he’s a clown, that charlie brown

I am not sure what this is going to be. It is, primarily, a Knitting Blog. It also will be a Mum Blog, I guess, just because so much of my life is about Ollie and Sam and a lot of who I am and what I do from day to day revolves around my kids. Note what this is NOT — a Mommy Blog. First and foremost; I am not a Mommy, I am a Mum. Mum with a “U” because of my British heritage, and Mum without the extra “m and y” because my kids are older and I am not anymore, sadly, a Mummy. Having said that I don’t want to “tell my kids’ stories” but some things will just need to be told.

Ollie has a project that he is working on in his science class — a diorama to be presented in a shoebox. The students each pick a creature (animal, reptile, fish, you get the idea) and then they re-create its habitat. Ollie picked a snake. He was supposed to have gathered materials over the weekend. He, of course, did not gather materials over the weekend. So today, at 7:30 on a Monday morning, in the 2°C weather, Ollie ran out to the backyard in his p.j. pants and bare feet to gather materials for his habitat project.

I glimpsed him through the kitchen window as he ran down the deck stairs to the yard — his near-naked body, bed-head hair flopping, a reckless wave as he sees me smiling through the kitchen window — breaking my heart as he flies away.

He was out there for maybe ten seconds. I am not even exaggerating. He came in empty-handed. The verdict — the grass is all dewy, there are no sticks (we have two 50-year old white oaks and two massive white spruces in our backyard) and there are barely any leaves (it is mid-autumn here in southern Ontario).

What a kid.

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Sam: “How come it’s always the mothers that get over-wounded by children?” Wound, as in wound-up, as in wound too tightly, as in wound like a ball of yarn. Boy, does he ever have my number.