. THANK GOD!

In we ALL went.............and I breathed a very big sigh of relief as I threw the basketball in the air to start the game. They all stayed way past the end of the party. That's a good sign of a successful one isn't it? Think I'll refill my wine glass.....and toast to the end of a day.

on the cusp

They do grow up too fast, don't they? It seems like last summer I bumped around with a swollen belly carrying my son who wriggled like ocean waves whenever I sat down for a breather. I remember being able to cup my hand on his tiny bum underneath my skin and feel him roll from side to side getting comfortable in a space that was getting too small to remain in. When he was a newborn, still struggling to find comfort in the evening shade of colic, I would rock him close to me........my arm underneath his body and my hand cupping his little tush in order to let his legs dangle in freedom. He was in my arms a lot back then and if he wasn't in mine, he was cuddled up in his father's.

Not a good little sleeper, his feeding was a constant grazing process because he was born with a soft larynx which didn't sit properly at times. It affected his milk consumption and sometimes his sleep patterns. As he slept in his bassinet, whenever he inhaled, you would swear he had swallowed a trumpet. The noise he made made it unnecessary to have a baby monitor. In fact, if we didn't hear the noise, we were off and running to check on him. Another side effect of this soft larynx thing? Colds and lots of them. He was born with a runny nose, my boy. And he was very susceptible to croup. Have you ever had to deal with a croupy baby? It is one of the scariest sounds I have ever experienced. I thank God I wasn't dealing with it alone because it completely freaked me out. Jamie was the calm one on the croup front.

11 years have come and gone. My son has always been a cuddler, as is his sister, and I think partially it's because we held him and rocked him close, never sparing kisses on his beautiful head and toes..... Though he wouldn't be caught dead holding my hand these days, even last night he cuddled up beside me on the couch to watch Jeopardy and to talk about his latest interests. The underlying reason I know is that he was trying to comfort me after a day of dealing with a little flu bug which had hit me with a vengeance.

He has good empathy in his soul. I wish I could still rock him like I once did, but having him beside me where I can put my arm around his broadening shoulders and kiss him on the forehead when he's lost that kid self conciousness is enough.

He is on the cusp. 11 years old with a little boy voice still.....growing limbs that havent recaptured their coordination yet........competing with the girls both on the court and in the classroom..... asking me to buy anti-perspirant for gym class even though to me he still smells like soap and powder..... understanding adult jokes when I wonder if he has a clear understanding of adolescent issues..... sharing child tears when frustration or wrongdoing kicks sand in his face...... skipping off to play with the little kids on the street to shoot some hoops or play hide and seek...........having a blast playing with water balloons...skipping stones......choosing bubble gum ice cream over anything else........telling people that his mom makes the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole world.......taking on a new language in school like it was no big deal.....wanting to play games and hang out with his Dad always......finding his way.......my stand up comedian math whiz guitar playing hockey fanatic baseball affectionado facebooking Max.

He's now in middle school......in french immersion and for various reasons he managed to find himself in a class of 11. Like private school. 11 little bright lights, 5 of whom he has been in a classroom with since kindergarten. Soon, the dances will start. Soon, the tucked in secrets will happen. Soon, the group of friends will grow in importance more and more when it comes to decision making and social mores. Our door will always be open to all of them. Our home will be offered as a place to hang out, as we accomodate for these growing learning yearning kids as well as guide as best as we can......

I took these two pictures on the first day of Middle school............of Max and his best friend on their way to catch the bus at the end of the street. The basketballs settled under the tree....the little cart with wheels waiting to be used again. And I wondered what they were talking about...... most likely a combination of what they always talk about....... but with a bit of fear of the unknown interspersed with it. New beginnings..................and on the cusp of the unravelling of the mysteries of being teenagers. For now though, he's still my little boy who calls me at work everday when he gets home just to tell me he's safe and that he loves me. You can't beat that.

This week's theme for Carmi's thematic photography is "Kids......" This may turn me into a mommy blogger yet.........cause I've got another one I'd like to post about too. :) For more takes on Kids.........check out Carmi's blog......

thanks Carmi......:)