BAH! HUMBUG!!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO Y’ALL!!!

There’ll be no traditional Christmas in my bush this year. No tree. No feast. No gathering of the clan. Worse...much worse...no rug rats. Another story for another time.

Mentally it has been awhile; physically, I just got back to civilization, the last three days without electricity...so without water, without computer, without phone....not a sound at night but the wind and the crackling fire. The days were spent melting snow to flush toilets, carrying wood to keep the fires going, shoveling the 4 feet plus off the gallery before it collapsed, lovely long walks with the doggies, wading through all that beautiful white stuff, laughing as I watched Smooch bury his whole head in it while trying to find his squeaky ball. It all reminded me of my brother, of the life we shared on the farm where we spent most of our childhood.

During the past month I was in and out of Blogit, commented here and there....except for Kabu’s post on snakes, and thank you, dear lady, for warning me in your title – I steered away. The 3 days without power has made me fall further behind, so I anticipate hours of pleasure in the catching up.

The parakeet is still here. I kept him alive and warm by placing his cage beside the fireplace during the power failure. I’m teaching him to say ‘B_tch’...in the likely event that he moves back home. It would be a pity – I like that bird and don’t really want to lose him, but he’s not mine.

But, hey, it is Christmas for y’all after all – and I have my power back – and the world didn’t end – and I’m sending you all huge, warm SMILES for this special day!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

TESTING 1...2...3

My youngest Rug rat.

“You have to give us our breakfast right now!”

Attempting to shake the sleep from my brain, I turned to look at Bali, my 5 year old rug rat. The expression on his face was as arrogant as the tone of his voice.

It was the first night that I had slept on the couch at Mummy’s house, as per our new arrangement, and it had been quite late when Morpheus had indulged me, so I only woke when the boys rolled down the stairs and into the living room. Now I wasn’t sure that I had heard him correctly.

“I beg your pardon?” I answered him groggily.

He repeated his demand, the voice louder this second time... and the chin went up a little higher. I stared at him for a moment, but it was too funny coming from a little lad his age. In spite of my zombie-like state, I started to laugh.

“Yeh. Right, kiddo! Don’t hold your breath.” I answered. “Mémère needs coffee.” I headed towards the kitchen. When he said it again, louder still, I stopped laughing, looked back at him.

“My mom said...” I didn’t let him finish. I needed to end this before it went too far.

“You realize you’re talking to Mémère here?” I glared at him. Brave little dude – he held my gaze, but his arrogance was gone. He was uncertain now.

“Good.” My displeasure was evident. “Mémère is getting her coffee, then I’ll make your breakfast.”

Unfortunately, this encounter was only the first of the morning. I had the oldest boy tell me that I needed to wash my hands before serving him, this after an accusation that Smooch had attacked him in the hallway at my home and that I had done nothing to help him, then the youngest yelling loudly and boldly that he wanted out of his highchair NOW...followed by just plain disobedience altogether.

Seething, you ask? Well, not quite. I still wasn’t awake enough to be much more than stunned. These were my Rug rats! What was happening here?

By the time Mommy arrived from work an hour later they had quit with the innuendos, largely due, I suspect, to my warning them that I wouldn’t accept any more of it...or else! Remember our chat about consequences?

“I don’t want any more consekences!’ declared Bali. If he meant to imply that he didn’t HAVE to take them, I quickly set him straight, reminding him that the only choice anyone really has is if his consekences will be good ones or bad ones.

I mulled it over as I drove home. It’s normal, I guess. Their attitudes were similar when they first starting living with me. Testing. They’ve been back home a week now, and the change in their rules has brought on the need to test again.

I glanced in my rear-view mirror at my baby Rug-rat. Daycare was on my way home, and I would be dropping him off each morning to save Mommy the trip. He had been something of a terror since he’d been out of bed, but was now happily chatting to himself.

At our destination, I removed his coat and boots, hung them on the hook provided, and said goodbye as I turned to leave. Two chubby little arms were thrown around my knees, I was hugged tight. His head snug against my leg, my baby piped up, “I lub you, Mémère!”

Trust an innocent child to put everything into perspective! We had adjusted once; we would adjust again, no matter what. These were my rug rats and our mutual ‘lub’ was strong enough to get through whatever came our way.

I was full awake now, and I was SMILING.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

BEING CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR....

So, when you think about it, this latest change in my living situation is actually quite good. I’ll have to pedal a little more for money, as I had forewarned my two clients to find another accountant by December. However,it will also give me a chance to clean office. You can be sure all future clients will be required to pay a retainer fee; gone is the hassle of trying to collect on my invoices once the work is already done!

When the rug rats were living here, it meant preparing three meals a day, every day...and of course the dishes, the multiple loads of laundry, extra cleaning; in short, I had reverted back to chief cook and bottle washer, on call 24 hours a day. Once they were in bed, there was no longer spur of the moment visits to friends. I was housebound until the drive to school at 7:15 AM the next day. Added to that was the constant surveillance of the boys, including their interaction with the dogs. I wasn’t worried about biting at all, but each of the animals weighs more than the 3 rug rats combined, and Smooch especially, being a puppy, is rambunctious enough to cause injury if he gets too excited.

I’m not complaining – having those kids around was worth it all – but now I get to have my cake and eat it too! By moving all this to Mommy’s house, I have my quiet time most of the day, and have become, once more, a paid babysitter without the maid duties, a grandmother instead of a parent.

I was still happily basking in the outcome when my son showed up for his daily visit. His next words told me that I wasn’t the only person contemplating what this change would mean.

“She was wondering if it wouldn’t be easier for you to still keep the boys here at night instead of having to drive to her place each day.”

“What?” I asked. “Why? You’ve moved everything back except the bird, some toys and the rest of the boys ‘clothes. I thought one of her problems was with the dogs being a nuisance? And they’re still here and not going anywhere!” I was shaking my head when I caught his grin. What was going on?

“Well, she did mention that it was nice having the supper ready when she got home....” His grin turned to a laugh as he watched me catch on. He knew how spoiled his lady is, and he knows his mom too; he suspected what my answer would be before framing his question.

“Uh-huh! Supper, and the dishes, and the laundry, and the freedom in the evening....” I laughed with him. “I get it...and the answer is NO! I have put my house back how it was, and I’m quite happy the way things are now. Besides, it’s much easier on the children. They don’t have to travel back and forth twice a day, and I don’t mind the drive. In fact, you can tell her I really think her decision was best for all of us.”

How could I help but smirk a little?

“In that case, I’ll need a big bag.” he said. He stood, but before heading to the clothes dresser, he reached over and ruffled my hair, then bent his six foot plus in two to kiss the top of my head.

“Love ya, Momma!” he said, and there was pride entwined with the affection in his voice. I squeezed his arm.

“Love ya too, my boy” I assured him.

And together we SMILED.

uv from the bush in Quebec.

CHOICES

Choices. We all have to make ‘em as we go along in life. Well, we do until we get either too sick, or to the age where others make them for us. I’m not in either of those places yet.

After the visit with my son this morning I was still extremely upset, mostly because I had to once again refuse to move downstairs. I’ve worked too hard for what I have to give it up easily. His questioning of how I would ever be able to keep up the house without his financial support reeked of blackmail; it sounded like move down or else...! Grrrr!

I vehemently reminded him that the biggest reason I have been doing without so much since the business fiasco is to keep the house as an inheritance for him and his siblings, but that didn’t mean I was willing to bury myself in a basement until it would happen. We both stepped back then – called a truce. As I have mentioned, we are much alike in character.

He offered me another option, but things were too hot for me to make a decision. We hugged as he left. It was a sincere hug. I felt sorry for him, stuck between his mom and his lady. I felt sorry for me, having a dream on a silver platter yanked away by someone who had offered it to me in the first place, someone I love intensely.

I spent the day raging inside. A necessary waste of time and energy. When I got it out of my system, I was able to consider his second suggestion. Yes, I could go to his lady’s house and stay with the rug rats while she worked. I used to do it before the separation for free, and now he was offering to pay me well enough. His cousin on his dad’s side, a lad I know and like, is interested in renting the apartment when my grandson relocates into a house, so it would take care of the revenue I expected to lose on that front. The room upstairs where the rug rats were sleeping could be let out too, as long as the tenant likes dogs. I would still be free enough to find one or two clients for extra income. All in all, it would make more sense financially, and emotionally, than travelling to the city each day. Most important, I would be spending time with my rug rats.

A long walk outside with the doggies in my snow-filled bush, a splendid sight under the full moon, put things into perspective. My pride was hurt, but it would heal. My family’s health was at stake. No contest really.

I contacted my son tonight and told him we had a deal for his second option. I also sent a text to his lady to tell her everything was okay; we’ll make this work. I’m sure my other kids breathed a sigh of relief when they received their updates too.

The storm is over, the family intact, and we’re SMILING!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THE FIRST STEP

My son called this morning. He and his lady were taking the rug rats to the ‘Musée des Enfants’, a museum especially for children, then he wondered if he could stop by on the way back home to pick up Kiti, their cat; they have a mice problem.

Our very short conversation was stilted, to say the least. I was already shaking my head as I hung up the phone. My family is very close; I don’t want to lose that, no matter what. There was some more thinking to do. I was looking forward to seeing the boys, and my son, but am not quite ready to face his lady yet. I’m not sure I could keep my thoughts to myself, and none of them are conductive to future reconciliation.

