Category Archives: Children

Learning to live with our kids again

This coming weekend is Easter, the weekend we travel to pick up the two kids from university. The drive to Quebec will take us anywhere from nine hours to twelve depending on traffic. Once we arrive, middle child will immediately want to start moving the contents of her apartment into the trailer, we will have brought with us, hubby will want a beer and I will want to lay down since the drive is exceptionally hard on my body.

Now middle child has lived on her own for three years, so there is three years of her crap precious belongings to bring home. Once her stuff is loaded, we will then drive over to where the teenage boy lives in residence. More crap precious belongings will be loaded into the trailer. So in less than a week, are other two children plus one large dog will be home, again. This is when our life will once again be turned upside-down. Now middle child will only be home for a couple of weeks, since she is going back for spring school, leaving us with her dog, which is a whole other set of issues.

The first thing my husband will notice will be the leftovers – they will be non-existent, and hubby loves leftovers, great for work, and snacks for when he gets home from work. Next I will notice that the tank of gas we put in the van once a month, will now last about a week, and the van will rarely be in the driveway. I can’t complain about the laundry, since my girls do their own, but the teenage boy will remind me, he is on vacation again, and thus the laundry is all mine. I will give him credit for bringing it up and down the stairs for me.

Middle child has to leave her dog with us while she returns to university for six weeks, because of new living arrangements. Bear, a mixture of German Shepherd and Doberman, is a very well-behaved dog who adores our daughter. So for the first week, he will pine for her while he also gets used to living with us again. There will be mud everywhere. We have a large yard for him to run around in, but we also have a lot of mud in our yard in the spring, if of course spring ever gets here. So along with cleaning the paws of our own little beagle, we will now have to clean the paws of Bear. The worst though, is the amount of poo outside will double, and Bear’s business is not small, plus he prefers to go wherever, whereas our dog is trained to go in the same area.

So this Easter weekend, all seven of us (five adults, two dogs) will be together again, arguments will quickly ensue as people and dogs learn to put up with each other again love each other for all of our differences again.

Note:

The fact that our youngest is nineteen years old, mom sent him a text message last night:

  • Mom: “Does the Easter Bunny need to make a stop here, he/she was wondering. (mom’s have a direct line to the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus just for such questions)
  • Teenage boy: “Tell the Easter Bunny that if he has to ask, I’m going to skewer him and roast him in a stew”
  • Mom: “Oh dear, though rabbit for Easter may be good”
  • Teenage boy: “No”

Mischievousness on Christmas Eve

I was going to write a blog post about how some days I love the holidays and how some days I hate the holidays. Instead though I will tell you what I did one Christmas eve when everyone was asleep.

I had went out for the evening with friends, when I arrived home around 2 a.m. Everyone was asleep dreaming about what Santa would bring in the morning. I believe I was around seventeen when this occurred. Our Christmas tree was in the basement that year, so it was pretty easy to be a mischief. I quietly searched under the tree for my presents, then proceeded to open each one and re-wrap them. My only reason for doing this was, I was tired and didn’t want to rise early in the morning with my siblings. Now in hindsight I should have realized that for the time it took me to unwrap (without tearing any of the paper) and re-wrapping each gift I could have been sleeping soundly.

The morning came, my parents and siblings were calling for me to get out of bed. I didn’t move. My father entered my room. He, at first asked me nicely to get out of bed, but I refused, explaining that I knew what my presents were, because I had already unwrapped and re-wrapped them. Instead of getting angry with me, he went to the freezer.

ice cubes

Upon entering my room again, he ripped the sheets and blankets from the bottom of the bed and grabbed my ankles. What I didn’t know, was in his other hand were ice cubes! While holding my ankles tightly, he rubbed the bottoms of my feet with the coldness. As he did this, he explained that my mother had gone to a lot of work to make a lovely Christmas for us and I was to get out of bed now. I was also not to mention what I did, and I best look surprised when I opened my gifts.

I went downstairs joining my siblings and mom, unwrapped my gifts again looking surprised while not breathing a word of what I had done. It was a lovely Christmas.

I thought he would remember her, I was wrong.

A picture of the children walking the dogMy mother died young, she was 63 years old. She was an amazing Grandmother. The eldest was in grade eight when she died, just before her grade eight graduation (my dad, also an amazing Grandfather passed away just before the eldest graduated from grade 12). Middle child was in grade five and the teenage boy was in grade three when my mom died.

My husband has always worked shift work, so when the kids were young my mom pitched in and helped me. She babysat on a moments notice, drove kids to school when I worked, had a stash of toys and videos at her house just for her grandchildren. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them.

In the summer when the kids all played soccer, she regularly drove the teenage boy to his soccer practice since I was with middle child who always had a game that same evening. My mom always took the same route to soccer and my son had this route memorized. Some time after my mother passed away I would take the soccer route, and the teenage boy would always say, this is the way grandma took me to soccer, he repeated this for a number of years. Then it stopped. Grandma had slipped from his mind. He no longer remembered the soccer route. I try to bring those memories back to him, but they are gone. Gone like my mom, his grandmother.

Time heals for the young, because memories fade. As I type this, the tears roll down my face, I miss my mom, their grandmother. (As I turned to wipe my tears, I see the calendar, it will be her birthday in exactly one month).