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

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING...

Smooch, the Hang-dog look

It was 4 AM when I heard him come to my bedroom. I knew it was the pup – he has a very distinctive walk; it sounds like he is shuffling along the floor in slippers. I lifted my head and, sure enough, he was standing in the entrance, watching expectantly. It crossed my mind that he would go back to his couch if I insisted, but I’d probably have to clean up if I didn’t let him out now. His tail wagged slowly when I crawled out of bed.

“You couldn’t hold it for a couple of hours?’ I scolded him sleepily. The tail wagged a little faster. Being Smooch, he didn’t move as I approached him. The older pit, Grump, would have run ahead to the door already, and would wait there for his human to arrive. For some reason, Smooch always forces you go around him, then practically trips you up by leaning into your legs as he walks along beside you. It’s as if he craves the contact. I’ve tried to break him of the habit, but so far any method used hasn’t succeeded. I literally stumbled to the kitchen, holding myself steady by keeping a hand on the wall to counteract his now 90 pound weight.

We made it without mishap, and I opened the door. His nose crossed the threshold ...and he stopped. Telling him to go, then firmly shoving with my foot ... he wouldn’t budge. Neither was he fooled into following me when I reluctantly stepped outside. Br-r-r! My coaxing from there didn’t last long – bare feet and summer pj’s are not ideal wear in this sudden onslaught of frigid mountain air! I jumped back into the house, and the stubborn dog was still standing in the same place. I couldn’t shut the door.

“Move your head or lose it!” My tone told him I wasn’t kidding, and he retreated out of the way, rolling his eyes up in a woebegone expression. He has it down to perfection. You know the one – the hush puppy ‘hang-dog’ soulful gaze that can make you feel so-o-o guilty! He was still wearing it as he followed my pointing finger to his couch and slowly climbed up onto it. I couldn’t help but smile at the loud, long-suffering sigh he emitted when he realized that I was going back to bed. He’s still a puppy; I have to remember that, I mused silently.

Ha! The ‘puppy’ left a horse-sized puddle on the floor before the hour was over. .. of course I stepped in it! He had needed to go, but Monsieur didn’t care for the cold?? Now he had two strikes against him, waking me early then wetting the floor, and it was not even daylight yet!!

He kept his head down, as well he should. Only his eyes moved as I soaked up the excess with half a roll of paper towel, then dug out the mop and pail, grumbling without stop. They say it’s not productive to scold a dog after the fact. Well, ‘they’ were not forced to wash the floor at 5 AM; it was me doing that! Although I didn’t actually speak directly TO him, I couldn’t help throwing dirty glances as I completed the job. Without a doubt he knew he was on the sh*t list.

Who really knows how a dog thinks?

Ten minutes later I was sitting at my desk, sipping coffee and reading e-mails, and I heard him come down the hall. Ever so slowly he shuffled over and put his head on my lap. Without saying a word, I stood up and once more we walked together to the kitchen door. I opened it. He started out, stopped, looked up at me for a moment, then kept going. I closed the door behind him and waited. He stood still, sniffing the air. I saw the shiver run over his body, then he sat down on the spot where he was, and craned his head around to look back at me through the glass before turning away to stare into the dark. When I returned 5 minutes later he was still in the same place, holding the same position, and I watched as he shivered again. Obviously he had not needed to pee, so what was the point of this exercise?

When he heard the door open, he moved quickly to come back inside. Halfway in he stopped and shoved his wet nose in my hand, doing the Smooch-thing, leaning against me, transmitting all the love there is in that gangly, puppy body. In spite of the cold, we stood there for a special moment; the forgiver and the forgiven.

Was I the former or the latter in this pup’s mind? I realized that it didn’t really matter, and I SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

STILL KICKING!

Don't be fooled - this was a 5 minute time-out!

Wow! It’s hard to believe that August 27th was my last post. It seems I turn around twice and the day has gone by, then another...then another. Somebody is sneaking in here and stealing my time....or maybe the ‘twice’ is only an illusion, when I’m actually spinning like a top.

All is well on the home front. My two oldest rug rats have started school, and both of them like it, so that’s a bonus. Even the youngest is doing better at daycare, probably because his older brother is no longer there to torment the little dude. Brothers do tend to do that, don’t they?

Bali, his first day of school. So excited that he put his shoes on the wrong feet!


With three energetic young lads and two lively pit-bulls in permanent residence, this house rocks!! It starts around 5:30 in the morning and lasts until at least 9 PM; at which hour Mémere picks her tongue up from where it’s dragging on the floor, rams it back into her mouth, and searches for her wits. I’m loving every minute of it!!

Although I have been lax in my own posting, I have been reading others, so have sort of been keeping up on the doings of you all. I was worried that Blogit wasn’t paying because I hadn’t been commenting but I checked it out, and it’s reading the page that attributes my pittance to the writer. Leaving comments is better, of course, but it made me feel less guilty knowing that the pennies were still being distributed.

It’s 2:30 AM now, so I’ll pack it in and go to bed. The rug rats are with Mommy on the week-end, perfect to catch up on some sleep before the bigger cleaning fury tomorrow morning. I also need to find some flowers and plant them outside, for however short their duration will be. The boys and I have been searching for fairies under the leaves and in the bushes, but there are none to be found. Nalou, the 7 year old, remarked that maybe the lack of pretty flowers is the reason; fairies love beautiful colors, and the morning dew from a bright petal is much sweeter than that sipped from a simple green leaf. He suggested (strongly) that I could take care of this detail during his two day absence. I reminded him (just as strongly) that his behaviour had to be exemplary all day or the fairies would stay hidden anyway. He assured me that it would be, but I can’t help but wonder if those assurances stemmed from his thinking that whatever he did while with his Mommy would have no bearing with the fairies here....

So there you are. I’m still alive and kicking and enjoying my house full of children and doggies. This place has become a 24-hour SMILE factory!! Smooch chewed all my ribbons, so I’ve tied a few with string and am sending the brightest out to y’all now! They may be slightly damp from sticky kisses and puppy slobber...but they’re as warm as a SMILE can be!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.