3 Little Kittens: The Rest of The Story

 

 

The three little kittens, they lost their mittens.

(But they were having a perfectly marvellous time! They were dressed before lunch, playing together nicely, getting outdoors, playing with their Christmas toys, exercising, exploring nature, and staying out of their mother's hair.)

And they began to cry.

 

(Why? Mittens are fifty cents at the thrift store! And no mother worth her salt should ever have fewer than two replacement pairs. Per kitten.

And look how they remembered to bring back their toys, instead of leaving them in a muddy gully.

And they brought flowers.

These are good little kittens, so why do they cry?)

Probably because their mommy is a Nazi. Sitting there in her rocking chair, watching her stories, puffing on a cigar, and beating her little kitten arses at the slightest provocation. And probably stuffing her irritated little face with pie when no one is looking.

Sadist.

(Those poor kitties crawled around on their bellies for four days and nights without food or water, searching not for mittens- no. For love. From their own pathological mother. It's all they've ever known.)

She made them do that.

Keep on their mittens. And just wait for her chance to pounce all over them, hissing and spitting.

*sigh*. Could have saved them a whole lot of therapy, but it might be too late.

Then does mom even recognize their initiative with saving the environment- the sulphate free washing soap, the line drying? Does she bother to see how they've taken on responsibilities well beyond their two months?

Nope. She's inside, rearranging her spices, counting the minutes until cocktail hour when she'll put up her paws and watch "Breaking Amish"on TLC.

Selfish.

So she makes up some lame story about a rat so the kids will leave her to her distractions, addictions, compulsions.

Oh, she presents well for the annual family photo.

But we know.

We all know.

 

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Divine Nobodies

is a book that I've not yet read. I think it's a book about ordinary people- "nobodies" in many senses of the word- who are actually little (or big, or whatever) representations, "show-ups" of God. The divine in the mundane.

I got Jim Palmer's book "Being Jesus in Nashville" for Christmas from my daughter Jane. So far I've read the intro and the prologue and I'm intrigued, and reaching for my computer to order "Divine Nobodies" and "Wide Open Spaces". It is an expansive feeling to want to read a writer who loves Jesus but not in the cheesy or confusing way I've grown so weary of in recent years. I'm relieved and grateful to discover in such a tangible way that I'm not alone in my questions, in my quest, in my heart's cravings.

I say all this in hope. Remember, I've not actually read any of the books yet, so please don't consider this an endorsement.

 

It's 2013. Every January when that page flips, and we have to get accustomed to writing a new number in the chequebook, my mind travels in familiar pathways. I no longer write long lists of "resolutions". They were dull, predictable, unattainable, and overly optimistic and have gone off the radar of my January traditions for many a year now. But at every markable change of season, I find myself thinking about goals. About directions- where am I going? What do I want to be more intentional about? What would I like to keep trying to let go of? Are there people or passions that I've become somewhat neglectful of?

I like this brain loop. It often involves me literally cleaning out cupboards, throwing away (last Christmas' jelly beans and bubble gums) nasty things that don't need to take up kitchen space. It involves wiping things down, giving things away, taking stock of what is still there, and how to make good use of it. I like that my hands find a way to practise what my brain is simultaneously working on in a figurative sense.

With this in mind, I have a blog post in "draft". Its long, and personal, and can't be scratched out while spinning plates, wiping noses, etc. It requires my full attention, a long stretch of time, and a cat that barks.

So because that stuff will happen in a pig's ear, I'm pecking out this scattered blog post in fourteen seconds because of what needs to be said, needs to be written down before I forget and get swallowed up in the anxiety of every day and every problem and petty worries.

There's a bunch of stuff I want to work on in 2013. Good things that I'm excited and hopeful about. (and scared)

Meanwhile, I took my daughter into Winnipeg this afternoon to usher her into the second half of her year's adventure. She'll be joining her "outtatown" team, taking a bus to Minneapolis, then flying to Guatemala, not to return until April. I'm happy and excited and not worried for her. She's a grand gal, with an excellent head on her shoulders, and she's about to get her eyes opened to see a great bigger world than what she'd known before. Its going to grow her.

So I was surprised that I choked up when I left her there with her friends. I just sat there in my dirty old van and let a tear fall. I didn't want to leave the parking lot, and I didn't want to miss out on hearing about her every adventure, listening to her laughter, hearing her voice. I want her to go, and learn, and stretch. But she'll become grown, and stretched, and learn-ed. And my mommy role keeps changing, even as my daughter changes.

So I pondered on this while driving off, while shopping for food, while making my way back home again.