In step the siblings. There was a conversation between the brothers, and I suspect that a warning was issued. Go see Mom alone – you need to talk this out. A text came in around noon, with a picture of my youngest rug rat playing in the museum, and a note that the boys were having a great time. Daddy added that he would only see me tomorrow, and was planning on spending the day here, if that was okay. She’ll be sleeping after her midnight shift. Relief...and of course it is okay!

I know his lady asked him to send the next text. Would I please feed the bird (who was also left behind) before it croaked?

“Done”, I replied. “Both the bird and the cat, everyday. I also have the Galaxy station on the Nature channel, so the bird can hear other birds. He likes it, is answering the calls.” I signed it with my usual signature ...he answered in kind.

It was a huge SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD.

I would really prefer not to have too many more weekends like this one...my weekend, at least.

There was too darned much thinking, reminiscing, searching, and mentally kicking my own butt. How in hell, at my age, so you justify being so gullible? Within the past 18 months, three betrayals – a business partner/friend; another person so close to me I’d have put my hand in fire before believing she could do what she did; and now family? You fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. What about the third time? I guess it would be: pay attention, dimwit!!

We’re back to the drawing board where my future is concerned. I had started putting things together for writing, and will keep at it, although it will not be so easy now. My 2 remaining clients had been warned that I was finished with them by December. I guess my biggest decision will be if I want to continue in accounting (not really) or work at something else. I know there is no time for dawdling, but I decided to take the two days to lick my wounds...to eventually remind myself that everything happens for a reason.

My grandson will probably be moving from his apartment too at the end of the year, so I not only need to find work, but also another tenant....or sell the house. All these thoughts flitting through my mind as I finally, today, began packing up clothes and toys belonging to my rug rats. I haven’t heard a thing from that branch since I drove back with my son from the airport on Friday. He confirmed that his lady had changed her mind about all our plans. I, in turn, confirmed that there was no way I would be moving into the downstairs apartment to leave her the house. I dropped him off, hoping that he is not setting himself up to get hurt a third time. He is much like his mother. We tend to give people the benefit of doubt. And pay for it often.

It was a beautiful day weather-wise. The doggies and I went out into the sun and snow, then came back in and lit our fires, put on music, and fell into our former routine of peace and quiet. They looked for the boys and Wigi. For the moment, the cat and bird are still here to distract them a little. That parakeet can imitate each of the rug rats’ laugh perfectly!

I miss them like crazy, but it’s not really about me, is it? It’s about my 3 boys who are sure to be happy that daddy is home, that mommy is there too; that their life as a family has returned to normal.

That’s what is most important, and that’s the thought that helps me SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

A VIPER IN MY BOSOM?

My son is coming home today...but to which home?

I could tell his lady had changed her mind. She stays here only long enough for supper, baths and putting the boys to bed. They are not yet sleeping and she is out the door, heading back to the house that was supposed to be sold, but which she has lately been making noise about renovating.

Before my son left to work out west, her plans were all about making over my downstairs apartment into bedrooms and a playroom for the rug rats. It was to take place immediately when the apartment is vacated by my oldest grandson, who is finalizing the purchase of his first house. She had hoped to have it done before Christmas, and it was part of the conversation at each meal. Suddenly she stopped talking about it altogether.

Just as suddenly, conversations with my son were held only from her place....alone. Any news from him I received through her. In fact, I managed to talk him once, and I forced the issue because of a tax installment on the house; I wanted to make sure it was okay to debit his account, as had been in our agreement.

I know my son. He has never liked confrontation, even as a little fellow. I suspected that her speeches about joining us here, home for her being wherever he lived, had outlived their usefulness. I was sure that he felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, and was avoiding talking to me because he would have to renege on his promise to keep up my house expenses so that I could devote myself fulltime to taking care of the rug rats... to give up my clients and write. He would be looking for an alternative solution.

My daughter is not as patient as I am. When I told her that the DIL had moved all her clothes back to her place, and was now talking about taking back the cat and my grandson’s little dog, she got in touch with her brother and asked what was going on. It seems his lady has come up with the alternative, and is thinking of asking me to move out of my house; suggesting that I relocate into the downstairs apartment. I would still be on hand to take care of the boys, but would be out from under her feet. This in spite of my having said more than once how dark it is down there – how it is okay for bedrooms but that , personally, I would find it depressing without huge windows letting in the sun and with views of my trees. I can’t even fathom trying to fit my huge, comfy bed into any of the small rooms in the apartment...or any of my furniture in fact. Then there is my much loved Jacuzzi. It does explain why there has been no further discussion about how to set up the boys’ bedrooms down there.

It’s out of the question, of course. I expect that my son and his family will take up where they left off before the separation, except that the house is no longer his – he had it changed to her name when the event happened. And the rug rats??
I just don’t know...and don’t want to think about it right now.

I have a feeling that the conversation on our drive back from the airport is going to be, for lack of a better word, interesting.

(to be continued)

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST, ANYONE?

I’m not sure I should mention this – the last time someone wrote about it, it became a sort of epidemic on Blogit.

Ah – I’ll take the chance. Water problems...again.

I had finished vacuuming all the rooms; the pail was beside the sink waiting to be filled, then my wounded foot gave me an excuse to take a break – have a coffee before wielding the mop. My grandson appeared on the stairs leading up from his apartment.

“Mémère, there’s water running between the walls in my bathroom.”

What??!

Sure enough, upon verification, there is a pipe leaking in there...for how long now, I have no idea. The wall is showing some damage. Fred’s little girlfriend had not noticed it during his absence. One can’t help but notice it now!

I called the friend who repairs such things on a weekend. Two hours later, when he was able to come around, it was too late to rent the tools needed. So water is turned off until today, Sunday, when he has promised to return with the necessary material and take care of the problem. I’ll call Mommy to warn her that maybe she should bring the boys back after it is fixed. Having 3 little rug rats and no water is NOT an ideal situation.

Fortunately I had already showered, so had no hesitation in getting dressed and heading out for the planned visit with Cubans. The meal, their special espresso, the laughter was all good, and the dim lighting when I arrived home helped me to ignore the still unwashed floors. Anyway – they’re not going anywhere – and my foot was swollen again, so.....

But this morning.... wouldn’t you know it? My large container on the water cooler is empty. Fortunately the doggies’ pails are full, but my coffee maker is only good for another cup.

There is, however, a form of liquid in that nice bottle of red wine my hostess handed me as I was leaving her house last night. I also have some good cheese, huge red grapes, and a couple of croissants left in the breadbox. Is it ever too early for a continental breakfast?

Well, well. You know how I believe in everything happening for a reason? There we go!

Drink up me hearties, Yo Ho...Now if Johnny Depp could join me, he would find me SMILING!!

Sending it out to y’all. Cheers!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

CURIOUS

I had a ham roasting slowly in the oven, had dug out my favorite recipe for scalloped potatoes, and there was butternut squash in the fridge waiting to be brushed, then baked, with a little garlic and delicious Quebec maple syrup. I knew there was enough ice cream for dessert and it’s a favorite for all 3 rug rats.

Mommy finishes her graveyard shift on Friday morning, and picks the boys up from school and daycare a little earlier on that day. To avoid the clamouring for snacking on arrival, and therefore spoiling appetites for the evening meal, my habit is to have supper ready when they walk in the door. During the week that is around 5 PM; on Fridays it’s an hour earlier.

I didn’t hear the text message come in. It had been sent at 2:30, probably when Mommy got out of bed. She was going for groceries, she wrote, then she and the boys would be spending the weekend at her house; they’ll be back on Sunday afternoon.

Hmmm. Okay. A couple of days of quiet would do no harm, but it would have been nice to have some advance notice. I wondered if it had been decided on the spur of the moment.

Since my son left for work out west, his lady has not slept here once. It makes sense during the week; her own place (which is eventually supposed to be sold) is closer to her work place and the school attended by the rug rats. She gets off work at 7 AM, goes to bed, then is awake in time to pick the boys up and bring them here for supper, homework, baths and bed. About 8 PM she leaves for her place again, usually skypes with my son, has a lie-down before returning to work at 11 PM. I have the monitor by my bed to hear the boys during the night, and do the breakfast, dress and drive to school in the mornings. It works out fine.

She had activities on the first two weekends that my son has been away. I was at home anyway, so the boys stayed here. She joined us during the day, but slept over at her own place after whatever outing she was attending. On the 3rd weekend, she was not busy the Saturday, so decided that she & the boys would again sleep at her house. And now this. My son will be home for his ten day break next Friday. I’m curious to see what sleeping arrangements will take place during his stay.

In the meantime, it is a luxury to be able to wash the floors with only the animals to chase out of the way! My oldest grandson arrived last night; he and his little girlfriend are still sleeping, so I’ll wait until noon before getting out the central-vac, turning my Ozzy tunes on full blast, and limp around with my mop.

Tonight I am invited for the evening with my Cuban friends – always a fun time with music, wine, food and laughter!

Yep! I’m SMILING, and sending them out to y’all! Hope they share your weekend!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

ALL ABOUT CONSEQUENCES

Bali and Grump

“Consequences. That’s what it’s about.” We were on the daily drive to school, and my Rug rats were listening to me attentively....I hoped. I glanced in the rear-view mirror at Bali, the wild five year old. He had been throwing temper tantrums everyday when his mommy would pick him up from school; wicked tantrums out of the blue, for no evident reason other than that, with his mother, he knew he could get away with it.

