From Nat's Brain

I'll be right here

It was a three hanky night as my father would say. Hankies were his way of rating a film that had a high tear-jerk factor. Those films that make you cry, every single time. I'd list some favourites, but only Out of Africa and the English Patient come to mind. (Arguably the English Patient just makes me cry for no apparent reason, still a great film.)

Tonight, we curled up and watched E.T. The Extra Terrestrial. (SPOILER ALERT!) I must admit that when I was a girl the film never really connected with me. By the time we went to see it, the film was pretty much in overkill mode. Whatever it was we were expecting it to be, there was no way it could live up to it.

Now that the decades have passed, I must admit I underestimate the impact the film has. We turned down the lights, got the big neon green blanket out, and snuggled up for an evening of film. The Boy was sucked in from the first moments with the men chasing ET through the woods. It took him on a journey, that left him exhausted and sobbing. Poor kid. After the little alien died, the child was crying so much he missed ET's little red heart light coming back on. (I must admit I shed a few tears myself.) He calmed down enough to watch the great escape only to be crushed when E.T. finally went home.

"But Baby, he's alive and he gets to be with the people who love him the best."
"He should have stayed with Elliot," he sobbed. "I wanted him to stay."
"It's like when you go L's house," I try again "It's good to visit but you want to come home to where people love you the most."
More sobs.

The Man gives it a try. No luck. The Boy sobbed himself to sleep. Poor kid. It's a complicated to be torn between understanding that E.T. wants to go home to with him mom, but at the same time he wants to stay with Elliot. (At the end of the day, you can only trust adults to not understand. They just want to cut up what they don't understand.) Some days, you just need to have a good cry and let it all out. Poor little man.

Easy as 1,2,3

Today's post was going to be about PMS, tampon design, yoga pants, singing in the car and why I will never win at that Lyric song game with Wayne Grady (as opposed to the one with the guy from NSync.)

Instead I was interrupted, by a phone ring. True story.
Me: Hello? (hoping it was Matt Cameron announcing he was coming to take me away OR The Man announcing we'd been left a million bucks so I didn't need to go to work tomorrow.)
Dimwit Liberal: Miss Nat, I am calling from Yasir Naqvi's campaign. He is running for the Liberal Party in your riding. We wondering if we could count on your support on Oct. 10.
Me: Someone from your office called on Friday.
DL: So I take it that's a no.
Me: Not necessarily, the dimwit who called last time couldn't give me the information I was looking for. I am undecided.
DL: Well Mr. Naqvi has a wonderful website.
Me: Right. That's what the chick said on Friday. I am not going to look it up I'm just going to vote NDP. Will Murray showed up at my door and he's cute. He has also sent out a number of campaign brochures. All of which are lovey and orange. I think I saw him at Harvest Fest and wandering down the street being nice and all non-slick. I'd invite Will over for dinner. He has a website too.
DL: Maybe I can answer your questions.
Me: Ok. So Who is Mr. Naqvi, and what has he done to earn my vote?
DL reads a long speal (it was obviously in front of him) in which I find out that he works at Carleton in something politicky and international. And he has been president of something I've never heard of.
Me: That's good. But what has he done on a community level?
DL: Well, the website can answer all these questions. It is www.liberal2007.com.
Me: That's the party website. You win. I will vote NDP. Please take me off all your calling lists.
DL: Thank you for your support.

I went to Liberal2007.com. It's down. You know for running a campaign of errors like this, the Liberals deserve to be tossed out on their asses. Not like they didn't know the election was coming, and that they didn't have time to get ready. Our MPP announced his retirement many moons ago.

Now, I like a lot of the Liberal staffers. I've had the pleasure of working with many of them. And on a purely personal level I hope they end up keeping their jobs. And if the candidate they work for was living in my riding I'd vote for him because I like them. I reckon any one of your staff people should be able to answer basic questions about the candidate. How a candidate has been involved on a community level is a valid question, and speaks to a commitment to betterment of neighbourhood, not pure politicking.

One more vote for the NDP.

P.s: His name is Naqvi not Aqvi. Ooops. You can see what a great Job his campaign folks are doing I don't even know his name.

But the game is for the adults

I knew this day would come when the tell-tale signs that The Boy is making that leap into the next stage of childhood. Early this year, kissing in the school yard was the casualty, today the tooth fairy.

TB: Mom, I have a loose tooth.
Me: Oh cool. Which one?
He moves up close so he can see his face in the rearview mirror and shows me. I can't see. But I get the gist of it.
TB: Mom. I don't believe there is such a thing as the tooth fairy.