Upon arriving home, I noted for roughly the trillionth time that there is an awkward snow speed bump at the edge of our driveway, where the snow plough pushed up a ridge on his or her way past. Its one of those things that I forget about for days on end, working at home as I do... then remembering it again and cringing a thousand cringes at the thought of all those patrons who have to launch over that small mountain in order to bring their tinies to my back door for the day. (I let them in. They don't actually stay at the back door).

I decided to tackle it. Right then and there. I strongly dislike unpacking five billion dollars of groceries anyway, so felt in no rush to find my way to the house. Besides. I had kind of driven up my own driveway at an angle, and that's saying something about the utter lack of hospitality that kind of obstacle poses to people who have to do that every day, just to get their kid to daycare.

I grabbed a spade-ish shovel and got at it. It felt sort of powerful to hack away at that hardened ridge, see it slowly break down, and know that I was finally being proactive. I suspected that I looked like a girl with a girly shovel doing a girly job of ice hacking and thought for a moment that it would be nice if no one I knew or sort of knew would drive down the street while I was girlishly pecking away at a teensy ridge.

I leaned on my shovel to sort of survey the traffic and noted a bobcat coming down my street. I imagined a manly man sitting in there, and was glad that I had taken a break, thinking how wimpish a shoveller I might appear to the untrained eye. But then I realized that it was even more pathetic to stand at the end of a driveway, shovel in hand, and do nothing, so I got back at it. I was shovelling away when that machine reached my driveway, and I heard a kindly voice call out: "Would you like me to kind of do a pass across your driveway, clear that snow for you?"

Without a moment's hesitation, I resumed my casual leaning on a shovel position, and watched, grin spreading from ear to ear. A tidy sweep with the loader, a clean scrape and the ridge was gone.

I felt a crazy sense of the profound, grinning there in my driveway on a January winter's night. You might think I'm being dramatic, but I wondered if he knew- this apparent "nobody" (sorry if you're the mayor, or a major NHL hockey player, or a visiting saint)... I wondered if he knew that he was bringing me something of the divine? I wonder if he knew about the lump in my throat, the thought of my daughter growing up and my gratitude for the people who have and would continue to step into and speak into her life? I'll bet he doesn't know how I felt myself growing lighter, heard myself laughing, felt like shouting "I LIVE IN THE BESTEST TOWN EVER!"

I don't know the fella in the bobcat, and I can't begin to speculate on whether he has dark periods of repressive introspection. I'll likely never know if he questions his place in this world, his faith, his worth, his value. I don't know what thought process if any he indulged in before deciding on that thirty seconds of good deed.

But I do know that as I stood beaming in my driveway, full of every kind of thought and emotion, some anybody brought me a little piece of the Divine. Just like that.

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Highlights (In Reverse order, since that's the easiest way to upload the photos)

A day spent with friends who always help me remember who I am, who always make me laugh, who see the world in inspired ways.

 

For a small example, we laughed waaay too long and hard and in increasingly inventive ways about microwaving small children at IKEA.

So we laid her down for a little IKEA therapy.

Christmas at my mom and dad's. First of all, I have a mom and dad, and they're pretty special. Plus we have this new grand baby in the family, and she totally steals everyone's heart and attention. We just adore her.

Christmas dinner at our house, cooked by my husband.

I was thinking about how nice it is to not be in the traditional position of having to slave over a hot stove for Christmas dinner. Brian does most of it. Now this doesn't make him a freaking saint like many people want to paint a man who knows how to boil water, but it does make a dem fine turkey dinner.

Thoughtful gifts.

My kids insisting that we had to get up at 5 AM on Christmas morning to open gifts. That's our tradition, and no one was too old to let that one go. Actually, the boys got up at 4:00 and could be heard rustling about in the kitchen cooking up some hot chocolate to make the time pass a little more quickly. Cutie pies.

Creative gift wrappings.

 

Decorating gingerbread houses with the kids, whilst munching on chocolate covered almonds and M&M peanuts. Some kids grasped the concept of "house" better than others. Let's just say that being the firstborn does not necessarily make one a super achiever.

Moving on in reverse..... Our night at the Fort Garry Hotel. Another Christmas tradition, and a lovely way to mark Brian's birthday which awkwardly falls ten days before Christmas. We like calling room service for coffee on a silver tray, eating at the Palm restaurant to live piano and saxophone music, wandering around the grand old place pretending that we could afford it any old time, and eating breakfast in the massive dining room.

Then heading back to our cold, dirty car in the morning, opening the trunk and remembering who we really are. The forty loaves of discount bread from McGavins that we picked up prior to our luxurious overnight helps to bring all that home in an instant.

Gifts from my daycare peeps.

These folks are incredibly kind and generous. Every year. All of them.