“Do you understand what Mémère is saying, Bali?” I asked him now.

“I do!” interrupted Nalou, the oldest boy. “If we’re nice, we get treated nice. Those are good consequences. If we aren’t nice, then the consequences are not so good.”

“That’s right.” I answered him. “And you have the choice. You lads are pretty lucky. It’s rare any of us tell you no when you want something. But respect works both ways. If you don’t give any, you won’t receive any either.” I looked at Bali again. Was he getting it? He caught my glance in the mirror and flashed his sunny smile. What a charmer this boy is! I asked him again if he understood.

“Yes,” he replied, and repeated nearly word for word what his older brother has just said. But did he mean it?

“So what about the tantrums?” My voice wasn’t scolding, it was questioning. There was silence from the back seat. We stopped at a red light, so I was able to turn around and look straight at him. I waited. He fidgeted a moment before he shrugged, but he didn’t look away. I lifted an eyebrow.

"So? What’s the reason, Bali? Why the tantrums? Are you angry at mommy?”

“No.”

“Then why? Does it make you happy when you do that? Do you like being scolded every evening, or not being allowed to play your favorite games?”

“No.” he said again, but further explanation was not offered. I shrugged as I turned back to continue driving.

“Ah, well,” I said casually. ‘You’re the one paying the consequences. Don’t try it with Mémère though. It won’t work. And Mémère’s consequences are far worse than Mommy’s. You know that, right?” I saw him nod in agreement. Compared to their parents, I’m a harridan!

Ten minutes later we had arrived at the school. I got out of the car and opened the back door to help Bali from his jumper seat, then picked up his schoolbag and lunchbox. I was slipping the straps of his bag over his shoulders when he looked up at me, another grin on his face.

“I won’t do it anymore, Mémère.” He declared.

“No more tantrums?” I made my tone excited, happy.

“Nope. Then I’ll have good consekences!” His pronunciation was off, but his meaning was not lost.

“Alright, man! Give it here!!” I held my hand out for a high five. We slapped palms twice; he grinned at me again and ran off into the schoolyard.

This took place two weeks ago. Since then my boy has been true to his word. The first thing he does each night on arriving back from school is to run in and tell me that he had been good, that there was no tantrum. I congratulate him, and we high-five. It goes without saying that he is finding the evening’s activities more to his liking, as does the whole household.

A lesson learned. He proved it the other morning when his two year old brother deliberately threw the sipper cup of milk from his high chair onto the floor.

"Don’t do that, Tao!" Bali warned. “That’s not good for consekences!”

He looked up at me and I winked in approval, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

CONCLUSION OF THE STORY

I stumbled through the trees, following the noise. Suddenly the noise stopped. I could hear the drunken neighbour still calling...then, closer by, a low growling. I waved my flashlight frantically in that direction. My light picked out shadows – four of them frozen in place, not moving. There was supposed to be five. A dog was missing! My heart was in my throat; I knew that Smooch, my huge awkward puppy, was the most vulnerable of the bunch.

Another thrust through branches and I was behind them. With relief I saw Smooch, his back to me as he stood watching the other three. The neighbour’s black male was in the center, looking straight ahead, and Grump and Louka were on each side of him; their faces close to his, menacing, growling each in turn. He stayed still; if he moved they would be on him and he knew it. His sister, the brown female, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey!” I said loudly. Duh! The only excuse I can give is that I was as hyper as the dogs at that point.

That’s all it took. The black male made a break for it, heading home, and my three (Louka is practically mine anyway) were right after him. I started to run again, yelling at them to stop.

I broke into the clearing at the neighbour’s house to find the idiot standing on his gallery, hanging onto the old, grey mother of his killer dogs. She was snarling wildly – she had tortured Louka from puppyhood and we all know they are sworn enemies. I watched in horror as Louka and Grump changed direction and headed up the stairs to attack her. The poor old thing did what she could to defend herself. Her master certainly wasn’t helping; he had stepped back and was still crooning (yes, CROONING) “Bien non. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

His panel truck was parked by the stairs. I saw an aluminum shovel lying in the back and I grabbed it, then raced to the skirmish, screaming as loud as I could. I brought it down with a bang on the wooden floor beside the three biting, snarling dogs, yelling Grump’s and Louka’s names – telling them to STOP! To GET OFF! My ever obedient pit let go of the old one’s throat and, surprisingly, Louka desisted too.

When they both backed off, I glanced around for the other animals. The large brown female was limping badly, and Smooch was following her around in the yard, his tail going a mile a minute. He though he was playing – there was no danger there. The big black male was cowering by the bush; he was done too. The old female was trying to right herself from the gallery floor without much success – she was hurt. Louka and Grump, although snarling, were following orders and staying behind me.

I focused on the drunken sot in front of me. The shovel still in hand I advanced towards him.

“You let your damned dogs out again!’ I said through clenched teeth. “And my little grandchildren are playing in my yard!! They came and attacked my dog, you stupid old beep!!”

“Bien non, bien non.” He was still crooning. “Everything’s okay.”

“Look at your dog!! You did nothing! You could have shoved her into the house!! You did nothing, you drunken shit! And you let your other ones run loose again. How many damned times do we need to tell you they’re dangerous?? ”

My aggressive tone finally got to him, and he told me to puck off, I had no business there, and it got worse from that moment on. I won’t go into details; and, yes, I know there is no earthly use arguing with a person that drunk, but my fear had now turned to anger. I wanted to pound the dude to a pulp.

When he advanced toward me, I pushed him in the bare belly with the shovel, then threw it at him. It landed at his feet, much to my chagrin. He swore at me and advanced again; I shoved him. Hard! Thank heavens a lawn chair was in the right place; he went flying back and fell to sit on it instead of taking a header off the gallery, which is high enough to injure.

A sudden disgust for the whole episode swept over me. I also remembered that I was on HIS property now. Enough was enough. I turned and walked down the stairs, calling to my three dogs to come. Don’t ask me what he said next; I don’t remember exactly, except it was vulgar. All I know is that I felt the cold rage start in my stomach and rise up - and I turned around, and he had the shovel in the air.

“Don’t you DARE throw that at me, you beep beep beep!” But he did.

The fierce, menacing rumble stopped us both short. Drunk as he was, the neighbour froze, his eyes widened in terror as he stared at Grump. I swung out my arm out just as the pit sprang at him.

“No!! No, no Grump! Come!” This time it took a moment before Grump obeyed, but obey he did. There was no bite, but his gaze was fixed on the man. It wouldn’t take much for him to jump again. Still touching his collar, I repeated the call to Louka and Smooch; they came to me immediately.

“Take care of your dogs, you A-hole!” I managed to spit out. “They’re hurt, all because you’re a pucking idiot!”

My dogs beside me, I stomped through the bush toward home.

The rug rats were still at the top of the hill, calling down to me, worry in their voices, asking if I was okay. For shame; they had heard everything. I had just shown my grandsons a perfect example of what NOT to do.

I answered that yes, I was fine. When I joined them, I was still raging inside, now as much at my own stupid reaction as at the carelessness of the drunken idiot neighbour. I didn’t even realize that I was limping until the Nalou inquired where I was hurt.

A week has gone by and my foot is still swollen and painful. It’s twisted, and the only thing to do is to stay off it. Try doing that with 3 rug rats, 3 dogs, 2 cats and a bird!

The injury to my pride is worse; I believed I had a cooler head, a certain sang froid. I console myself by attributing it to the frustration of a seemingly hopeless and frightening situation. There have been repeated warnings from all his neighbours, more than one visit from the police...yet those dogs are still let loose when he goes on his binges. It’s a shame for the animals; it’s not their fault, but that of a master too ignorant to even own a canary!

I did tell the town vet about it when I went in with Grump; a sort of precaution if ever I do have to shoot the dogs before we get the fence up around my property. She agreed that, God forbid, they would probably have attacked the children if my dogs had not been there to distract them; their mentality has become that bad. She was also quick to tell me that I could be proud of my own canines; they are not killers, because they stopped when told. They were only protecting us, as good and loyal dogs should.

For a couple of days, imagining my hand slapping that bugger silly was the only thing to bring out my SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THE STORY

We went out into the night, the five of us; my two oldest rug rats, Grump and Smooch and me. I had the flashlight (the boys were looking forward to playing cops & robbers again), and Nalou had the squeaky balls for the doggies. Grump had already disappeared into the dark, headed for the side bush where he does his needs.

Wait! I heard a voice. Ah, no! It was the neighbour and I could tell he was drunk. And he was calling his dogs.

“Nalou, don’t throw the ball.....”

But it was too late. The ball was gone down the hill, with Smooch sprinting after it.

“Stay right here! Don’t move” I yelled at the boys. I flashed the light ahead of me as I began to run, fear coursing through me....with good reason.

Not even halfway down the hill and I saw them come out of nowhere and jump on him. He was intent on the ball, and looked up just as they hit him. They are both bigger than him and seasoned fighters...they have already killed two dogs in our area. In spite of his size, Smooch is still a puppy. He went down hard, not even a yelp; the only thing to be heard was their ferocious growling and my screams as I raced toward them.

