Sturm und Mom

The Storm & Stress (& Joy) of Motherhood

Archive for the tag “Snow storms”

Parenthood: Wimps Need Not Apply

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:

With warnings 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.

The Incredibly Funny Story of How We Sold Our House, Part II

Just another spring day in Edmonton!

Well, maybe not incredibly funny, but still worth a chuckle.  Hey, usually Real Estate reduces people to tears, not laughter, so you’ve got to take what you can get, okay?

To pick up where I left off last time, (if you missed it here is The Incredibly Funny Story of How We Sold Our House, Part I) it was the middle of an official Snow Fall Warning – Winter Storm, and the entire city was covering in at least 2 feet of snow.  The roads were treacherous, my Sweetheart had shovelled at least twice between 9 pm Friday night and 8:30 am Saturday morning, and it was still coming down.  On any normal snowed in Saturday, we would have turned on the Netflix, made some hot cocoa and rode it out.  But this wasn’t a normal Saturday because we were trying to sell our house and we had 2 – two – showings, Girls’ Engineering Club, no groceries, a Girl Guide cheque to drop off for signature, and supper at friend’s house to get through, and oh, did I mention that it was snow-aggedon out there?   So, I took off with two girls, Sweetheart took the little kids and we agreed to meet back at home with a) everyone, b) groceries, and c) take out lunch, so that we could be out the door by 2 pm when our second showing was due to arrive.  All this would have to be accomplished sometime after 10:30 am when the first showing was booked.  No problem, right?

Both vehicles arrived at the same (late) time, and we dashed in the door, piling snowsuits at the back mat and started stuffing french fries in any mouth we could see.  The added wrinkle in our very rushed lunch was that we had to feed 7 people (one kid was away at camp,) and unload 9 bags of groceries in under 1 hour while keeping the house in show home condition.  Which leads me to my tile.

Straight men can't pick tile.

My Sweetheart and I often quip that the finishes in this house were picked out by heterosexual men in a building supply warehouse.   By this we mean that they are most impractical choices you could possible make — every so slightly off white carpet, easy scratch light stain hardwood, and this dark brown tile with “Creme” coloured grout.  Now, just like Granny doesn’t drive a black car because it shows the dirt, guess what happens to that lovely expanse of chocolate brown ceramic?  Like my husband says, “Looks great unless you walk on it.”  Which was what I was doing with my soaking bootcut jeans, leaving water marks all over.  I looked at what I was wearing and realized that my long t-shirt and cardigan actually covered me like a mini-skirt, so in the interest of maximizing my Real Estate dollar, I whipped off my jeans and tossed them on top of the snowsuits.

With 30 minutes to departure, we were right on track.  Sweetheart was outside shovelling one more time, and I was helping the little ones in the washroom.  As I pumped liquid soap on Big Boy’s hands, their was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Mom!”  It was Tall Girl.  “The Realtor is here.  He’s early.  Can he come it or should they come back?”

My mind raced.  They was the pivotal word — should potential house buyers come in or come bak.  If we turn them away in this snow, would they even come back?  What the heck, we were almost ready to leave…

“Tell him that we need 15 minutes and they can come in.”  She turned and began to sprint to the door.

“WAIT!”   I opened the bathroom a crack, stuck my hand out toward the pile of sopping clothes on the mat and hoarse whispered as loud as I could: “HAND ME MY PANTS!”

Next time – Part III, Was it serendipity or was it fate?

Post Navigation