Talking to the Inanimate

 Ah…the three-year-olds’ view of the world…

 

Just arrived at Gramma’s house.

So much to see and do! 

There’s the dog to play with.

Toys.

Yummies to sample.

And games to play with cousins.

But first, the all-important shedding of the all-important winter coat.

(It IS spring in Northern Alberta!)

Small grunts that turn to larger grunts.

Then… “Mom! This zipper’s not listening to me!”

New-ish Traditions

 

We moved away from kith and kin in 1983,

‘Twas not an easy time for us, I know you will agree…

Cause our traditions then depended on those fam’ly ties,

And eating, playing games and FUN (and all that word implies),

But work would call us northward. So for years we made the hike,

At Christmas time o’er icy roads with all our toys and tykes.

And then that year. The mercury, at minus 40, stopped,

And Husby found just what it’s like to drive a curling rock…

With all six kids (and packages) in blankets in the back,

All praying for a little warmth before they outright cracked!

T’was at that moment, we decided for our fam’ly’s good,

We would start our own traditions—staying where we should.

With new PJ’s on Christmas eve and pasta for the meal,

Rummoli and assorted games; and movies for the ‘feels’,

Christmas Bears and other baking, gifts beneath our tree,

And visiting beside the fire with choc-o-late or tea.

Then Christmas morning, trying to drag their dad out of the sack,

Avoiding traps and crafty tricks (assured to give flashbacks),

When finally, he had arrived, to the tree they all would scoot,

Then tearing, and excitement and “Just look at all my loot!”

Eggs Benedict for breakfast and then visiting until,

The turkey dinner, guaranteed all empty spots to fill,

More games and puzzles all together while we would digest,

With talk and laughter constantly and feeling mighty blessed.

Each year, our family has grown, with chicks and chicklets, too,

And now there’s over thirty gather (yes, it’s quite a crew!),

And sometimes when it’s quiet, which I must admit, is rare,

I’m glad we are at home, instead of taking things elsewhere,

And have we been successful in creating ‘fun’ our own?

Now our kids pack their tykes and toys and join us here at home!

 

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With POETRY, we all besought,

To try to make the week begin

With pleasant thoughts…

Perhaps a grin?

So Jenny, Charlotte, Mimi, Me

Have crafted poems for you to see.

And now you’ve read what we have wrought…

Did we help?

Or did we not?

 

Next week, some joy we hope to spread,

With houses out of gingerbread!

 

Trading Cockroaches for Cold

I love Alberta. 

It's beautiful.
Wide, grassy prairies.
High, majestic mountains.
Blue skies.
Clear air.

Warm temperatures.
Okay, I know that it gets cold in Alberta.
And yes, -40 (C or F) is not uncommon.
But, probably because of the extreme temperatures, Alberta is missing a couple of very important things.
And I'm not complaining.
1. Alberta is the only place on earth that has no rats.
None. They are stopped at the borders, asked to produce a current passport, then turned away.
Let's face it, have you ever seen a rat with any passport, let alone a current one?
There is even a designated rat un-welcome committee stationed at every border.
An effective one.
Equipped with guns and traps.
And lots of cheese.
I don't know about you, but that would certainly indicate to me that I wasn't wanted.
Moving on . . .
So . . . no rats.
2. Alberta also has no big bugs.
Okay, we have bugs.
Just not big ones.
I've seen the pictures of people holding cockroaches that reach to their elbows and spiders that could easily carry off small children.
I know what big bugs look like.
And we don't have them.
That makes me happy.
We know how blessed we are.
Case in point:
Our son was preparing to go out to milk.
It was cold.
Alberta cold.
He was layering up at the back door.
Long johns.
Jeans.
Cotton socks.
Wool socks over cotton ones.
Heavy shirt.
Sweater.
Jacket.
Scarf.
Heavy coat.
Touque. (Warm Canadian winter hat)
Gloves.
Mittens.
Boots.
Yep. In Canada, we pretty much invented layering.
And going outside isn't something you do at the spur of the moment.
It takes thought.
And time.
I was preparing breakfast and I could hear my son moving around at the back door.
And mumbling to himself.
I dried my hands and walked over to him.
What I heard was, " . . . cockroaches."
I moved closer.
"We don't get cockroaches," he said.
As he pulled on one sock.
"We don't get cockroaches."
Second sock.
"We don't get cockroches."
Shirt.
"We don't get cockroaches."
Jacket.
And so it went.
The same refrain with each and every layer.
Psyching himself up to open that door and get the blast of cold air in the face.
We live in Alberta.
It is beautiful.
And cold.
But we don't have rats.
Or get big bugs.
Sometimes it takes the one to appreciate the other.