From the corner of my eye I saw a steak of white float from the bush, then another passed me from behind; Grump and the beautiful Louka! I watched as they threw themselves into the fray – now the noise was wild! A dip in the driveway made me stumble. I dropped the flashlight, and by the time I picked it up all the dogs and the fight had already moved out of sight into the bush between my place and my neighbour’s. That terrible growling and then howls of pain, and ...oh God, who is getting hurt??? I ran as hard as I could, gasping for breath, heart in my mouth and still hollering “Stop!! Git home!! Stop!! Git!”

To be continued

RAGE!!!

I’m limping. It’s painful.

It could be worse; I could be fighting assault and battery charges.

Or worse still, trying to rescue my loyal Grump from the terrible mess which follows when a dog, especially a pit-bull, attacks a person.

I’m nearly over my rage now, so will be able to write about it without excessive ranting. But not tonight.

After supper, Mommy and the rug rats and Wigi left to sleep over at her house. She noticed that I badly needed a break. They’ll be back for an early breakfast.

In the meantime, this wounded Mémère is going to finally gobble a couple of pain killers and will not pass go, but will go straight to bed. No ‘Get out Free’ card required.

By tomorrow I should have my SMILE back.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

CRIME THAT DOES PAY

The policewoman hunkered down in the chill of the autumn night, being as quiet as possible. She had heard noises near the third vehicle parked a short distance behind her and had her flashlight pointed there, waiting to power it on. She didn’t want to give away her position too early.

Her older dog’s attention to that same spot convinced her that she was right. Slowly she crept in the targeted direction, then stopped when two shadows appeared from behind the car’s trunk.

“Hands in the air!! Don’t move!!” The thieves, caught by the torch held in the cop’s hand, straightened to do as ordered – the biggest one immediately, the smaller one a little slower. The latter turned and scowled at his partner in crime.

“You said we wouldn’t be seen in the dark!” he accused.

“You guys never had a chance!” crowed the cop. “I got me two smart police dogs!!” At that precise moment, one of the dogs pranced into the light, throwing a ball up into the air before scurrying after it, and paying no attention whatsoever to the thieves standing there. The giggles rang out and the arms came down and the pleading started.

“Come on, Mémère – one more time. Just one. And this time you can’t use the dogs to catch us.” Nalou watched as Smooch came barreling toward us again, still with the ball in his mouth. “Well – you can use THAT dog if you want,” he added. Another round of giggles.

“Bedtime, guys.” said the cop firmly. “Tomorrow’s another day.” And the race was on to see who could get to the top of the stairs first. (The dogs won.)

How long has it been since I’ve played cops and robbers? Hmmm...let me count the years. Then again, let’s not. One thing I will tell you is that the thrill of it is still there.

Kabu’s post about her childhood and the love of a family not so rich in material things, but very affluent in “caring” comes to mind. The electronic era has many good things about it (i.e. Blogit), but it can separate us as much as keep us together if we are not careful. Maybe playing a video game with your child can bring the two of you closer, emphasis on the word ‘with’; the child playing alone is just that...alone. But, at the risk of sounding like an old fogey, I find there is nothing quite like being outdoors, especially after dark in the crisp air, playing imaginary games such as cops and robbers. I’d be willing to bet that the kids sleep much better too. Fresh air and exercising the body are way ahead of just stimulating the brain.

Oh – and not only the children sleep better. The “cop” proved that by being in bed shortly after baths and snacks and hugs. I’m sure that when Morpheus joined us, we were all SMILING.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THE YO-YO.

Because she has been staying here for the past month or so, Mommy had very little food at her own house. I prepared soup and sandwich fixings, put the makeup in the bag, picked up the youngest Rug rat from daycare, and made my way there to join her and the two oldest boys. They would have time for a quick meal before doing the rounds on Halloween night.

When I arrived, it was to find the five year old Bali and Mommy in distress mode, with maternal grandma looking on.

“He threw a tantrum when I picked him up from school,” Mommy informed me. “I have no idea why. I had been telling my mother that he has been so good, since both you and I spend time with him – and now this! He was screaming again!”

I knew the child was listening, but he didn’t look around to see my reaction. I said nothing other than “Hmmm”. Things have been going well with him lately, but there are no overnight fixes for something like this. I suspect that he’s still not quite used to Mommy putting her foot down, but I didn’t say so within his hearing. Mommy and I would talk this weekend. All of us were just too darned tired at the moment.

Not only is Bali in the middle (oldest gets privileges, youngest gets babied), but he is also very small for his age. His stature bothers him greatly; it frustrates him to no end. Last year while at the town amusement fair, he was barred from certain rides when his younger, but taller, friends were allowed to participate. That hurt!! He expresses his pain with pure rage, lashing out, getting carried away unless stopped immediately. Still, there is such a brave heart in that little body. I’m certain that by channeling the energy he uses for his tantrums into something positive, add some well-placed discipline, together with his already present charm, his fierce determination, and his fearlessness, one could not ask for a better young man. It will, of course, take time, but I am positive it will work.

Last night again, when his Mommy warned him there was no candy if he didn’t eat his supper, Bali picked up his plate and threw it back on the table. He hadn’t noticed that I was standing behind him, and my light finger flick on the side of his head startled him.

“Pick that up and put it down right.” Without a word he did as I said, ducking his head as children do when they are caught out. “You heard your Mom,” I added. “If you want candy, you eat supper. If you don’t want to eat supper, that’s okay, but there’s no candy.” He picked up his fork and started to eat again. Nothing further was said about it, and he did get his candy when he was finished. He was still chewing on the sweet when he came to lean on my knee; my grinning boy holds no grudges. I hugged him close to me, wishing that I could find a miracle, a quick solution; that we could stop this sort of good-cop, bad-cop scenario his mother and I seem to have created.

All this to say that those we love sure can play yo-yo with our emotions. On the drive to school this morning, Nalou, the oldest Rug rat, was telling me about the different planets; he’s into astronomy, and stumps me every time!

“And we have the best planet,” he stated. “Earth.”

I agreed, telling him that Earth had everything we needed to live happily. There was a short lapse in our conversation, then he spoke again.

“I love my life now.’ He said, his voice serious. ‘I’m really happy.” Surprised, but thrilled, I glanced over at him, then in the rear view mirror at his brother, who was listening from the back seat.

“What about you, Bali? Do you love you life too?”

“Yep!” answered my wild grandson, his eyes sparkling back at me. “I’m really happy too!”

I felt the yo-yo ascend once more as we all SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

WAFFLES...OR NOT

My Halloween Rugrats


Nalou, the oldest rug rat, was the first one to call down to me this morning; it was 5:15 AM. Even if I had already been working for an hour, I still wasn’t willing to shatter my alone time.

“Go back to sleep,” I answered him in a loud whisper. “It’s not 6 o’clock yet.”

“But I’m awake NOW,” he insisted.

“So lie down and rest. Or think about ...whatever...and don’t wake the others!” I warned. “You know you don’t come downstairs before 6 AM.”

Even as I said it, I suspected that he would wake the others. Both older boys have discovered that once two year old Tao is up, attention is pretty much guaranteed. Tao, after all, is still too young to understand the 6 o’clock rule.

Sure enough, not even 15 minutes later, all three voices were audible. Hmmm...Nalou was NOT going to have a good morning.

Tao is a terrible tease, and very rambunctious. He is also very aware that Nalou is not allowed to hurt him, and he will play on it without mercy. Leave the two of them in a room alone together for more than 10 minutes, and you can bet your life that Nalou will be loudly complaining about his little brother’s antics, imploring adult intervention. This morning it didn’t even take that long.

“Mémère! Tao is awake now.” Nalou was standing at the top of the stairs.

“I know. You woke him. You all are staying upstairs until 6 o’clock anyway.”

“But he won’t stop jumping on me!” came the predicted whine.

“Too bad. You woke him, you put up with him. None of you are coming down. It’s too early. You have half an hour to wait.” My voice was firm; it brooked little argument. His “But...” and “He won’t...” and “I don’t like...” entreaties faded into the background when I walked into my office and closed the door. I heard the thumps and bumps on the floor above, but was determined that, short of an injury, they would NOT be coming down before the allotted time.

When the half hour was up, I put on the kitchen light and called “All’s clear!” Down they flew, Tao jumping into my arms for his morning cuddle before his lift into the high chair and breakfast. Nalou’s expression was sheepish; he knew he had disobeyed and that a scolding was in order. Instead I reminded him to put his little dog, Wigi (correct spelling!) outside. He reacted as he does every morning when required to do the task.

“It’s too cold, and it’s wet. I’m hungry now.”

“Dog first. Food after.” said his mean old Mémère. His Mommy usually relents and does it for him.

“But his leash is all wrapped up at the bottom of the gallery!”

“That’s right. You didn’t unwrap it last night when you brought him in, so you have that joyful task to do this morning. Before breakfast.”

“But I’m not dressed,” he continued. “And I’m hungry. Wigi can wait.”

“Now!” I stated.

“But I don’t feel like doing it now!”

I turned from the toaster and waffles to stare at him. “Now!” I repeated. ‘Wigi is your responsibility. He needs to go pee. It’s cruel to make him wait. Now!” I handed him the flashlight. It was still dark out there. Dragging his feet, he slumped away to reluctantly do as he was told.

