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.