Kaboom. Leaving a mist of sprakles and dental floss, the stealthy beautiful tooth fairy vanished from our lives to replaced by oh-so-underslept, flannel pyjama-ed pudgy parents. It seems The Boy has been giving it some thought. He has decided that the Parents are getting up in the middle of the night, stealing baby teeth to make a necklace and then going back to bed. The money is for the guilt of stealing the teeth and to spoil the kids. This, it turns out, is in addition to spoiling their children with tonnes of hugs and kisses.

I tell him that in fact he may just be right. It is quite likely us. Now given that the tooth fairy is not real, did he still want to leave his tooth under his pillow? He does. He likes to be spoiled and he wants to buy candy. Thank god for dental plans -- the mom and dad tooth fairy.

Over dinner we broach the two other biggies. The Easter Bunny and Santa, Santa is a undeniably real, he says. No doubt in that at all.

The Easter Bunny, he posits, are toy manufacturers sneaking into the house. The Man and I explain that toy manufacturers are evil with their marketing schemes to make children nag their parents and there is no way we'd let them into the house. None. So we asked "Do you think it's a (male) bunny that lays and hides chocolate easter eggs and poops jelly beans or is it we, your parents spoiling you?" He picked the Easter Bunny. I guess parents pretending to poop jelly beans is just too much for the six-year-old mind.

****
I just got off the phone with my grandfather. He is 91. Totally with it and funny. I want to be just like that when I'm 91 -- except not as stubborn. (Why are you all laughing?)

I just want your extra time...

One of those all that's old is new again weeks. We are adjusting to the routine of school again.

• You need a what? For when? Tomorrow. But it's bedtime?
  
• So you found the missing shoe but the entire formal pair has disappeared?
  
• Logan has asthma too? Really. Poor kid. Seems to have it all doesn't he.
  
• A uterus? It's where the baby grows. No. No. It doesn't come out your bum and covered in poop. It comes out a woman's vagina. It's near the bum.
  
• No. We are not having any more babies. Really.

But it's the more subtle things that show us he's growing up and things that show that some days he still clings to being a little boy. I dropped him off on Tuesday, and as I escort him into the school yard. I ask for my good-day kiss. He said he didn't want one because it was too embarassing in front of the guys. (Broke my heart into a million pieces.)

That night we devised a code. I would gently rub his head and his ear. No kiss. (Maybe we kiss in the car.) Today I drop him off. (On time -- three for three.) I give him the agreed head rub. He runs off.

He stops dead in his tracks. "Mom! Wait."
He runs back. Massive full body, I love you so much hug.

Carried me through the day. So I pick him from after school care.
"Mom!"
Big hug and out of habit I kiss his head a bunch of times. (I cannot explain the number, it's the number I need to give.)
"Oooops. Sorry bud! Didn't mean to kiss you in school."
Big freaking million dollar (gonna need braces I think) smile.
"It's ok Mom. I don't think anyone saw." (And he kissed me back.)

The Boy might need his old mom for a little bit longer.

"Son," she said. "Have I got a little story for you"

The scene: The Boy putting on his shoes to go to camp. On him -- his blue Joe Boxer shorts (not boxer short, these are real shorts... as in short pants. Good god that's complicated) and his white (2001 kids Astro) Pearl Jam shirt -- the one that no longer has blood stains in it. He likes this shirt because it has a rocket thingy on it. He knows the technical term. His knowledge of aviation and aeronautics now surpass mine. *

Current time: 8:37
Drop dead leave-time: 8:26 (time in which we need to leave to make it to camp on time.)
Odds that we will make to camp on time about the same as Lindsay Lohan staying sober.

The Boy: Mom, we were supposed to dress up today.
(I am totally uncreative and HATE costume days. I have decided that costumes clearly fall under his father's responsibilities. I am SUCH a bad parent.)
Me: Oh yeah, it was supposed to be dress like a rockstar day.
(Inner voice: The rockstars I love, well... they would wear what he has on -- what does a rock star look like, it's not the 80s? No big hair, no spandex. They probably would not wear the Pearl jam shirt. Because, well, the only true "rockstars" -- and god they'd hate THAT title -- Ilike are Pearl Jam, and well I'd expect them to dress like that. And the button fell off the Stone Gossard shorts I bought him last year.)
The Boy: But I don't have costume.
Me: But buddy we are really late. And well, rockstars dress like normal people. Just tell them you are Mike McCready from Pearl Jam.
The Boy: Mom, Mike McCready is IN Pearl Jam he would SO not wear this shirt.**

That's my boy, he gets rock etiquette already.
---
* My knowledge can be summed up like this: "Look a plane." It worked well when he was two. "Mom, why did they cancel the Avro Arrow?" when do I get the questions about sex. Those I am ready for. Sort of.