When he showed up Wigi-less ten minutes later, his brothers were already eating.
“I don’t have any waffles, Mémère?” He inquired, studying the empty place where his plate should be.

“Did you ask for some?”

“Yes!” he replied. “I asked before I put Wigi out.”

“Hmmm. I guess I didn’t listen to you then.” I kept busily wiping the counter. When he saw I still hadn’t made a move to prepare his waffles, he stalled a moment, then broached the subject again, his tone uncertain.

“Are you going to make them now?”

“Make what?” I asked airily.

Again he hesitated before saying “My waffles.” He’s a smart lad. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to get the picture.

“I don’t know. I’m wondering if I should listen to you now. Or not.” I turned to look directly at him. He gazed back at me, then visibly came the ‘Aha!’ moment. He ducked his head before responding.

“Yes – you can listen to me. I’m hungry. Please.” His eyes lifted to look into mine. “And I’ll listen to you next time too.”

“We’ve got a deal.” I confirmed, holding out for a high-five.

“A deal!” repeated this handsome grandson of mine, and he slapped his hand into mine.

My wink contained a granny-load of love. He saw it for what it was, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

LONG SLEEVED PANTS

Today my son is leaving for Alberta – he’ll be working out there with his nephew (my tenant grandson), so is gone for 28 days at a stretch. Happily, the relationship problems are mended, and his lady has definitely moved in here. Between us, we will see to the Rug Rats while Daddy is away.

Financially, this job is too good to pass up, especially when one ponders the future costs of educating three children. We know his absence is going to be difficult for the boys; Daddy is very much implicated in their day to day routine. Thank goodness for Skype, which will be used each evening to keep in touch until Daddy comes back home for his 10 day breaks.

Family and friends have been concerned for me – how I am coping with the huge change from a quiet existence to the ‘invasion’ of a whole family with young children and extra animals. Yes, it can be difficult at times, but my adaptation is nothing compared to that of my son’s lady.

It can’t be easy moving from a home and a town that she loves into her mother-in-law’s house. Not only is it situated in a remote bush area, but there is also having to adjust to ways very different from her own, sharing a bedroom with her 3 sons, listening to another woman reprimand same sons, and now having to stay behind while her man flies up and away. She has accepted it all with much grace. I hadn’t seen them, but suspected that there were occasional tears shed in private. She admitted as much when we sat alone together the other night. Telling her how I admired her attitude opened the floodgates. The heart-to-heart discussion which followed was probably the first of many to come between two women with a common goal – a determination to keep our family happy and strong.

In a couple of hours we’ll be leaving for the airport – his flight is at 2 PM. Yesterday his brother and sister, their spouses, and my son’s dad and present wife came by for a gouté and to join our toast in wishing him well. The rest of the weekend was spent with laundry and packing the tools and clothes he would need for his work. It is already snowing over there so we heeded his 5 year old son, Bali, when he told us not to forget Daddy’s long-sleeved pants.

An apt description; one that made us all SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

LOVE, LUST, AND LACK OF SLEEP

The beautiful Louka, with her ardent admirer, Weegie

It was love at first sight. Ummm – I mean lust – it was LUST at first sight! And that is why Weegie was scratching and whining at the side of my bed at 2 AM in the morning.

I thought he had to pee...or worse... so I crawled out of bed and stumbled after him. He is very small and not used to being loose, so I couldn’t just open the door and let him go. It meant stepping outside, bare feet on cold boards, fumbling for the catch in the dim exterior light, then finding the minuscule loop on his collar under all that hair. No sooner attached and he went racing down the stairs to the warm welcome of the beautiful Louka, who suddenly materialized out of the darkness.

And yes, I mean warm; she’s in heat again.

Weegie must have seen her through the window while she was strutting her stuff outside, very aware that at least one male, the only one whose anatomy is still intact, would be watching with interest. And now there were 3 dogs paying attention; Weejie’s scurrying had aroused the curiosity of Smooch and Grump. Both huge mutts were standing just inside the entrance, certain that they should be allowed to go play too. NOT!

They reluctantly returned to their couches when I pointed and whispered the command. Fifteen minutes later they were right back up again to watch me drag (literally!) Weegie inside. I didn’t want to leave the little dude out there too long with nocturnal hunters in the bush; he is smaller and less agile than a cat. He protested, but I wanted to SLEEP!

As soon as Weegie was untied, Smooch got into the act; his playmate was awake and excited – fun and games hour!! It took more minutes of hissing threats (the rug rats were sleeping; I couldn’t yell at the beasts or the boys would be up too) before I got them settled down.

Ah, finally! Snuggled back in bed and reaching for Morpheus.

Fat chance! Weegie was right back beside me, pulling his ‘let me out now, now, now!' crap. There was no way I could sleep with this going on! Once more I got up, only this time I shut him in the bathroom, with both doors closed. I also sent the ever attentive Grump and Smooch back to their couches...again.

Weegie began to yap. Big dogs bark, little dogs yap. Telling him to shut up didn’t do it. Exasperated, I rushed to grab him and put him none too gently on the pillow beside me, threatening that he would become an appetizer for the owls if he didn’t stop.

Guess what? Lust is stronger than threats. The yapping stopped, but was replaced by whining as he run back and forth the length of my bed. I was still puzzling on how to make him quiet down, short of wringing his neck, when I heard similar sounds coming from the kitchen, only made by larger dogs, so much louder.

Grump and Smooch would never get that excited even if Louka was up on the gallery, so I needed to investigate, and quickly, or everyone in the house would be awake. I hurried towards them, Weegie following close behind me, his little paws clicking on the wood floors. Both pits were standing at the windowed French doors, tails waving wildly, uttering that half whine-half bark thing they do, and jockeying for position to see...Dora!

Fred’s girlfriend’s 6 month old kitten was sitting out there, not moving, staring in at them imperiously, well aware that they couldn’t touch her through the glass. When she saw me she stood, arching her back slightly; her it’s-about-time stance. I shushed the dogs, and reached out to pick her up, held her high while the hounds milled around me, and she was deposited, also none too gently, on the other side of the door leading down to Fred’s apartment...but...PUCK! I hadn’t closed the other door properly and now that sneaky Weegie was on the long gallery, booting it as fast as he could towards the part of the stairs where he can slip his little self through the space and get down into the yard. The beautiful Louka stood waiting, her feathered tail waving gently as she watched me chase him down. ARRGH!

“Enough of this!” I declared to the world in general. My voice was what you could probably term as a very loud stage whisper. I toned it down while adding some colorful words when I realized that one of the rug rats could be awake and listening. In fact, I was surprised that anyone was still sleeping!

Snap decision.

I pointed at the couches, and Grump and Smooch, clued in by the tone and gesture used, quickly and silently slouched over to lie down. Weegie I carried to where his leash is installed, threw open the door, then tied him outside. It was the only way I’d get peace for what was left of the night. Louka watched him scoot towards her and looked up at me in gratitude.

“You’re big enough to watch out for the runt,” I told her. “You let anything get him, then it’s my gain and your loss!”

I knew I was up for the day. Before my sleeping habits would allow me to snooze now, it would be time for the boys to get up and fed and dressed and driven to school and daycare. Admitting defeat, I gloomily passed my bedroom door, heading for the kitchen and the coffee maker.

A noise from upstairs had me raising my head, expecting to see one of the rug rats. Instead, there was Kiti, their 10 month old kitten, perched on the beam, taking in the view below. If she decided to come down, the pits would be excited again, damnit!

“And just what are you planning, Missy?” I asked her, softly. Her pretty cat eyes looked into mine. “Are you going to be pain in the butt too?” She studied me for a moment, then languorously reclined her length before returning her attention to the pits, which were alert and watching.

“Ah – one intelligent animal in the menagerie,” I sighed with relief. Kiti responded by glancing at me again, her eyes now half closed. I could almost hear her drawl her answer.

“Of, course, darling.”

I gratefully bowed to Her Majesty Kiti, and I smiled.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

EVERYTHING ELSE

The 3 doggies, sharing a couch


Smooch is hurt. Last night we were out taking our daily run – Smooch, Grump, Louka and I when Dora, my grandson’s kitten, shows up at the bottom of the stairs. The 3 huge dogs made a beeline for her and she raced up the stairs to get away. The dogs collided while trying to navigate the bottleneck on the stone steps, I guess. The wall was blocking my view. I heard a yelp of pain, and turned the corner to see Smooch lying there. When I saw he couldn’t walk, I enlisted Fred’s help to carry the poor doggie up and into the kitchen. I believe it’s a sprain – it doesn’t seem to be broken because he did get to his feet a short time later, but is dragging that leg behind him. This may mean a trip to the dreaded vet later this morning. Ugh – Kujo time. Dora, by the way, escaped safely, and was probably sitting up there smirking when she saw the result of the chase.

My oldest grandson, Fred, is presently negotiating the purchase of a house on this road, about half a mile behind mine. He and his little girlfriend are finding the noise from the Rug Rats a bit overwhelming – three little dudes running and yelling very early in the morning when you are trying to sleep below them can be disturbing. The house is brand new, and if all works out, he’ll be moving at the end of November. At the moment, my son, his lady, and the three boys are sleeping in the open loft upstairs. The space is large enough, but there is no privacy. If Fred does move, his apartment will be transformed into bedrooms for the children. Each will have his own room, plus there will be a play/TV/area, and their own bathroom. The parents will keep the loft.

