February 2010


Once again, I am struck by how not having television removes one from the popular culture. All around me swirls talk of the 2010 Olympic games. Today, my foster daughter patriotically wore red to school for Olympic Day. My friends on facebook are posting about races and games, won and lost. And I am … oblivious. I have no clue. While we were in the hotel on the weekend, Lyndon watched the Canada-USA hockey game. I wandered down to the coffee room in the lobby and watched something called Shark Tank with two of the hotel clerks who were eating their suppers (although the guy did click over to the game during the commercials!). Anyway, I think I enjoyed myself more than Lyndon did. Apparently the Canadian goalie lost the game for us?

Words are often limiting, aren’t they. Sad is a tiny word, but I guess it describes the way I have been feeling lately. I’m sure I could come up with other words to expand on, or clarify, my feelings, but “sad” will do just fine.

It could be, at least in part, the weather. I’m tired of winter (and it’s not even March yet, my least favourite month of the year). I think what I am really tired of, though, is driving in winter. Driving on icy roads, through snow or fog…

Yuck.

Weather out of the way, I am feeling sadly nostalgic about our upcoming move. These are most likely my last few months in this house, on this little acreage, near this little town. We have lived here for six years, the longest we have ever lived anywhere. This is the last winter my boys will play in these trees, toboggan on these hills, sleep in these rooms. As often as I tell myself that it is all just stuff, props for our lives, I still get teary when I look out the window and see the boys trudging through waist-high snow to the toboggan hill in the old dugout.

I am also feeling sad about Pip and Squeak, the two foster boys we were caring for for about three months. A week before they were supposed to be permanently returned to their mom, she, well…let’s just say she didn’t just fall off the wagon, she crashed it. Totaled it, in fact. As a result, the boys were placed into long-term care in a different foster home. This all happened while the boys were on a visit home, so we didn’t even get to say good-bye to them. I was really rooting for their mom. I hope she can get it together. I feel strange about it all, almost like I failed them somehow.

So, it’s just the boys and our Thumbelina now. It seems so quiet with just four kids! Carter asks Thumb’s social worker for more kids every time we see her. Thumb would like another girl, while Carter is hoping for a boy his age.

Things change, and the older I get the more quickly it seems to happen. Colton just had his thirteenth birthday. I have two teenagers in the house! I love watching them grow up. But, like moms everywhere, I miss my babies. So, in my current mood, I am sad about the passing of time, about change, about not being able to go back, about inevitable loss. Yesterday, for example, the boys took apart the bunk beds Lyndon and I built them when we first moved here. The beds started out as triple-decker bunk beds, which were used by all three boys. They (the beds) have morphed a few times over the years, the most recent version being a single bed and a loft bed which were used by Colton and Carter. In an effort to begin sorting and organizing for our move, the beds are now no more. Sigh. Carter was two when he first slept on the bottom of the three-level bunk.

And finally, as I write this post, I can glance over and see our Sunday cat. He’s lying in a laundry basket on my kitchen floor. I don’t think he’ll be around much longer. The old boy was a kitten when he first came here. He and Carter have been buddies all these years. Sunday is the cat I found in the freezer one day, because three-year-old Carter thought he needed to cool off. I have a picture of Carter and Sunday lying nose-to-nose on the veranda. They are staring at each other. Carter is freckled and grinning, and Sunday, with his frost-bitten ears and scarred face, looks wise and serious.

Sniff.