It was Maundy Thursday, and for some reason I always think it’s called Maudlin Thursday, (and sometimes I really screw up and call it Maude-y Thursday, like Maude, the TV show.) Ssince it’s not a sad day, I have no idea why I want to misname it something so depressing. Unless, of course the weather forecast for the days leading up to Easter weekend look like this:
All this when yesterday, the kids were outside in the backyard doing this:
I suppose it toughens you up when you are 3 days outside of Easter, and the kids have to put their snow pants back on. Makes you more hardy. Toughens the skin.
So, just like everything else in life, we look on the bright side and soldier on. Got my traditional Hot Cross Buns ready for Good Friday, and left them to rise. Started cleaning the house. Hung up sopping snow pants and showed everyone the forecast that predicted warm temperatures and sunny skies. Told the kids and myself that it would melt — just give it a day or two. Ate supper and hustled the kids into the car for Church.
We arrived in time to sit in front of a family we knew. In fact, their eldest daughter babysits for us. They had a someone new sitting with them — a teenage boy I hadn’t met before, clean cut with a pleasant face. I didn’t give him too much thought. I was too busy feeling pride that my eldest, Tall Girl was finally taking an interest in her appearance. She was wearing a pretty purple tunic top, with her hair swept back into a low ponytail, and for the first time in weeks her shoulders were held back, not slouching forward.
It came time to shake hands during the exchange of Peace. The new boy was sitting directly behind Tall Girl, and she couldn’t see him. He was doing the bob and weave with his hand stuck out. I recognized the look of someone with no one to exchanged a greeting. I stuck my hand toward his, and wished him peace. His face fell. Disappointment. He politely shook my hand with a small smile, and then went back to his bob and weave.
I couldn’t miss the look on his face. He didn’t want to shake a hand, he wanted to shake the hand of the young girl sitting in front of him. I boy, a teen, wanted the attention of my daughter for something other than to return a soccer ball, or talk about a teacher, or just be companionable. He wanted to her attention for the sake of having a girl’s attention. I felt like my heart broke a little bit over and over again.
I remember all my Grandmas telling me as a young Mom, to not wish the baby days away, that I would miss them when they were gone and kids grow up too fast. I wish now that I had listened better back then. And that I was a lot tougher.
At least I still have the buns.
PS – I used a Hot Cross Bun recipe from Canadian Living, which I have been doing for 10 years and they always turn out fantastic.