Tomorrow we’ll be celebrating Mommy’s birthday. She has invited her dad & mom & brother for supper. At the same time, 7 year old Nalou is having a miniature pyjama party – there will be a couple of extra Rug Rats staying over. Just before leaving for school, Nalou was setting up the living room for his guests, and pointed out who would be where. He had each of his male friends on other couches, but his “Lover”, the only little girl invited, has a special reservation, on the biggest couch. He also informed me that he would be sharing it with her, and the sly grin that accompanied his statement was hilarious! I have a feeling that Mommy will be making a change in his sleeping arrangements.

I’ve been spoiled this week. On Tuesday evening I was invited to Dawna & Malcolm’s lovely house for supper. The meal is always delicious, and the conversation stimulating with these friends. The next night I met my daughter and her two oldest at a Bistro, where we celebrated Fred’s 22nd birthday with a fondue. Because of her intensive study and work schedule, I don’t see my granddaughter often; both she and her mother are ‘gigglers’, and Fred is such an easygoing dude...a fun time!

On both nights I had a curfew – I needed to be home for 10 PM so that Mommy could go into work on the graveyard shift. The Rug rats were already in bed, but I was greeted by 3 dogs and 2 cats (the parrot hasn’t moved in yet), each of them vying for my petting, while keeping a wary eye of the others in the group. Grump, being the head honcho, stayed the longest by my side, leaning against my knee. Even the cats treat him with deference.


“And that’s the way it should be, huh, Grump? You the man!!” I ruffled his ears, then hugged this patient friend of mine before kissing the top of head. He turned and gently licked my hand, and together we SMILED.


Luv from the Bush in Quebec

HEART TIMES

Mommy


SO – the weekend is over, and my ever solicitous children did their best to keep me from being too morose. Instead of alone time, there was soon a houseful of caring people. It was all good; much action with the Rug Rats showing off for visitors, Smooch giving chase as they ran to and fro, the table laden with delicious food prepared by my youngest son, who decided to stay here instead of attending his planned activity. His lady had questioned my hiding and weeping in my office Saturday morning, worried that it was something she had done. Her eyes filled with tears as I explained how much I was missing my bro; I knew her gentle heart would understand, and that she was more than willing to join the others in offering me comfort.

Even with all the attempts to distract me, there was still no way I could sleep until that anniversary hour of his crossing over was passed. It was nearly 4 AM on Sunday morning before I could make peace with my emotions, close my eyes, and welcome the ever elusive Morpheus.

The snooze didn’t last long; the energy of three young lads is not ideal for relaxation, and they are very early risers. What’s more, their Daddy was away for his second day in training, and even if Mommy did her best to keep the noise to a dull roar, well...it was just Mommy, after all. Sometimes gentle hearts need to be steeled.

We’re working on it.

Lately, Mommy has been spending most of her time here with us. It didn’t take long for me to realize that a huge part of the problem in her family was caused by the interaction between her and the boys. Those Rug Rats were running her life, draining her energy as children being brats can do, and leaving little room for a decent ‘couple’ relationship.

I have no problem with noise – yelling and laughing and running and some squealing are par for the course. In fact, I’ve been known to join in! However, I can’t accept disrespect, temper tantrums, and especially constant SCREAMING when wishes are thwarted– and this one day, it was all I was hearing. Mommy repeatedly asked them to stop. It only got worse. Finally, totally exasperated, nearly in tears, she walked 5 year old Bali to the bedroom and told him to stay there. What a scene followed! That lad’s pitch can shatter a wine glass, I swear!

Mommy came back downstairs immediately, trembling, telling me she would ignore him and he would stop after awhile. WHAT??? When either she or my son was around, I’d been attempting to stay in the background concerning any decisions or discipline for the kids, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

“No!’ I said. “He has made it unpleasant for everyone in the house whenever you are here and his Dad isn’t. What he is doing now is unacceptable, and now the baby is imitating him. We’re in for a long haul if we’re to all live together. The children will not control THIS home!!”

The lady is everything I believed she was. I know how differently she was raised, how difficult it is to accept that maybe some of her convictions are wrong, and then to take action accordingly...but that is exactly what she did.....and it worked...and she has continued doing it. The Rug Rats are responding, must faster than she expected. Of course! They are only acting with her now as they were already doing with their Daddy and Mémère – like happy, secure children instead of spoiled, little tyrants.

I cared for this girl before, and I find myself respecting her more with each day she is with us. I can see so much of what made my son fall in love with her.

Her character and present attitude increases my certainty that this family is going to adjust just fine! And that thought makes me SMILE!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

TODAY.....

It will be a year, tonight at 2:05, and it’s hard to believe that it has been that long; it feels like yesterday. Once again I have the baby monitor on my night table. Even with my eyes closed, the humming sound reminds me of this time last October. Now instead of listening for Bird’s call from his sick bed, it is to hear if one of the rug rats should wake. The monitor is installed for the same reason as before, to offer comfort when needed; only the circumstances are different.

The children are here this morning, noisy and energetic as children are meant to be. Most days I can deal with it, in fact I enjoy it, but I was relieved to hear that the whole family will be going to a friend’s place for supper and the evening. I need some alone time with my doggies – and with my memories.

I’ve been trying to hold back tears since I got up, but they have a mind of their own. I’ve shut myself in my office to avoid the rug rats’ questioning stares. Their Mommy must be wondering too – usually I’m out there helping with breakfast, refereeing the squabbles, curbing Smooch’s overly enthusiastic play. My son is in training classes today. If he was here, he would know why, and act as a buffer. I doubt if she remembers, and she is too polite to ask. I’ll have to explain - it’s not fair to her otherwise. She is very close to her own brother, and I know she’ll understand.

I miss him....enormously.

He knew me better than anyone else ever could, or ever will again. If he was here right now, he’d sit beside me, and throw his arm around my shoulders; give me a squeeze. He would try a couple of jokes, and if there was no response on my part, he would stay there and hold me quietly, waiting until the pain eased. Then he would probably comment that the sound of my sobbing was much like my singing...an awful racket to be confronted with stoic endurance.

And I would tell him “I’m gonna kick your ass, Bird!”, and he would answer, “Not if I kick yours first!”

And we would both SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

TESTING....

I wasn’t really expecting anyone for Thanksgiving but had decided to do the traditional meal anyway. It had been the favorite holiday for both my mom and my brother, Bird; it just wouldn’t feel right to skip it. In the end, we were 9 people gathered around the table that night...and 3 doggies. My daughter showed up with wine and baguettes and friends (yes, she warned me a couple of hours ahead of time), and the two youngest Rug Rats came with their Mommy.

My son, when talking reconciliation with the Mommy,including the plan for the whole family moving in here, had warned her that this was the ‘party’ house where most occasions are celebrated – holidays, birthdays, and just people getting together. Her increased avoidance of such occasions, and her total reluctance to invite anyone except her own family (rarely) to their home was one point of contention in their relationship...and with his siblings. Mommy had told him there would be no problem; after weeks of self analysis, she has concluded that isolation is no longer desirable. She wants her real life, including her man and children, back to where it once was, and she could handle receiving guests if that was part of it.

Words, said my son. We’ll see what happens when the time comes.

“Time has come – Initiation Day!” I texted to him shortly after hearing there would be last minute guests. He answered me back from his perch in the tree way up in the northern hunting forests.

“LOL – Good! Let me know how it goes!”

We all had a lovely time. Mommy and the rug rats were first to arrive, and she pitched in to help with preparations. She continued in the same vein throughout the evening, chatting pleasantly with everyone, serving turkey and squash and pumpkin pie, up immediately with my daughter for clearing the table and washing dishes, sincerely enjoying the antics from both the boys and the guests. Then she was no sooner over breakfast the next day and she was cleaning – bathrooms, windows, and floors – all the while joking with me and the kids. My daughter phoned, and I told her what was happening.

"Tell her I’ll go put the For Sale sign on their house myself!" my daughter laughed. I repeated what she said, and Mommy’s face glowed. We were rebuilding our bridges.

She was in the shower when I again texted my son.
“Test passed – flying colours!! Giving her an A+” I wrote. He had been watching for the results, because my phone beeped nearly immediately with his answer.

It was a huge SMILE!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

MY PRECIOUS, AND PAT_B'S POST

The view from my gallery yesterday afternoon - awesome!


Pat_B’s post titled “Where to find inspiration” gave me the incentive to write what you’ll read here. It also helped me make a decision that has been rolling around...no...make that turning cartwheels...in my mind since this conversation took place a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been mulling it over; holding it close to my heart as Smeagol did in Lord of the Rings...muttering “My Precious”...


The Rug Rats were in bed, the doggies snoozing on the couch, and my son and I sat together at the kitchen table, relaxing in the quiet aftermath of hectic homework and play and baths and little boy noise. Jo had already mentioned his intention of staying with me, whether he could save his love relationship or not. If the latter did work out, his lady would join the household. Now he had something else to add, and the way he said it makes me suspect that it has already been discussed with his brother and sister...and his lady.

