Toasted

Watching the kids play in the empty lot behind my house, I decided to finish the spring yard raking and donned my baby-blue gloves to scrape up what’s left of Mandy’s winter elimination along with the misguided leaves from last fall’s cleansing. It feels good to take care of your property. Something sprouts from within, perhaps pride.

The boys tottled back home when they spotted me working and JB immediately wanted to help but only if he could use my rake, which left me with a plastic two foot lawn tool not much good for anything but scooping up the debris. Butterscotch, a neighbourhood cat came to my rescue and relieved me of toiling with the indequacies of a child’s toy.

My meditation turned to thoughts of a condominium where yardwork and maintenance are nevermore. But quickly a vision of the kids with no place to play entered in and zapped the reality of carefree homeownership. This is my home and my intentions are set to create a more beautiful atmosphere, especially in the backyard.

Once inside the kids began their cross-eyed nightime ritual of button pushing and steadfast reluctance to mom’s way. JB’s rant went something like:

(JB sobbing) “I want a bedtime snack.”
(Mom) “Ok. Your brother is having crackers with peanut butter and banana. I’ll make you some.”
(JB sobbing louder) “I don’t want that. Don’t you know I want pancakes?”
(Mom) “I’m not able to make pancakes tonight. Another time.”
(JB sobbing) “Then I want a peanut butter sandwich. But I want to help. I want to put the bread in the toaster.”
(Mom) “Go brush your teeth then come down and you can put the bread in.”
(JB sobbing hysterically) “But I don’t want it toasted.”
(Mom silently walks away)

It’s times like these I wish I had someone here with me to backstop the foolishness. Divide and conquer. One on one, even the playing field a bit. I’m sure there would be more humour and less frustration if the odds weren’t stacked against me.

Someone to help with the yardwork would be nice too.