** Now the boy gets massive kudos for putting two and two together on this one. Normally, musicians do not wear their own merch. Except in the Easter Egg from Live at the Garden, Mr. McCready is clearly wearing a Pearl Jam shirt. Now I am sure there is a story behind why he is wearing a shirt from his band. I don't know what it is. FTR, I explained this to the boy. He didn't buy it for a moment. But realized he wasn't getting another t-shirt. So he went as is. (And he looked damned cute.

The Boys are back in town...

I can't tell you how much I missed the pitter patter of little feet. Ok. Not so little. Big honking, I'm-about-to-grow (again!) six-year-old feet.

I'm feeling full blown under the weather today, decided to skip the long run. Sleep in. And man did I ever, it's was 10:15 when I lolled my ass out of bed. Also explains why I was just getting out of the shower when I heard the familiar "Anybody home????" from The Man followed by a child who could not get up the stairs quickly enough to hug me. "Mom, can you give me a bath?" I am also on snuggle duty tonight. I don't mind a bit.

Truth be told I have enjoyed the time to myself. Nice to have four guilt free evenings. But the house is lonely at night, with no one to snuggle. No one to check up on as a get up the stairs. Sounds like they had a wonderful trip. But that everyone is happy to be returning to the routine.

My peopel are back. All is good in the world.

But this house is haunted...

I am doing absolutely nothing tonight, except sittting down and indulging in the finale of So You Think You Can Dance. I'm going to miss. Luckily Bravo or Showcase will begin airing Season 4 of Rescue Me on August 28. Once again there will be ONE show per season.*

Tonight, I am not running around. I am not doing cleaning the kitchen. I am not emptying the dishwasher. I am going to relish the quiet that is this big old house. I am not even going to run. (Tomorrow's post will be about feeling fat.) I miss The Boys, who are probably so dirty right now they wouldn't even let them into the pigpen. In fact, I ended up dreaming of The Boy last night. He was doing boy things. I guess if I can't get my real life snuggles my subconscious produces them in dream form.**

But tonight is about me. After work, I drove slowly home picked up some sushi, some ice cream and the biggest bag of M&Ms, you have ever seen. I snubbed the neighbours and their kids as I pulled into the driveway. A quick wave as I walked by, yes, I have no children tonight. And I'd love to chat but tonight I am being anti-social as hell. And your kids are loud and they are not mine. And I am all about MOI tonight.***

I am going to blog, to pour myself a drink, and read the paper, watch the TV I wanna watch. Then when they announce that Lacey has won, and I am upset because I am still not over Pasha. (I was more upset when Allison got eliminated last year.) I will leave obnoxious messages on Facebook. Then I will go to be, and miss the kids. But for now. I am enjoying the solitude and the silence.

------------------------------------------

* (Except for the Power of Art on PBS -- but it's abotu art and culture so I reckon it doesn't count. And it doesn't matter if I miss an episode because it's not a series. I better watch it, I don't have much time for a TV addiction.)

**I reckon though that although I miss the child, I am not despondent and that any of the following people can appear in my dream anytime -- perferably to do naughty things: Eddie Vedder, Matt Cameron or Stone Gossard, Johnny Depp, Dennis Leary, George Clooney or in a pinch, Bradley Whitford.

***I really really really hate when kids screech. Tonight, there is a lot of screeching and a lot tantrum throwing on the street. If I hadn't planned to hide, this would make me.

The way life is...

Odd sort of week... The Boy and The Man are off for some solo time. They are heading up to the wilderness for some canoe camping. Give them a chance for some male bonding -- Man says "Huh" -- Boy goes "huh huh" --- and so on... you get the picture. The Boy is proud of his new "just like Dad's" Swiss Army Knife. (The Man had to make good on a promise, don't you know.) In all they'll be gone four days. Two nights in the woods (with the hungry hungry bears -- oh my!) and two night with The Man's buddy.

While I appreciate the four nights of the bed to myself and just getting myself, the house is so hauntingly quiet when they are gone. It seems so big and, well, empty. I can do a foxtrot from the living room into the kitchen and not step on lego, I can pick my own TV shows. And it's all great fun for the first day or so. But when there is no one to come home to -- I feel a bit lost in the world, perhaps it's just as well I've scheduled some dinner dates. (I am going to a movie imagine!)