Approximately two years ago, my three children, worried about my being alone out here, began to exert gentle pressure that I make other living arrangements. I told them flat out that I had no intentions of leaving the bush, and anyway, my dogs, being pits, are banned in most towns or cities...and my health was still fine. We finally agreed that Jo, who would eventually buy the inherited share of my house from his siblings, would move in with his family....but MY projected date was in 2022. The Rug Rats would be older, and it was my hope that living alone until then would be no hassle. Although not entirely comfortable with the decision, my offspring backed off some, even if it would come up again whenever I wasn’t feeling well, or if there was a renovation problem. So Jo’s moving in with me is not a new plan; it is only way ahead of its time.

When grandson Fred took the apartment downstairs, they all sighed with relief. Then my brother was so ill that he was here too, so there was always someone around. Within a few months I was alone again, with Bird’s passing over and Fred’s job taking him away for weeks at a time. Once more I was hearing murmurs that I shouldn’t be out here alone, I should be letting my kids take care of me. I’m still wondering if Fred’s little girlfriend realized how happy everyone was when she decided to stay in the apartment during his absences.

Jo’s separation happening shortly after has definitely taken care of worries about my solitude! Now, as I listened to what my son was suggesting, it seemed as if Part 2 of their plan was being broached.

It is no secret that I am having a devil of a time now to make ends meet; that my savings were wiped out by a bad business decisions, compounded by the expenses incurred with my brother’s illness. Worse, my energy and desire to rebuild are just not there. To make it work, it would mean commuting back and forth to the city again. The truth is, in fact, that I have never really enjoyed accounting, and now I’m finding it a burden to insure that the work even pays its own way. I’m treading water...barely.

“Write!” my son was saying now. “You have always done it, but you had to make a living. Now we’ll be here – keep only the clients you want....if you want. I’m sure you can make money at writing, and it’s what you love to do. And even if it doesn’t pay, you don’t have to worry anymore – I’m here for that.”

With my brain floundering in the shock caused by his words, I could only mumble something about independence and being a glorified babysitter. He laughed at me before reminding me that this is MY house, and that I was helping with the boys already – not having to worry about clients would just make it easier. He also insisted that it was more an exchange of favours, and that he was convinced I could make money by writing, if being independent was my only fear. He added that whatever I decided to do was my choice; either way was fine with him.

Well, Holy Puck! Maybe not the appropriate reaction when someone offers you your dream on a silver platter, but it was exactly what I was thinking.

And so I have been writing about my Rug Rats, and hoarding this little secret pearl, and then Pat_B’s post gave me that required little push to the edge. Although there is some unfinished accounting work to be done, and I probably will keep one or two minimum maintenance clients, I am accepting my son’s offer. If it doesn’t work out, I know my kids will at least feed me...

Do you think I’m SMILING? You’re darn tootin’ I am, and it’s a biggie – more than enough to share – so help yourselves, folks! It’s a SMILING celebration!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

WHAT? NO NOISE?

This is pretty awesome! It’s just after 6 AM and here I am sitting at my desk writing instead of dishing out toast or strawberries or eggs or cereal. The doggies are still drowsing on their couches; no scolding of Smooch this morning for sneaking under the table, licking each of the Rug Rats’ knees in turn, aiming for a share of breakfast.

Neither is there sound from the basement apartment. Yesterday my grandson got home from his 28 day stint at the far end of the country, and he and his little girlfriend are wrapped up in each other, shutting out the world around them. Wait! I hear noise!! Oh yes – kitten Dora is into something down there – there was a bang followed by a scuffle. Trust the nocturnal feline to keep us on our toes!

My son left Thursday for the annual moose hunting week away up north somewhere, and this after being so sick that he wasn’t even able to work. Jo has to be really not well before staying in bed like he did – he’s a tough dude, that one. Even if he looked better, I loaded his backpack with medication for cold, flu, nausea, but I understood his need to get away into the deep forest for awhile. In spite of his mother’s aversion to it, Jo loves the hunt like I do hockey. (No, I’m not going there!!)

My older son and his Japanese wife will be spending Thanksgiving weekend with his dad, who is slowly recovering from colon cancer. The Rug Rats are with Mommy at least until tomorrow; the maternal grandparents need their dose of little boy hugs and kisses. My daughter and one or two of the older grandkids may, or may not, show up for turkey & trimmings. I’ll be cooking anyway, and if no-one comes around there will be little danger of it going to waste in this populated household. Talk about leftover heaven!

For an update, Mommy has been spending most of her days and nights with us, much to the boys’ delight. My son is adamant about living here now, and there have been discussions about them selling the house and her moving in with us permanently. She wisely is waiting until my son asks her to do so; he is taking his time. It’s blatantly apparent that they still love each other, but there is the element of trust to rebuild...and Jo wants to be sure. In the meantime, we are adjusting to this huge change in our lives, and up to now we’re doing a darned fine job of it too!

********************************

I had to interrupt my writing; Nalou, the oldest rug rat, called to tell me he’s invited to go camping with a family for the weekend, and could I please bring him his pumps (in case) and his sweat pants? He also wanted to give me the Halloween cake he had made for me yesterday. It was a muffin, and he grinned as he handed it to me, apologizing because he had eaten the top – the part with the chocolate pumpkin on it.

Now that his little dog, Weegie, has been accepted here, Nalou has been hinting that we must not forget his 9 month old kitten, named Keetee. This morning he told his Mom that when the cat is happy and nice, her name is Keetee B., giving it my surname, but that when it is grumpy and a pest, her name changes to Keetee R., using the last name of his grandfather (my ex).

Only 7 years old and already so observant...makes a granny SMILE!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

LITTLE BOYS ARE MADE OF...

Bali, my little ray of sunshine.


What is it about 3:30 AM? It’s as if someone nudges me awake at that time every morning – been happening for over a week now. Morpheus and I need to have a talk! Doesn’t that fickle dude realize that by 9 AM, when I am supposed to start working, I only want to crawl back into bed? Or maybe he has seen my 2nd Rug Rat, Bali, in action, and knows that I have to be out of my zombie state, with a couple of coffee under my belt, before that youngster hits the floor running at 5:30 AM, LOL!

I call Bali my little ray of sunshine. The kid packs more activity into a day than one would believe possible; such a little guy, and totally fearless, which leads to a scolding at least once every 24 hours. He takes it all in stride, and there isn’t a grudging bone in his body. He’ll be in tears, throwing you dirty looks for having punished him, then jump right back into your arms the next minute, full of little-boy hugs. He so reminds me of my mom, both in looks and attitude; just chock full of mischief and charm. And, as TAPS warned me, he seems to be always one step ahead of me. Dennis the Menace has nothing on this lad!

He and Smooch have a lot in common. Because of this, they more often than not end up in a pushing/shoving match or tugs of war for whatever Bali has left lying around – socks, shoes, toys...

The pup weighs twice as much as the boy, and Bali’s head is the perfect height for easy licking access. Bali has been warned not to hit the dog, but to say a firm ‘NO!’, and to push him away when being bothered. Smooch, with the tenacity for which pits are renown, keeps coming back, of course, loving the play. Eventually one of them will give in, usually Smooch, but now and then, when Bali’s ‘NO’ gets too loud, an adult will intervene. Smooch will slink away followed by Bali’s smug, winning “Nyah, nyah”.

Yesterday (and it wasn’t even 7 o’clock yet!) I had no sooner turned my back on the two of them after having acted as referee when Bali’s loud ‘HEY!!” had me whip around to see what was going on. The pup had sneaked back and landed a big, wet lick on Bali’s ear...before grabbing the disputed shoe and taking off on a run. My Rug Rat looked up at me, his fierce expression turning into a huge, sunny grin. "He won this time!" the boy declared, then took off to give chase.

I stood there for a moment, remembering how peaceful my home had been before I was invaded by Rug Rats and dogs. Within a minute my mind silently revised the word ‘peaceful’ to ‘boring’. It took only a second more to add ‘love’...and I SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

JUST AIN'T ENOUGH ROCKS

My boy and his dog.


In the movie Forrest Gump, there is a scene where Jennie scrabbles in the dirt, picking up rocks to hurl blindly at the house where she was raised and abused. Suddenly she crumples into heart-wrenching sobs; the pain she is feeling is too heavy to bear. Forrest, who is narrating the story, sits beside her and observes “Sometimes there just ain’t enough rocks.”

We have all felt such pain, even if for different reasons, but often we forget that children are not immune to it.

Of the three, my oldest Rug Rat is the one who has the easiest character. Granted, he can bombard you with ‘Why?’ questions and he is what my grandmother would call a slowpoke, but disobedience is rare. When he does get a ‘fit’ on, one can see it coming by the set of his shoulders and the turn of his head; in self defense he becomes the epitome of arrogance. The tell-tale stance escaped my notice the other night until....

We had a disagreement, he and I. It started out innocently. He asked if he could do something, and I explained to him why I was saying no. He deliberately proceeded to do what he wanted, then poofed me away when I took him up on it. He already knew that there was no chance I would accept such rude behaviour, but extremely rude he was! Somewhat astonished, I interrupted the preparations for supper, and told him to go to his room to think things over. When he refused, I took his arm firmly and helped him along. The yelling he started once he was up there was NOT in sync with the episode; it was overboard. When he realized that no one was paying attention, that he was on his own, the sounds changed, and he was crying his little heart out.

He had run out of rocks.

