Well excellent news from the homefront. My evil Strep has had some “complications” and turned into pneumonia. I’m a mess folks. But really that’s nothing new. After the blood tests, urine tests, and chest x-ray, I am fully tested. Two days and I will be brand spanking new. In the meantime I’m feeling a wee bit sorry for myself. Tonight Thomas is out at Tennis and I’m alone with the kidlets (furiously typing while they are watching Diego – God Bless you me Amigo Diego. Tequila for you later!) Half an hour ago as I was entreating, okay more like begging Henry to finish his (damn – not out loud) dinner for the 700th hundred time, I saw his eyes widen in horror. I turned around to see his little sister Chloe dance in a pile of Shreddies. I kid you not. An entire box of Shreddies with all of its dusty detritus was unloaded in a neat pile in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Please conjure this scene: my ruddy faced, Irish looking stout little toddler with curly strawberry blonde hair, wearing an oriental-ish outfit with lotus flowers and satin pink edging was dancing with her arms thrown akimbo in the air. Her eyes were half closed and her belly and chin were thrown out in only the way a toddler could proffer them. She was stomping a slow Hora dance in the Shreddies and started to slowly rotate in circles to the music we had on in the kitchen. It was a CD of children’s songs and this particular one was from India. With the bong of the quick drums, and the whine of the sitar and the moaning of the singer repeating the melodic word “Abaaai – yah” she was locked in a heaven of senses. Of swaying music, of swirling body, of stomping and of feeling the Shreddies turn to Shreddie-dust beneath her fat dimpled feet. In my not totally unpleasant Dexamethorphan induced fog (from the fine makers of Benelin) I let her stomp out her moment probably longer than any sane mother would have. She was my pretty ninja, dancing her Hora in the dusts of ancient India just feeling a feeling. Feeling an exotic land of sun and colour and happily, unselfconsciously, being herself. I wish I could capture that moment forever.
I had to then remove her from the pile when the song ended and then the screaming began. To give her her due she still held her arms aloft above her curly head and started crying and screaming from being taken from her far off dream. Henry hightailed it to his room and immediately returned with his new ear mufflers bought for last week’s Monster Jam. He then started yelling above his sisters high pitched and rather fabulous scream, MAKE HER STOP! MAKE HER STOP! I started feeling that fine sheen of anxious parent sweat mixed with my whole lung infection induced light headedness and yelled, “STOP!” Chloe was silenced with her hands still above her head, Henry’s mouth was in an “O” shape and his eyes were opened wide. I then said very slowly and very carefully, “IF! You help me clean up this mess then you can both,,,,,,,,,,,,have,,,,,,,,,,,ICECREAM! Well, the dustpan was out in a second and hands were shoveling Shreddies into a garbage bag at a frantic pace. Within two minutes that whole four damn dollars worth of Shreddies was now in the garbage. A small bowl of Chocolate chip mint was proffered up for Henry. Another, smaller version, was given to Chloe. She is an expert spoon user at this early age and knows the best part of the ice cream. The liquidy stuff at the edges. Not warm, not cold, just right and flavourful. She kept a smooth rhythm of lifting spoon from bowl to mouth and she raised her free hand above her head and started waving it over her curls that were now pasted to her sweaty forehead. As she did she started humming that Indian song - “ Abaaaaaaaaii-yaaaah” And once again with her senses she was in another world. I hope she never forgets that.
Please conjure this scene: my ruddy faced, Irish looking stout little toddler with curly strawberry blonde hair, wearing an oriental-ish outfit with lotus flowers and satin pink edging was dancing with her arms thrown akimbo in the air. Her eyes were half closed and her belly and chin were thrown out in only the way a toddler could proffer them. She was stomping a slow Hora dance in the Shreddies and started to slowly rotate in circles to the music we had on in the kitchen. It was a CD of children’s songs and this particular one was from India. With the bong of the quick drums, and the whine of the sitar and the moaning of the singer repeating the melodic word “Abaaai – yah” she was locked in a heaven of senses. Of swaying music, of swirling body, of stomping and of feeling the Shreddies turn to Shreddie-dust beneath her fat dimpled feet. In my not totally unpleasant Dexamethorphan induced fog (from the fine makers of Benelin) I let her stomp out her moment probably longer than any sane mother would have. She was my pretty ninja, dancing her Hora in the dusts of ancient India just feeling a feeling. Feeling an exotic land of sun and colour and happily, unselfconsciously, being herself. I wish I could capture that moment forever.
I had to then remove her from the pile when the song ended and then the screaming began. To give her her due she still held her arms aloft above her curly head and started crying and screaming from being taken from her far off dream. Henry hightailed it to his room and immediately returned with his new ear mufflers bought for last week’s Monster Jam. He then started yelling above his sisters high pitched and rather fabulous scream, MAKE HER STOP! MAKE HER STOP! I started feeling that fine sheen of anxious parent sweat mixed with my whole lung infection induced light headedness and yelled, “STOP!” Chloe was silenced with her hands still above her head, Henry’s mouth was in an “O” shape and his eyes were opened wide. I then said very slowly and very carefully, “IF! You help me clean up this mess then you can both,,,,,,,,,,,,have,,,,,,,,,,,ICECREAM! Well, the dustpan was out in a second and hands were shoveling Shreddies into a garbage bag at a frantic pace. Within two minutes that whole four damn dollars worth of Shreddies was now in the garbage. A small bowl of Chocolate chip mint was proffered up for Henry. Another, smaller version, was given to Chloe. She is an expert spoon user at this early age and knows the best part of the ice cream. The liquidy stuff at the edges. Not warm, not cold, just right and flavourful. She kept a smooth rhythm of lifting spoon from bowl to mouth and she raised her free hand above her head and started waving it over her curls that were now pasted to her sweaty forehead. As she did she started humming that Indian song - “ Abaaaaaaaaii-yaaaah” And once again with her senses she was in another world. I hope she never forgets that.
1 comment:
Your best blog to date!
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