Monday, June 17, 2013

Summer of Love?

Girls have been the theme around our house lately. The Boy and his friends talk about girls, giggle about girls and tease each other relentlessly about girls.
These wee men are only 10, just going into grade 5. Does the opposite sex matter when you are 10?

I'm getting old. I can't remember.

My fear has always been that I will raise a boy who is an ass. I don't want my kid to be the guy that breaks hearts and leaves them crying. On the other hand I don't want him tied down to one too early, never seeing who else is out there. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life and enjoying youth. I'm rushing things, but all this girl talk has me thinking ahead to his teen years, which really aren't that far away. I recall Grade 6 being a year where hand holding started and we used to go for walks with boys and talk and laugh for hours. Nothing ever really happened, it was always friendly and extremely awkward, more often than not your time with that special someone was spent while in the safety of your group of friends. Playing games and chasing around.

Can't it stay like that forever?

 I love early summer, the Lilacs are in bloom and their smell is overwhelming. I first kissed a boy under a lilac tree. That memory will stay with me forever. It's funny how certain smells can be attached to a time or person. This time of year always takes me back. I see young people I know from the neighbourhood out walking together and sitting in the park across the street. Playfully poking at each other, too afraid to go for a hand hold or sneak a kiss, but still getting to touch. Feeling that rush when an arm brushes against another or allowing legs to touch while they sit and share a Slurpee.
Some things never change.

Will my son be that memory for a girl somewhere in our neighbourhood someday? I hope so. It's hard to imagine him being Don Juan as he stumbles around the house, grunting replies and eating us out of house and home while wiping his dirty hands on his clothes.

While I was going through some paperwork the other day I discovered an old diary of mine. This book was a gift from an auntie who inscribed it with the most amazing words.
"Within these pages record all those moments of innocent days that soon will be no more." 
Words lost on a girl of 10 but very poignant 32 years later.

Of course I had to read my diary entries. My childish handwriting dating from 1982 and onward. Recorded are some of my first babysitting gigs described in detail, my excitement for a Christmas concert at school that we had been practicing for weeks. As I continued scanning and reading the dates neatly written on the top of each page the years passed and along with my handwriting my journal entries changed too. Boy's names started to creep into my writing.  My age at this point-13-only three years older than my son.
Holy mother of pearl.
 
Along with wishes for a certain boy to notice me, I was surprised at notes I had kept inside that book. One in particular touched me as it was the first time I had been asked on a date, not done in person mind you but the invite carefully written out by hand on lined paper. That boy's telephone number clearly at the bottom for me to call and RSVP. I wonder if I called that number today if that boy's parents would answer the phone? Did I call him? I can't remember- I hope I did, or maybe I was so overwhelmed by being asked out by an older boy (GAWD) I lost my nerve. I hope I didn't hurt that boy by not reciprocating his affection. Did I have the balls to talk to him, or at least write him a note back? Does that boy-now a 43 year old man look back like I am now and is he curious about 'what if'?

It makes me wonder if my son's female classmates have little diaries that they are dutifully recording within details about birthday parties and weddings they've attended. Too soon their journal entries will likely be similar to mine.
Will my son's name be within those pages? Will kind words surround his name?
 
The Boy listens to brooding 80's music with me. He laughs when I sing along and try to get him to dance with me. Every song carries a memory for this old mum. Taking me back to school dances, days spent at the beach, house parties in family homes while moms and dads kindly sat upstairs not interrupting except to bring snacks. All of the music is new for him as it gets remixed into hip hop songs and covered by the latest Disney child star. Will these same recycled songs be his soundtrack for his teen years?- fittingly so. He has all of these experiences to look forward to.

"Is it bad that I have friends that are girls?" asks the boy
"No son. It's wonderful that you have friends that are girls. Always be their friend. They'll need you to be their friend."

So begins what could be the "Summer of Love" around here. The girls present themselves at the door and politely ask if The Boy is home. I hear their laughter and teasing each other from across the street in the park. Someday when one of those little girls smells a certain bath soap or maybe even Lilacs, The Boy - my boy will come to mind and hopefully she will smile.






Thursday, June 6, 2013

The ultimate in domesticity

Today I did some thing that I have not done in years. I kid you not. Years.
I ironed.
My iron was received as a wedding gift a century ago, and still has that 'new iron smell'. When I pulled the ironing board out Hurricane Girlchild said 'what's that?" and promptly tried to climb it.

My poor spouse has been carrying the burden of a wife that does not iron, and in my defense I have not had to in many years because I have been blessed with a Mother in Law that LOVES ironing. (she also was a professional drycleaner, talk about crisp seams!) Spoiled, yes. Ashamed, never.

The Spouse's need for a freshly pressed shirt for an event he's attending this evening was the catalyst for the ironing experiment. I am an emergency iron-er. Only by necessity, and poor Spouse has been known to have to go and purchase a new shirt on the same day as he needed to wear it because of my gross lack of ironing  ability.  

So while I had the ironing equipment (is that the right term?) out I figured I may as well iron the other couple of shirts hanging there waiting to be pressed. Who am I kidding, there was 13. I never said I was the best wife in the world.
Don't judge me.

I've never really enjoyed ironing. I figure it's because I've never been really good it. As I worked on shirt number 4 I was reminiscing about the days when I used to wear a uniform to work and only pressed the sleeves and collar as that was all you could see under my very smart vest and scarf-neither of which required pressing. Next time you check in at an airline, check out the hungover looking ticket agent's uniform and see for yourself.

It was during shirt number 8, a stylish Kenneth Cole that I chose for Spouse that I realised I needed to thank my grade 9 Home Economics teacher. If it wasn't for her and my lame attempt a sewing a shirt a success only because of  her expertise, I wouldn't even know how to iron. I recall it like it was yesterday standing there in a hot, second floor classroom ironing a freshly sewn seam. Thinking to my 13 year old self  "I'm SO going to have people that do this for me someday..."   Little did I know.

So ten shirts down, and I have to admit I actually enjoyed my afternoon spent ironing. I didn't get much else done around here, but I did enjoy seeing the fruits of my labour crisply hanging beside me. It gave me a sense of  accomplishment like nothing else around here does. My creases and collars cannot be undone by Hurricane Girlchild or The Boy. I found it to be quite therapeutic, quiet, peaceful work. Just me and my thoughts. No wonder my Mother in Law likes it so much.  

The Boy just walked in from school and saw the iron and ironing board still out behind me.
His first words "is Nana here?"



Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Time Warp

I can hear Hurricane Girlchild upstairs playing. She is looking at a calendar and joyfully counting the days that she goes to school. Singing the days of the week song,  SundayMonday, TuesdayWednesday,
Thursday, Friiiiiday, Saturday...

Her song is not just background noise but a reminder to me about the passage of time. I realised it's the beginning of June. I have been so consumed with soccer games, football practices and my days revolving around meals and the whims of a four year old that I kind of lost track of time.

A small miracle for me to lose track (as long as you don't count that couple of hours back in high school that I lost at my graduation party) but because I have always been very mindful of time, and schedules and the 'big picture' always a month ahead on the calendar, planning right down to the last half hour of every day. I looked at the calendar today and the end of the school year reared it's ugly head and throat punched me.

June is notoriously busy for us as a family, many birthdays and lots of sports, school field trips, trying to fit in a weekend at the lake here and there. This year it is no different and we will be exhausted by the end of it.
Our reward will be July- lazy, hot and un-scheduled.

When I flipped the calendar I went into panic mode and have spent the past two days planning, reverting to my old hyper organised self.
The Boy's birthday is coming, his birthday celebrations tend to go on for DAYS, chalk one up for being the only grandson. Party like a rock star! I have also been a good parent and arranged for tutoring over the summer which will float like a lead fart once I break the news to him. Hardcore 3 days a week, two hours a day for the entire month of August...insert evil laugh here. Throw in a hockey camp and August c'est fini!

Spouse in his tactful way asked me last night when we finally got to sit down face to face, how I was doing on my 'list of shit to do' . I created the list of twenty or so projects when I stopped working and I have to admit I'm not as productive as I had hoped to be. I easily became caught up in the routine of laundry, meals, housekeeping, coaching soccer and keeping everyone on track that some of the more ambitious projects are still undone. My intentions are good, but when Hurricane Girlchild asks if we can have a spa day, I put off painting the bathroom and paint her toenails instead.

Hurricane Girlchild just made herself a PB& J sandwich with no help and gleefully walked away from the table all proud of herself. Her last class of Pre K looms. Kindergarten classes begin in September.
A lazy summer is all we have left. I will do everything in my power to make it laziest, stickiest, sun tan-line-iest summer I can. With every crack of my knee joints and each time I see my reflection in a mirror I am reminded how quickly the time is passing.
If anyone finds the last five years of my life can I have it back please?

Damn it Janet- keep dancing
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rtkdo7bOmJc