I so wanted to go to him, to take him in my arms and tell him everything would be okay, but I knew it had to come out. He has been a real soldier since the separation of his parents, keeping all the hurt inside, making the best out of a traumatic situation. A good face was put on for the sake of his Mommy and Daddy, but the pain has been festering inside. Mémère was the only target he could allow himself to consider, and I could accept that. I’ve been there.

I waited until there was silence before I went up to see him. When he heard me arrive he pulled the blankets over his head. Keep it cool, Mémère, I thought to myself. If he wants to talk about it, he will.

“Supper is ready, and it’s your favorite,” I said aloud. I continued playing along. “But before you come down, I want you to know why I was so angry. It’s not so much what you did, but your being rude afterwards is unacceptable.” I grabbed his foot under the covering and shook it playfully. “I know you won’t do it again, now that I’ve told you.” I added. “So come down to eat.”

“No. I’m not hungry.” He mumbled, but offered nothing further.

“Suit yourself,” I answered. “It’s ready if you want it.” And I left him, praying that I was doing the right thing.

It took another 15 minutes before he made an appearance and sat down at the table. His brothers and I treated it casually, as if nothing had happened, and he did the same. Although his eyes were red from tears, I felt that he had let some poison out; his face was more relaxed than it has been for some time.

The next morning I phoned his mom. He has said more than once that he wants her to move in with us...with his little dog, Weegie. Mommy has been coming regularly to spend time here (reconciliation is looking good!), but his little dog has stayed behind.

“Bring him,” I told her. “Smooch and Grump will get along with him if I tell them to – and it’s not fair to keep a dog from his boy.” His mom agreed, telling me that she thinks the child misses his pet more than he does her. She also mentioned that my son said maybe she could stay over with us that night.

“No problem,” I told her....probably too enthusiastically, but my grandson’s happiness was at stake.

She was picking the boys up from school that afternoon. When they arrived at the house, Weegie in tow, it took only one look at my Rug Rat’s face to know how delighted he was. It didn’t take long for the worry about reactions from Smooch and Grump to dissipate; the dogs got along fine (I’ve always thought they were much smarter than most humans!). Knowing his mommy was also staying over was frosting on the cake.

Supper and homework was done, walks taken, baths over, and it was bedtime. Both of the younger Rug Rats have no problem doling out kisses and hugs when saying goodnight, but Nalou, already feeling his way into manhood, is more reserved. With him it’s usually just a “Goodnight” and off he goes. His Dad lifted an eyebrow when the boy walked over to me and presented his face for a kiss, then actually hugged me back before heading upstairs.

No-one had to say it aloud. We looked at each other, basking in the child’s joy, and we all SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

AND THEY DANCED ALL NIGHT....

For some time now, the silence of my office radio has been a source of intrigue for my oldest rug rat. His is a very persistent character; the equipment had to be used somehow!

“There’s a dance party in here tonight, Mémère!” Nalou stated from the doorway. Then raising his voice to an announcer’s sing song, he chanted “Everybody gather ‘round! Great music to dance the night away! Only 25 cents for hours of fun!”

I made a show of searching my pockets.”Ah no!” I exclaimed. “I’m flat broke. I won’t be able to dance.” Was it my exaggerated pout or because his little brothers were totally ignoring him that made him revise his sales pitch?

“You, Madam, it’s your lucky night! You have a free ticket!!” He made a show of handing me the invisible paper to grant me entrance, then stood aside, waving me past him into the office. He had turned on a hip hop station; the tune was already blaring and my arrival prompted him to jack it even louder. I steeled myself not to grimace; this would be my last choice of music!

"This way,” he said, leading me through the narrow space between the desks. The French doors onto the gallery were wide open, and he slid the screen door back, beckoning me to follow him outside. “It’s a Soirée on the Terrace!” He grinned. “What a beautiful evening, ladies and gentlemen! We’re in luck – we’ll have the party outside! Dansez, Madame!”

I watched his hip hop moves – as fluid as a seven year old can make them - and imitated him as best I could. All the while I was aware that any car coming around the corner on the main road would be favored with a clear view of a pyjama-clad granny jumping and flailing her arms and jerking her head around like a robot. I hoped no-one would call the cops. It also came to mind that my neighbour was getting a change in music – from Ozzy’s hard rock to Hip hop. I wondered if he was a die-hard country fan, and had to laugh out loud at what his reaction could be this time!

Grump and Louka joined us; Smooch became part of the rhythm section with his yelps of frustration from behind the gate – his exuberant attendance would no doubt turn the area into a mosh-pit. Aware of the pup’s antics, Nalou has instructed the imaginary bouncer to keep that dude off the dance floor!

Madam was secretly relieved when Daddy came to fetch the animator for bath time – her legs were beginning to shake on their own! Expressing regret that the music would be shut down now, my host promised me that my ‘free’ ticket would be still valid for the next evening, adding that, because my fun had been cut short tonight, he would compensate by throwing in a few minutes of hip hop lessons. He was far too polite to come right out and say my dancing sucked.

I shook his hand and formally thanked him for his benevolence – assuring him that it was the greatest dance party in the whole world; I would be in attendance the next night if at all possible. My son, who had somehow disappeared when the doors for the dance had opened, winked and wondered aloud what kind of excuses I would come up with.

“You could always just tell him that you’re too old.” He suggested bravely.

“I am not!’ I retorted. “Look at this, I can still go! Hip...and hop...and hip, hop, hop...” He watched me go down the hall for a minute.

“Mom – that’s the bunny hop...not hip hop.” He said.

With my eyes wide, and an exact expression of sudden understanding on my face, I turned and exclaimed, “Oh! So that’s what I was doing wrong!”

Playing along, he nodded sagely. “Yes, Madam,” he said sotto voice. “Would you care for refreshment?” Then he was smirking again. “You look like you could use it. And guess what? They’re predicting rain tomorrow night...you should be safe.”

He heard my sigh of relief as we walked arm in arm to kitchen, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

EVERYONE'S A CRITIC!

“I’ve been reading your Blog.”

I looked up in surprise. First of all, where did she get the address for my Blog? And secondly, why would she read it? She’s merely an acquaintance, a friend of a friend, and we don’t particularly like each other.

Fortunately our paths don’t cross often. Today I had decided on spur of the moment to stop and have breakfast in the small restaurant where our mutual friend is a waitress. The rush hour would be over, and I hadn’t been there for at least a year. My friend was delighted, and was sitting with me enjoying a chat over coffee when L. walked in and joined us at the table - without asking. Still true to character, I noted silently. She had waited until our friend got up to serve new clients before making this statement. I’m sure she saw my expression for what it was, and she sat expecting me to say ...what?

No way, baby! I was thinking.

What I said aloud was “Okay.” The tone had nothing in it to encourage further discussion, but I could see she wasn’t going to let it lie.

“It’s like Mary Poppins,” she started. “All fun and games – nothing serious. Nothing real.”

Nonchalance was the way to handle this. With toast I wiped up what was left of the egg on my plate, then took a bite, chewing slowly, swallowing before smiling at her.

“Fairy tales.” I agreed. She was relaxing back in her chair.

“Not even,” she countered. “A good fairy tale could make you money.” Now she put her elbows on the table and leaned towards me. Her gaze was direct and bold. “I remember reading your articles about the elections a few years ago. THAT was more like writing!!” Talk about being astonished! I hadn’t finished deciding if this was a backhanded compliment or not, and she wasn’t going to allow me the time to contemplate it here.

“You used to have an opinion.” She added.

B*tch!

“I still do,” I snapped back “and it’s that life is good!”

“Dream on,” she sneered. “And if you really think that, prove it to us. Show us some bad, then convince us that the good is better...is stronger.” Then with more intensity, she added, “Make us wonder – question – hope! You’re feeding us only candy. How about some meat?”

WTF? I stared at her. Where was this coming from? Whatever made her think her advice was anywhere near important to me? As happens when confused, or miffed, I took refuge in sarcasm.

“Oh? And are you a writer?" I drawled. She heard what I was implying. Draining her coffee, she stood up to leave.

“Nope! More important than that.” she answered. “I’m a reader.” Her eyes flashed as she added, “And you could probably do better...but maybe you’re just too lazy.”

I’m sure my gulp was audible. Before I could gather my wits to retort, she had moved the ten feet over and was handing her bill and money to the cashier. I do believe my mouth was still hanging open when she came back to leave the gratuity on the table.

“By the way,” she said as she turned to leave. “I really do read your blog. And it does make me smile at the time...but it’s easily forgotten.” She tilted her head, and was she grinning? “Sure would be nice to read something that could keep that smile on all day!”

My waitress friend arrived at the table as L. was going out the door.

“Did I just see you give L.” the ‘bird’?” she asked, laughing.

“Damn right!” I grunted. “And that’s just because I didn’t want a fuss by throwing my plate at her head!” The turmoil I was feeling wouldn’t allow me to say more. I paid for my breakfast, and waved goodbye.

Driving home, my mind played over every word she’d said. Astonished? Insulted? Or was I a little of each? Was that what one could call constructive criticism? I suddenly found myself thinking about my brother’s life story...the one I had started to write...and should maybe continue. It certainly wouldn’t be just candy!

Oh – and if she was telling the truth, she’ll be reading this post, so... a little message: You were a b*tch! A smart one, perhaps, but still...and I’m SMILING!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec