Month: March 2011

If your first thought was that the title of this post is a quirky metaphor, well, I will have to say it’s not. At the time of this writing a purple hammerhead shark is wearing a white cape sewn with green thread and there is also a lollipop plate on the mantle.

My youngest son is almost five and has yet to step foot into a learning institution. People assume he’s in preschool. He’s not and that creates some eyebrow arching in some. It doesn’t bother me. He wakes up in the morning with a mind as fresh as a sun-kissed summer berry. And every day turns into a creative adventure of some sort. Today he wanted a hoodie for his shark and then he wanted to make a lollipop plate. The hoodie turned into a cape given the minuscule size of the shark, but that was fine.
As for the plate, he really tried to make himself understood, but seeing he could not, he took matters into his own hands. Dragged a chair to the cupboards, grabbed a white plate with blue trim triumphantly declaring “that’s the one I need”, went and got his finger paints and got to work. Ten minutes later he showed me a beautiful round rainbow-like design on a plate, like one of those colourful lollipops most kids look at in candy stores but never really get to have one.

It’s just noon and there is a whole afternoon ahead of us. There are more ideas to sprout and marvel at. The shark will lose its cape in a few days – misplaced, not thrown out – and that’s just fine. Swimming with a cape on makes for lousy hunting anyway. As for the lollipop plate, it’s on the mantle and it will stay there. A reminder that sometimes even the best intentioned people who love us the most might not understand what we mean but it is up to us to carry on with making it happen if we believe the idea is worth it. And come to think of it painting our way through life is as colourful as we make it out to be.
 

The morning was good. I got some early writing done and contemplated snowshoeing with the boys. Well, it so happens that sleeping five-year-olds are too cute to wake up. And quiet, which is always a bonus in the land of permanent bounciness. So the mountains have to take a rain cheque on us although their whipped cream beauty was more alluring than ever. But the boys wanted to see the river. True river rats never betray the banks on the first true warm spring day.

The river it is, I said. Aside from two self-absorbed dogs and their equally absent owners, the banks were serene and motionless, not counting the gentle swaying of the water. Our usual place was drenched in sunlight, and the trees welcomed us with swelling green buds. It smelled of spring.
Playing by the river is always fun. Sand, water and all, but there is something almost mystical about exploring the banks. There’s strange looking bushes and mucky stretches of land the boys call “the quick sands.” Which they are, for all they know. So when the boys took off to explore I let them go far because it feels right to me that they wander freely and if often my approving of such adventures makes people frown, that is yet another reminder that we live in fear and that is one of the things that prevents us from experiencing joy.

The sand was warm and I thought of getting my toes in but then I heard the boys scream bloody murder, one louder than the other and I realized that my little fellow was stuck in the “quick sands”.
I ran like a mother would to save the distressed cub, but slowed down as I saw his brother calm and somewhat amused by the situation but not stressed.
“I can get him out, Mom, it’s OK.” And I knew things were just fine. Fighting sticky mud with laughs and screams and driftwood that was thought to free his little brother’s booted feet, my eldest son handled himself like a big boy would. So they walked out, feet first. Literally. They unstuck the boots afterwards. Socks and pants and sweaters had been sacrificed to the mud gods.
The next three hours were spent filling socks with mud “Look Mom, I’m Big Foot!” and pretending they were gigantic exotic fruit the river brought over. Or dinosaur eggs. Who knew mud-filled socks can be so big. They really are. Building dams, trampling over them with muddy feet, feeling the sparkling water buzz around their ankles, running to warm up on the sand every now and then, all of that was done by the boys in a day’s work.

I got my toes to dance in the sand too and that was perfect. We brought home river shells, a big block of beautiful gnarled driftwood, loads of sand on clothes and a mud-filled sock. Just one, because “The river took the other one, Mom,” my little guy said as we walked to the car. It seemed only natural to him that the river would do that. And why not. You don’t see mud-filled socks every day, even if you’re a river.
Sunshine was still jumping from tree to tree all the way to the river as we left the banks. It’s spring…if you’re a river rat you just know the sweet smell of water warming up and dancing…

I love sunny mornings. More so when the day comes with a race. Which is why I loved this Sunday morning. I woke up at 8, stretched and pretended not to be anxious. I read a couple of books with my little guy and I have to admit that my mind was already on the race track and there was nothing I could do to stop it. A bowl of oatmeal, a cup of coffee and I was good to go. Hugged my boys and then a leisure morning ride took me to the very place. Lots of people, lots of sunshine splashed on the sidewalks and all over people’s faces, and all that race rush I came to love.
Stickers on helmet and bike, and then I parked my blue racing buddy next to the other bikes and let them enjoy a morning wheely chat. Walking all over the place with my duathlon friend Susan has become part of our racing routine, just like we do the ride home afterwards.
Timing chips on, all racers pumped at the start line and ready to charge. So we did. The good crisp morning air made for a good first run. Biking followed, speedy fun, gotta love every second of it or else. People cheering along the way, sending good encouraging vibes that danced around me like happy bouncy butterflies. The best part is, those butterflies dance around every single racer, which makes everything right.
A second run, a bit more will needed to keep going, still a lot of fun while doing so. The 4km mark is a sweet sight. One more to go.

And then, the finish line! The moment I cross it is a good one, no matter what. The rush is high, the sun is shining and so do familiar faces I am so grateful to see waiting there. The body needs water but the mind has everything. I am basking in the warmth of that unique feeling of finishing a challenge and knowing that I had fun while training and during the race as well. And thanking with all my heart to all those special people in my life who encouraged me along the way and cheered for me, at the track and from far away.

Next one is in July. Anyone joining in the fun? The only side effect is getting permanently hooked. Not a nasty one though…