The signs of change are all around. The Boy is growing, becoming his own (rather wonderful) person. He is exploring the world away from us. His expanse is getting bigger. At first, it was just an hour or so over at the neighbours house. Now, he's made friends with a little guy (much littler than our guy for sure) who lives a block over. He'll leave around 10-ish in the morning, and if we're lucky we see him for dinner. (Sometimes we don't see him until bath/bed time). And The Man and I are at a bit of a loss as to what to do with ourselves, but we do miss him terribly. (What did we do before The Boy?)

It's an adjustment. I am now taking stock of those moments when he is home and we spend time together doing silly things. The Monday evenings when the world seems a bit too much and he just wants here with us. (And romanticize those days when he was ours alone.)

I guess he'll always need Home. And in my big old empty house (ok, not big), I'll understand that home is not a place. It's a feeling. It's people. It' s the way talking to my mother puts me at ease. The way we looks for a soft spot to land.

It's cliched but true these walls will be just a house for the next few days, as they fish, and make mud and fire and all that and I'll be reminded how truly lucky I am to have them all in my life.

Stay safe. Be kind. Love each other.

Tomatilla

The Boy when to Culinary Camp last week at Dovercourt. While Dovercourt has its issues (namely a website from hell), they do a good day camp. I am not sure why The Boy loves them so much but he loves them. He loses stuff like nobody's business. I suspect it's the cantine/swimming pool combo. Anyway... cooking school. SORRY. Culinary Camp, don't you know.

He came home with tales of chopping mushrooms (he won't eat those), cooking up chickpeas (won't eat those either), making gazpacho (won't eat that either) and adding the sour powder from the candy (ack! -- I wouldn't eat that either), chicken (on a good day he'll eat that) and the churos (dessert, of course he'll eat that -- "rather delicious" he informed me. ) But he did enjoy the cooking bit. He says he wants to make dinner, I can be his sous-chef. And he loved the camp in spite of the high girl ratio. (I think this anti-girl stage has passed. I have tried very hard to make it so.)

The camp's goal was to get ready for the opening of the Dovercourt Restaurant, in which, all the little chefs don many hats and serve their parents.

The Boy was very proud to serve us a meal and show off his skills. (Pointing out how he helped with the sign, and how he designed the placemats). Starting with canapes, followed by gazpacho. "It's a cold tomato soup. They call it the salad soup," he explained to us. "Would you like a refill on your (virgin) sangria?" (Yes, we would thank you.) Onto the main course of Arroz con pollo -- good stuff. Then everyone's eyes lit up, it was time for dessert. Churos... rather delicious he was right. (They were but the waiter looked a bit peckish at this point. So I offered him the rest of mine. Then he had a bite of The Man's. He was right... rather delicious.)

Now if only we can get the snobs Juniper to give such attentive loving service. Doubt it. (And I'm pretty sure camp was much cheaper.)

No one else could love you more

Today was Nico day. The Big Boss said summer rules are you leave early, and I have a bit of time-owing. So this afternoon evening, I spent on a date with The Boy. The Man decided during his time off to organize a 5K this weekend, and well, it's basically sucking up his time of late. Bit it is the Perfect opportunity for a date with my most favourite person in the universe.

First stop. The open house at the Gadget and Gizmo camp, they have this game show and parents are invited so, we hooked up at 2:30. (After a leisurely workout at the gym for moi.)

My sister had a baby last weekend and her eldest is not handling it well. But he loves The Boy. So much so that he follows The Boy around like a lost puppy. It makes The Boy slightly very insane. So I lay on The Big Pitch... I will buy him whatever he wants (under $20) at Mecca-for-boys, aka Play Value Toys if he can:
a. help me find a cool truck for The Nephew
b. be super duper extra nice and put up with The Nephew for a few hours on Sat.
(b -- remains to be seen.)

Rush home, whip up every Canadian Boy's favourite dish. KD with hot dogs. Then off for a very romantic popcorn and slushees while we watched a love about food, and believe in yourself or some such crap.(Ratatouille, tres tres cute, graphics are amazing.) Home to bath (him not me), book and snuggle. (They now have a sponsor for the previews... WTF.)

Pretty much the perfect evening... you know some weeks, your karma is good. Then the bastards bring you down. But this week, I won because I have the best six-year-old in the world who still wants to spend time with me. (And who asked if we could do it again!) Days like this I love being a mom.