Moving on backwards: Sam's birthday party. Ten year old boys are pretty cute and interesting.

And laser tag looks like fun if you're into that sort of thing.

I just really liked that Sam invited all his siblings and they willingly came along. That was the super cutest part of all.

And then back some more. We have the funniest tradition with one of my sister wives.

We watch National Lampoons Christmas vacation. Uncle Mel wears his t-shirt, and we don the ugliest Christmas sweaters in my archives. We watch the movie, say all the best lines in unison, snack on chips and chocolate.

Its one of my all time favourite Christmas traditions.

And that's the round up.

I'm feeling a little less blue too, thanks for asking. All of you sure help, as does listening to my own self and not going to/doing things that I know are really not going to help my situation. Acceptance goes a certain mile length as well. As in knowing that this is my brain, it will likely continue to cycle in this familiar and frustrating way, and there's no point in rushing it or hiding it.

Happy New Year, my virtual and totally real friends.

 

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She Whines and Yawns

Seems a bit early for the blues; not even January yet.

Although I'd swear on a stack of Geneen Roth: Breaking Free From Compulsive Eating books that all my clothes have become obsolete due to my unbearable girth, the truth is that I've gained a single pound. One. Not that I would weigh myself- that would be anti- Geneen all the way. But I may have inadvertently fallen against the scale on my way to showering my folds and skin flaps in the wee hours of this morning. I may have peered furtively past my multiple chins and burgeoning thighs, holding my breath in sheer horrified dread, expecting the scale to blow into shards of metal, tiny numerals flying upward, airborn by the sheer force of me.

So when the scale failed to register my failure as a human being, I'd hoped my feeling of malaise and general, all over "you suck, loser" would drown in my multiple cups of shiny black coffee. I began to search the archives of my unreliable brain for more reasons to suck with some authenticity. Lots of things came up, but they weren't new, or true enough to really swallow, genuinely disastrous, or even particularly interesting.

Still, I have the blues. My eyes burn and ears ring and I feel exhausted, even though I'm not low on sleep. I'm not stressed out or over committed, so there's no point in thinking that Christmas mania brought this on. We had zero concerts to attend this year- Not actually making it to church about 75 Sundays in a row meant no church program (the kids are grown out of that stage by now anyway-- the pagaent part- not the "you should take your kids to church" part). There was no elementary school Christmas concert because somehow while I was sleeping and worrying about sucking, Sam grew up. We missed Brian's work party because of his catering commitments, and I don't have a staff party since every day is a party at my work. We did attend three parties over the holidays, and they were the good variety, not the obligatory types. So, nothing to whine about there either.

The house is warm, and although the fridge freezer is steadily leaking watery frozen bits into the fridge and occasionally freezing my celery, we've had no major appliances break down, no transmissions burst on a highway in minus thirty seven billion, no children wandered off into traffic. We've suffered zero divorces this year, our parents are all still alive, and our offspring are not in trouble with the law. (to our knowledge, that is) Our jobs are intact, we've not suffered through a tsunami, earthquake, house fire, or random act of violence.

So clearly, asking "why?" is of little logical value. This defies logic.

And that's kind of depressing, really.

Kind of makes me wonder if a nap and a snack of chocolate almonds, Grandma's papanate, a mimosa, some bailey's and reindeer mix would be the perfect remedy?

'Cuz I seem to be clear out of valium and nobody in my neighbourhood is offering electric shock therapy.

 

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A Few of My Favourite Things

Often my house feels like its caving in on me. It's not large, and it does have an awful lot of kids and pets and things in it.

So, to remember how much I love my home, and my intense fondness for vintage and handmade Christmas, I decided to wander around and focus on the small vignettes, and effectively block out the bigger picture. Joy is often in the details.

(Table runner that I made some years ago. That tree always makes me happy)



Tacky Christmas body art that I'm going to charm my tinies with this week.

Retro gnomes and santas on my stick tree.

That sits by my dining room window.

One-eyed reindeer. I love him unconditionally.

 

My paper village. One of the many highlights of unpacking the Christmas stuff.

Old packaging.

A sweet and dorky picture of the girls at Christmas when they were little.

My childhood pop-up book.

Bowls full of baubles.

Old records and Bambi's.

Strange little reindeer and Christmas mice scattered here and there.

 

 

There are a lot of things that stay in their boxes.

 

 

 

 

Creepy santas.

Handmade stockings.

Bottle brush wreaths.

My favourite Christmas picture of all time. Sam, aka, Baby Jesus is maybe a day old.

And the mother load- Kenny Rogers albums!

 

So if you stop at my house and all you see is clutter- just slow down. Break it down, focus on bits at a time.

Works for me, every time.

 

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