Feeding the Masses

Mark and half of his family. Feeding the next generation . . .

It only ever happened once.

But I’ll remember it forever.

Maybe I should explain . . .

My Husby and I raised six children.

Four of them, sons.

They are, all of them, tall people, ranging in height from six feet to six feet, eight inches.

They were, all of them, big eaters.

And that’s where my story starts . . .

My oldest boy, Mark, ate like a bird. And by that, I mean he consumed his weight in food every. Single. Day.

His next brother, Erik, wasn’t far behind.

We used to joke that we simply gave each of them a trough and a shovel.

And watched the food magically disappear.

The two of them easily ate as much as the rest of the family combined.

It’s true.

In fact, when Mark moved out, our food bill was cut in half.

When Erik moved out, ditto.

But back to that day . . .

It was a coupon day at the local McD’s. Two-for-one.

My Husby (a coupon collector extraordinaire) had managed to hoard a mittful of the colourful, valuable bits of paper.

We loaded the kids into the car for a rare, but fun, family treat.

And we were off.

Feeling distinctly magnanimous, we told the kids to order what they liked.

And Mark did.

His order? Four Big Macs. Two large orders of fries. Two large drinks. And four apple pies.

Did he eat them?

He did.

And, swallowing the last bite of apple pie, he turned to me and said something I’d never heard.

Before or since.

“I’m full.”

Wow.

I stared at him. Had I heard correctly?

He nodded and patted his stomach.

Who says miracles no longer happen?!

There is a little addendum:

As we were leaving the restaurant, I had linked arms with each of my tall eldest sons. We were laughing about something that one of them said. Full and happy.

A woman seated near the doors looked up and smiled. “I just love seeing brothers and sisters such good friends!” she said. “It’s inspiring!”

We smiled back and thanked her, not bothering to explain that one of those ‘siblings’ was, in fact, the mom.

A good day on sooooo many levels.

Toddler Gardening

It seemed a good idea, I thought

                Some hours in the yard.

The winter months had been so long

                And I felt the need of working hard.

So armed with gloves and rakes and things,

                I started out the door.

Trailed by two toddlers

                Who loved to help with Gramma’s chores.

Things went well for a tic or two,

                As Gramma started in,

The girls spun circles in the yard

                Till Linney fell and bumped her chin.

A kiss and cuddle, tears were gone

                It really wasn’t hard.

I set her down and looked to see

                That Hazel’d wandered from the yard.

She’d not gone far, I scooped her up

                And carried her back home.

Then penned them both behind the gate,

                And told them sternly ‘not to roam’.

While toddlers watched, I grabbed my rake,

                But got no further then,

‘Cause Hazel shrieked; I had to run

                She’d fallen in the mud . . . again.

I fished her out and cleaned her off,

                A kiss and all was well,

Then turned just as another shriek,

                Told me Lin was stuck as well.

I’m sure by now you’ve realized

                I didn’t manage much.

With Lin caught in the tramp’line springs

                And Hazel eating chalk and such.

Four trips to bathroom, ‘Pee, potty now!’

                And squabbles over things,

And pouring sand in someone’s hair,

                And all the angst that action brings.

Searching the yard from stem to stern

For Linney’s missing shoe,

Then doing the whole thing o'er again

                Cause Hazel’s hat was ‘somewhere’, too.

With helping up and helping down

                And watching in between.

It’s no wonder that my work just sat,

                With little progress to be seen.

Last night when all were sound asleep

                And peace had been restored,

I looked out the window there,

                And sang my praises to the Lord.

For though my tools were strewn about

And no sign of success,

My time was so well spent, because

                Two little girls, my day did bless.

If you enjoyed this, order my book: Words: Life in Rhyme.

You know you want to . . .